Saturday Morning Ritual (Open)
Feb 10, 2013 18:07:58 GMT -5
Post by bruiser on Feb 10, 2013 18:07:58 GMT -5
Saturday was Molly’s favorite day of the week. The end of the school week, it was the time to goof off, play and get in all that other ‘nothing’ that a person was too busy during the rest of the week to take time out for. Even the time feels different on a weekend, like a person is in a completely different zone. You could stop at any given time on a Saturday or Sunday and not really have to think about it; you just know that it’s a weekend, like another dimension or something.
Even with it being a day off, Molly’s Saturdays usually followed a schedule. As far back as she can remember, it would be her habit to wake up early in the morning to watch cartoons. No alarm clock needed on Saturdays; she was an early riser by nature but on Saturdays especially it was like her head had a little internal alarm that would go off. Her mom and dad would sleep in, but they didn’t mind her being up early on the weekends as long as she didn’t make a mess and didn’t wake them up. Breakfast would be whatever she could find in the kitchen; cereal, toast, or if she was really lucky, leftover pizza. With breakfast on a tray, Molly would make a little nest for herself out of blankets on the couch and spend the morning watching cartoons. These were the best of times. Laughing (but not too loud) at the antics of her favorite characters, her own little private time to herself.
Life changed of course, as it always does. After she and her other friends had run away from their homes the Saturday morning ritual had changed. At their hideaway there had been no electricity, so no cartoons. Molly had still tried to keep some fun in Saturday though, drawing cartoon characters for her friends and telling stories, but most days were busy just trying to stay alive. Then after her parents died, when she was placed in foster care, the Saturday morning ritual had returned, but it wasn’t quite the same. Her foster parents didn’t get the cable channels that had the good cartoons, and Molly had been rather preoccupied anyway, trying to get used to the fact that her parents were gone and that they hadn’t really been very nice people.
But now she was at the Xavier Institute, where it looked like she could start her ritual all over again. Her first Saturday morning there, Molly opened her eyes and looked over at the window to see that it was still dark, which was rather normal given that it was still winter. Her clock said that it was just a little past six, so she knew she was in plenty of time for the start of the day.
Yeah, fine, Molly was sixteen years old now, supposedly needing to act more like an ‘adult’, but some things were important; the teachers in school taught how rituals were important to people, well this was her ritual. Saturday morning was hers, her time and she would keep it for herself as long as she could, before life changed things again on her.
Molly climbed out of bed, not bothering to change out of her pink and white flannel pajamas. Her long hair was mussed up and peeked out in various directions from under her sleeping cap, but she just tossed the cap on the bed and pushed her hair back with a fuzzy pink headband that had little cat ears peeking up from the top. Barefoot, she headed off down the hall towards the kitchen to see what was available for breakfast. The room was empty and she figured everyone must still be asleep, which was just fine with her. The Institute had a very nicely stocked fridge, but as she perused the contents Molly couldn’t decide just what she wanted. Seeing a little jug of maple syrup though, she was suddenly struck with inspiration.
PANCAKES!
Molly loved pancakes, and with this being her first Saturday morning in her new home, she should celebrate by making pancakes. Now this wasn’t something she’d done by herself before, but she’d seen both her parents and her foster parents make them before, and it didn’t seem too hard. It just needed the stuff in the box, and Molly started searching through the cupboards, trying to find pancake mix. Finally she found a nice big box of the stuff and she took it down, reading the directions. Nope, she was right; this wouldn’t be hard at all. There was a little radio on the counter and before long Molly had mixed together a small batch of pancake batter, singing along with the music as she stirred. There was a large nonstick pan in one of the other cupboards, and she poured some of the batter into it, forming a nice big pancake. A favorite song of hers came on the radio, and she danced in place to the beat as she kept an eye on her pancake, looking forwarded to the yummy goodness after she put butter and syrup on it before camping out in front of the television.
Before long it looked like it was time to turn the pancake over; but instead of just using a spatula, Molly decided to try flipping it in the pan like she’d seen her father do a couple of times. Not slowing down at all, Molly used a pot holder and grabbing the pan, flipped the pancake in it.
”So raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways..."[/i] She sang happily, watching as the pancake soared into the air.
And soared.
And....splat.
Apparently she’d put a little too much enthusiasm into her flip, and instead coming back down into the pan perfectly on the other side, like it was supposed to, the momentum she’d put into the flip had caused the pancake to go a little too high, and it was now stuck to the ceiling of the kitchen.
”Oh crap.”
Even with it being a day off, Molly’s Saturdays usually followed a schedule. As far back as she can remember, it would be her habit to wake up early in the morning to watch cartoons. No alarm clock needed on Saturdays; she was an early riser by nature but on Saturdays especially it was like her head had a little internal alarm that would go off. Her mom and dad would sleep in, but they didn’t mind her being up early on the weekends as long as she didn’t make a mess and didn’t wake them up. Breakfast would be whatever she could find in the kitchen; cereal, toast, or if she was really lucky, leftover pizza. With breakfast on a tray, Molly would make a little nest for herself out of blankets on the couch and spend the morning watching cartoons. These were the best of times. Laughing (but not too loud) at the antics of her favorite characters, her own little private time to herself.
Life changed of course, as it always does. After she and her other friends had run away from their homes the Saturday morning ritual had changed. At their hideaway there had been no electricity, so no cartoons. Molly had still tried to keep some fun in Saturday though, drawing cartoon characters for her friends and telling stories, but most days were busy just trying to stay alive. Then after her parents died, when she was placed in foster care, the Saturday morning ritual had returned, but it wasn’t quite the same. Her foster parents didn’t get the cable channels that had the good cartoons, and Molly had been rather preoccupied anyway, trying to get used to the fact that her parents were gone and that they hadn’t really been very nice people.
But now she was at the Xavier Institute, where it looked like she could start her ritual all over again. Her first Saturday morning there, Molly opened her eyes and looked over at the window to see that it was still dark, which was rather normal given that it was still winter. Her clock said that it was just a little past six, so she knew she was in plenty of time for the start of the day.
Yeah, fine, Molly was sixteen years old now, supposedly needing to act more like an ‘adult’, but some things were important; the teachers in school taught how rituals were important to people, well this was her ritual. Saturday morning was hers, her time and she would keep it for herself as long as she could, before life changed things again on her.
Molly climbed out of bed, not bothering to change out of her pink and white flannel pajamas. Her long hair was mussed up and peeked out in various directions from under her sleeping cap, but she just tossed the cap on the bed and pushed her hair back with a fuzzy pink headband that had little cat ears peeking up from the top. Barefoot, she headed off down the hall towards the kitchen to see what was available for breakfast. The room was empty and she figured everyone must still be asleep, which was just fine with her. The Institute had a very nicely stocked fridge, but as she perused the contents Molly couldn’t decide just what she wanted. Seeing a little jug of maple syrup though, she was suddenly struck with inspiration.
PANCAKES!
Molly loved pancakes, and with this being her first Saturday morning in her new home, she should celebrate by making pancakes. Now this wasn’t something she’d done by herself before, but she’d seen both her parents and her foster parents make them before, and it didn’t seem too hard. It just needed the stuff in the box, and Molly started searching through the cupboards, trying to find pancake mix. Finally she found a nice big box of the stuff and she took it down, reading the directions. Nope, she was right; this wouldn’t be hard at all. There was a little radio on the counter and before long Molly had mixed together a small batch of pancake batter, singing along with the music as she stirred. There was a large nonstick pan in one of the other cupboards, and she poured some of the batter into it, forming a nice big pancake. A favorite song of hers came on the radio, and she danced in place to the beat as she kept an eye on her pancake, looking forwarded to the yummy goodness after she put butter and syrup on it before camping out in front of the television.
Before long it looked like it was time to turn the pancake over; but instead of just using a spatula, Molly decided to try flipping it in the pan like she’d seen her father do a couple of times. Not slowing down at all, Molly used a pot holder and grabbing the pan, flipped the pancake in it.
”So raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways..."[/i] She sang happily, watching as the pancake soared into the air.
And soared.
And....splat.
Apparently she’d put a little too much enthusiasm into her flip, and instead coming back down into the pan perfectly on the other side, like it was supposed to, the momentum she’d put into the flip had caused the pancake to go a little too high, and it was now stuck to the ceiling of the kitchen.
”Oh crap.”