note: This is an "essay" I created for my English class. Our purpose was to create description and touching all of the senses. I thought I'd share, just for the sake of sharing. Enjoy.

Good Morning

The girl wakes. Dark lashes flutter against cream colored skin as two cocoa colored eyes open blearily to the sound of her alarm clock ringing. The radio DJ’s voice chirps happily, drawing her attention to the obnoxious black box sitting on her mahogany dresser. 7:15 AM, the noisy black box reads with bright red text, and the girl frowns. She does not remember why she set her alarm this early; normally, she doesn’t wake for another hour. However, this morning seems different.

Shaking off her sleep, the girl groans softly and rolls out of bed. The blanket tugs at her hip like a lover trying to persuade her back to bed and comfortable sleep, but she tosses it off with a grunt and swings her legs over the side. In a single motion she pushes herself up and off the bed, standing up on two wobbly legs. She raises her arms over her head in a stretch and yawns, her mouth gaping wide open.

When she rubs at the corners of her eyes to wipe away the morning crust, she catches sight of a bright pink Post-It stuck to her mirror. At first she does not understand its meaning, but her memory is quick to revive and remind her of its purpose: today is her mother’s birthday and last night she had planned to surprise her, thus the early rise.

As though she was prodded in the behind with the sharp end of a pencil, the girl jumps and rushes to her bedroom door, easing it open as quietly as possible. Ten feet away is the closed door to her mother’s room; the girl tiptoes toward it and silently twists the door knob to open the door. Her bare toes curl in the copper colored carpet as she leans in the doorway and peeks inside the dark room. She spots her mother curled under the covers over her bed, sound asleep.

A soft smile curls on the girl’s lips and she eases back out of the room, pulling the door closed just as quietly as she opened it. She quickly tiptoes to the kitchen, placing a finger to her lips as she passes by her parrot’s cage, and immediately stops before the refrigerator. Excitement fills her where sleep once did, and she feels like a child at the playground who just discovered a new bug and wants to show her guardian.

The girl quickly looks over the contents in her fridge and snatches her ingredients: eggs, cheese, leftover rice, and pre-sliced hickory smoked bacon. She carries all this to the counter next to the black stove top and places each item side-by-side in a neat assembly line before she ducks low to retrieve two large skillets from the cabinet. The pans clank together in her rush to get everything prepared and she winces at the noise -- she does not want to wake her mother, not before she finished cooking, yet she is very eager to start.

Making a mental note to remain as quiet as possible, the girl continues to work: she turns on the stove and places her pans in the appropriate spots. She pours olive oil in one pan and leaves the other alone. When heat radiates off the surface of the pan, she rips open the bacon package and lays down the slices across the Teflon surface. At the same time, she opens the carton of eggs and takes out two. With a crack against the counter, she breaks open both eggs and spills their contents into the second pan. Two yellow globs smile up at her, surrounded by white, and sizzling in the oil and heat.

She is quick to season and flip the eggs, then slide them onto a square platter for serving. Then, without stopping she scoops out leftover rice from its container and plops it onto the pan. The rice sizzles when it touches the pan, and soon the smell of soy sauce rises in the air when she pours it into the pan and mixes it with the rice. Similarly, the smell of bacon drifts to her nose, signaling for her to turn the strips over.

Multitasking is not her strongest characteristic, but today she tries her hardest, frowning in concentration as she assembles breakfast meal for her mother. The pungent smell of soy sauce and bacon fat cling to her hair and clothes, drifting in the air to the other parts of the house. The girl pays no attention now to the noises she makes with the scrapping of her spatula, the sizzle and pop of bacon cooking in its own fat as she moved the pieces around, and the clatter of the frying pan against the stove. She focuses on the task at hand and with utmost care scoops the fried rice into a small hill and places it at the corner of the square plate, diagonal to the eggs. She also takes the cooked bacon strips and lays them out at the two remaining corners of the plate.

It is at this time, while she is placing down the bacon, she hears a noise behind her. Startled, she turns and finds her mother, half awake, peering over her shoulder. Without a word she reaches around her and plucks one of the bacon strips off the plate and bites into it. The girl stares at her mother in surprise, but also anticipation: she worked very hard to make this meal and she wants it to taste good.

Her mother looks at her for a moment before smiling and wrapping her arm around her shoulders. She gives the girl a gentle squeeze and lightly kisses her on the forehead. In return, the girl grins back, knowing that her mother just told her, “thank you.”

Giggling, the girl returns the hug and snuggles close to her mother.

“Happy Birthday, Mom.”