Monday, April 26, 2010

A Cup and A Half

Patience is not my strong point.

Occasionally, my roommate brings her younger sisters over to spend the night. It is truly lovely that she lives close enough that she can offer to relieve her parents of her siblings for a night. Her sisters are darling. One is around thirteen or fourteen years of age and the other is ten years old. They both have long hair which I envy from afar (stroking their hair does not go over well). Honestly, I do not mind to have them over because it is nice to have some younger girls about the house. Some funny things do occur, though.

For example, our living room which moments before their arrival was the scholastic mess of college students preparing for finals abruptly becomes a child’s playroom with polly pockets and all things pink. This change I don’t mind so much. It’s actually downright lovely. Now, my bedroom which already houses three adult women and their stuff explodes with the addition of two more girls. The floors that had been barely walkable are no longer visible. Also, the matters of beds become an issue. We have five girls and three beds. Well, two to a twin bed is not so comfortable, but two out of the three beds end up containing two girls. The days of sleepovers are not done.

Around three in the morning, I climbed into my bed which my roommate was sleeping in and tried to sleep. Unfortunately, I got overheated sharing a bed with my roommate so I stumbled down the stairs and fell onto the couch. It was easily four in the morning. With the blanket sprawled across my body, I fell into a half-a-sleep. Soon after, I abruptly woke up, stood, and turned the light off. Probably about two hours later, I was jerked awake. My eyes creaked open and widened. Standing above me was my dear roommate’s youngest sister. She asked me something – I swear it. I must have mumbled a reply because she left. Not two hours later, she appeared again in the same manner. And this time, she did not disappear. With less than five hours under my belt, my patience was being tried.

She wanted to watch a movie. The TV wouldn’t work. The DVD player was being jank. She was hungry. There wasn’t any food. The laptop could not turn on fast enough. I got the movie set up. I sighed and hoped that I could begin my homework at least. That’s when her hunger re-presented itself. She opened our sparse refridgerater and began asking about the food inside. “No, you cannot have that. It’s not mine. No, I’m sorry not that either. We don’t really have any food.” Out of desperation, I yank out a box of muffin mix and offer it as a peace offering. In moments, I am on my way to Kroger to get the necessary ingredients. Hopefully, she would sit and watch the movie. No such luck. When I returned, I found that she had eaten a thing of applesauce that I had told her not to eat. She was legitimately sorry.

This littlest sister is a sweetly peculiar girl. I’m told that she’s a tad autistic. I know what the term means, but it doesn’t really mean much to me. It just means that she walks on her toes and she has an uncanny musical ability. She is also oddly friendly with blunt questions. It’s not uncommon for her to stand and stare at one while they worked on doing something else. She is a sweet girl and amuses me greatly. The best thing that comes from these little-sleep-patience-mornings is a good story. Hopefully, this is just that because I want it to be nothing but a good story about my patience victory. After all, the sweetheart is still alive and well.