Heaven Is In Fact Edible

I rolled over, peering through the haze of sleep at my clock its red numbers glaring right back at me. I flopped back down on my neon orange sheets and let the rhythmic buzz of the ceiling fan lull me back to dreams. It was nine-fifteen.

The only reason I woke up again was I had fallen asleep on my right hand. I tested my hand like Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back, slowly moving each finger watching them in wonder. As the digits denumbed I regained full consciousness as the initial pain skimmed over my hand. The feeling is not unlike having the first layer or two of skin slowly peeled off your hand so you’re raw. It is much more effective than any alarm clock.

As my pain eased I looked around at my lava lamp and glanced at the clock. Nine forty-five. I looked down at my right hand wondering if I wanted to chance it. But there was no way I was going to be able to sleep again.

I berated myself out of bed thinking of all the things I had to do. The sooner I got up, the sooner all of that would be accomplished, and the sooner I could go back to sitting on my arse. What a motivator! I pulled back the covers and lumbered out of bed only to be assaulted by the cold.

I traded my boxers for long linen pants—Betty Boop a much warmer companion than tired plaid. Scrambling around till I found a sweater on the floor (which reminded me I needed to clean my room), I yanked it over my head. Properly warm now I returned to my previous state of lethargy.

I shuffled past the random junk in my room—ratty tennis shoes, unpacked shopping bag, dented purple trashcan—down the mellow yellow hallway to my mother’s room. I peeked past the doorjamb to find rumpled covers. Listening to the sounds there were no creaking boards or muted noises coming from another part of the house. Clearly Mom had left.

Unperturbed I continued my trek through the house. My two dogs, Zeke and Eli, fell into step behind me, becoming my little fuzzy shadows, their claws making a familiar clacking on the black-and-white linoleum of the kitchen floor. I would like to think they have immense loyalty to me but I know they are no better than Pavlov’s mutt. A human gets up in the morning and they go outside.

I opened the back door just far enough to let them out and to let the fresh air pinch my cheeks. I closed the door and went to turn the computer on. The whir and hum of the machine starting up gave life to the quiet room. Opening my desktop I greeted the unsmiling mien of Mr. Darcy and opened the Internet.

I quickly lost track of time as I checked my p.c. email account to see if Mr. Leftridge had gotten my narrative poem (no such luck), and otherwise dallied about on the computer. I was procrastinating but it was still early enough that I could get everything done in theory.

I had almost resigned myself to writing my blog for which I had no ideas when I heard the lock on the front door turn with a metallic crunch. Mom was home. I was only vaguely interested in where she had been—I wasn’t the parent of this household and she had liberty to go where she pleased. But she had my attention when she proclaimed from the kitchen that she had doughnuts.

Oh boy. I had eaten three Krispy Kremes on Friday but that in no way, shape, or form deterred me from wanting what Mom had brought home. Because these were not run of the mill Krispy Kremes. Oh no, these were from the Doughnut Drive In. The Doughnut Drive In makes the world’s best doughnuts!

Despite the name the Doughnut Drive In isn’t really a drive-in. Maybe it was once upon a time but now it’s just like any other store. Located on Chippewa and Watson, Mom and I had been getting our doughnuts from there before we even moved to Webster. Back when I had the great ambition of being a doughnut maker by day and a rock star by night. Clearly this place has had an impact on my life.

Not that I still want to be a doughnut maker but my tastes haven’t changed much since I was younger. I still get chocolate long johns and sugar-covered doughnuts. Those chocolate covered long johns are delicious! The chocolate frosting is smooth and melts in your mouth, and the doughnut itself is light and fluffy. The sugar-covered doughnuts are just as good but more addicting. Not only are they light and fluffy, they also bring back your childhood. The childhood when you were it was excusable to eat with abandon, and have a ring of sugar around your mouth for a later snack.

That same ring of sugar was present around my lips after carefully eating three of these wonderful, wonderful doughnuts. Feeling gloriously full and content, I licked the remnants of sugar from my fingers. Purring and grinning like the Cheshire cat I was quite ready to face whatever the day wanted to throw me. I had doughnuts. Now this is what Sunday morning was made for.