After breakfast I retreated back to my room. I’d done some reading – roughly half of This Side of Paradise – by the time lunch rolled around. Though I wasn’t hungry I found myself walking down the stairs in search of a snack to quell my boredom.
I’d never spent any extended period of time anywhere else other than home and school and I found that different times of day – even in someplace completely alien – didn’t mean that anything meaningful was taking place at different times of day. Meaning that when I walked downstairs my Uncle George was still planted on the couch zombified in front of the television. I don’t think he moved an inch since breakfast. Walking toward the kitchen I took a peek at my uncle’s face only to find that he was asleep.
In the kitchen I, just like home, began to rummage aimlessly through the fridge. The grandfather clock precariously placed on the wall next to the fridge began to chime as the clock struck noon. And that was when I think I nearly died of a heart attack. It was as though the clocks chime and my uncle’s voice behind me, as though the clock were his stage cue, asking me if I was hungry, were competing to kill me.
“I guess,” I responded while dramatically clutching my chest.