Early Morning Still Like Night

Davis found himself at some unknown house. In a cloudy, verdant setting down by a river. He was in a dingy kitchen, mostly white and faded blacks, with three kids. Two boys and a little girl. He had no idea who they were but he felt like he was supposed to be watching over them. They all seemed to be around 3 yrs old and each of them could talk far better than any 3 yr should be able to. They climbed up on some high counters in the kitchen and started opening cabinets.

Similar to their speaking skills, their abilities to effortlessly hop up on the counters was also quite astonishing. No stools, nothing. Just hopping up there as if they were fit 21 yr. olds. The kids were reaching into the cabinets and handing Davis jars to open. Old dusty jars that were too old and dusty to see inside. “Open it, open it,” they started demanding.

Assuming the kids were actually from this unknown house, Davis began asking questions. “Wait - how old are these?” “Wh-what’s inside?” “Won’t your parents mind?” Where are your parents?” He looked around and down a hallway. All he saw was old window that framed a glimpse of a river, still stalwart trees, and fallen leaves. No parents in sight.

“Nah,” shouted the little girl, “you can open them, these have been in here since around the time of those awful Kent State shootings. They’re old.”

“What the fuck?” Davis said inside his brain, “Why does this child know anything at all about Kent Sta-”

“Open it, Mister,” the little girl interrupted thoughts. Davis leaned back one more time to look down the hallway to see if he spotted anyone. “Uh, ok. I guess.” He was morbidly curious.

He grabbed the first jar out of one of the boy’s dirt soaked hands and opened it slowly, half expecting dead spiders or a foul smell to greet him, but there was nothing. Not even dust. It was smooth and serene, it looked nothing like the grimy outside of the jar. “Hm - maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” he thought.

“Ok, what do you kids think will be in the nex -”

“Open it you pricker!” said the little boy laughing.

“Did you just call me a pric- never mind,” said David, “Ok, let’s count to three, ready?

“Do it,” said the other little boy in a husky voice.

“1, 2, 3,” they all counted. Davis opened up the jar and they all looked inside. Davis was immediately befuddled.

“What is that?” Davis asked aloud. It looked like Tide laundry detergent. A thick blue liquid. “Well I guess it’s an old bottle of deterg -”

“Ewwwwa!” said the little girl, “What the fuck is that?!” she shouted through her stringy sandy-blond hair hanging in her face.

“These kids!” Davis started to think until he looked down into the jar. The jar was now twice its original size for some reason. Suddenly he understood the little girl’s reaction. He saw a beige open beak poke up through the gooey, blue Tide substance. “Christ,” he said and quickly put the jar down on the counter where no body could still see inside. His heart beating quicker now.

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?!” said one of the other little boys.

“I don’t know, stay back,” Davis instructed the kids. He slowly walked back over to the jar, which was more bucket-sized now, and peered over it wearily from a distance. He didn’t want something jumping out and infecting him with some rabies strain from the 1970s. He looked down and saw a mini-roadrunner bird floating on top, paddling around like a duck. “How is this possible?” he said to the kids. “These jars have been here for how long?” he asked.

“Since Kent State, pricker,” the little girl responded. “What is it?” she said through an off-excited grin. 

They all slowly moved back toward the jar. Peering over from a safe distance.

Davis spoke up, “It’s a little roadrunner swimming on some…Tide? How was anything living in there? That jar was sealed tight and filled with liquid. And it’s been over 50 years!” He looked at the 3 kids, giggling. Suddenly he heard the roadrunner start to make bird sounds. Was it even the call of a roadrunner? Davis had no idea. Little squawks. More squawks. Fading squawks…

Davis’ brain started losing this strange little world. A new one, a familiar one nudging him back.

Wait, huh? “Was it morning? Please god, no.” The moon is almost full so he couldn’t tell if the faint light outside was moonlight or sunlight. He reached over to tap his phone and check the time. “Please. Fucking please, let it still be like 1:00 in the morning so I still have 5 hours left to sleep.” Nope. “Fuck you,” said his phone. “In fact, it’s Fuck You Thirty.” What a wicked time warp time sleep can be. Almost time to get up.

It was then he knew that he hadn’t just randomly woken up from his strange dream. He suddenly realized that he wasn’t hearing roadrunner squawks in his dream. It was his young son waking up in his bedroom across the house.

It was early morning, but still like the night. Davis could hear little Jude’s friendly coos waking up the hallway and faintly breaking the quiet ice of the day. It was cold outside and Davis was level 9.5 warm and comfy. He decides to leave Jude be for a while and listen to him rise in such a pleasant way. It’ll be one of the very few times in life where he will not be afraid of the dark - and the only part of him that will remember it will be buried deep within his bones.

His vocal play is starting to edge toward English as he bids good day to the animals in his crib. Davis starts to think for a moment, “I bet he shit his pants. We are already fighting a rash. I better get up and check.”

Davis summons a force greater than himself to remove the covers and rock himself out of the bed in one fell swoop. There’s a winter chill in the house that even a cranked up heater running all night can’t entirely erase. He grabs his ratty black robe from the foot of the bed and wraps it around him quickly to take the edge off the morning chill. The roadrunner squawks again.

Davis ties his robe around him as it catches his draft walking down the hallway. The wood floors creak. Creaks that don’t even register in the brain during the hustle of the day, sound like springs and snapping bones while the world is sleeping. He hopes they don’t pull his wife out of her hopefully less odd dreams.

He approaches Jude’s room and swears he can feel a gossamer sheet of pure energy drape over him as he crosses the threshold. It’s dim in the room, but it feels light. December’s breath breathes gently in the room - as if it too likes the energy. Jude hasn’t yet noticed his father. His messy head silhouette bobbles and barely brims the rim of his crib. “Good morning little tiger,” whispers Davis. Jude startles just a smidge and then picks up a little stuffed baby-blue elephant from his bed. He offers it up as a gift to Davis with a rising intonation in his voice, “eh?” Davis’ voice still not alive, responds deeper and raspier than usual, “For me?” Davis clears his throat. Suddenly Jude drops the blue elephant to his side as if his gesture meant nothing and holds up his hands to be picked up.

Just as the sun is guided from the horizon, Davis lifts Jude from the crib, making an exaggerated dad groan, and turns him toward the new brightening day. Already gunning for his independence, Jude squirms and gestures to be put down. He took his first steps 8 days ago. Davis lowers him to the soft carpet and braces his lack of morning balance. Jude wobbles but doesn’t fall, making his way toward the fresh new sunbeams starting to paint the brick floor of the hallway. His plastic dotted onesie feet sift across the floor. Particles kick up in his wake and float slowly, taking their moment in the sun.

Jude turns the corner and dashes out of sight to start his day. “He definitely shit his pants,” Davis says aloud to nobody. “Coffee” he thinks. The roadrunner lets out a loud squawk.