A Snippet

Here’s an untitled snippet from my thesis work.

I wake up in what feels like the middle of the night to silence the alarm. It is three forty-five AM and I have until four to be ready. My clothing has all been set out the night before and I roll out of bed directly onto my feet. I give my bedmate a shove, making sure that she’s actually awake. She has a talent for sleeping.
I pull on my clothing and put on my glasses – once I’m sure that I’m awake for good, I’ll switch them out for my contact lenses. I look out the window, expecting to see the red Jeep Patriot already waiting. Our lift is always early – but not this early. He will appear when my back is turned, during the one time that I am not on the lookout for him. I am drowsy but my stomach is a tense ball of excitement. I am ready now – too early, which is still better than too late. I am the reliable one – the one that our driver never has to wait on.
I have a glass of water and look out the front window again. He’s here.
“He’s here!”
I call up to AA, hoping that she’s dressed. I swing the door wide open and wave to make sure that he knows that we know he’s here. I start carrying out our gear to the truck: two large bags filled with scuba equipment, two weight bags, one backpack filled with snacks, and one backpack filled with everything else – sun cream, books, our dive logs, my contact lenses, a first aid kit.
“Good morning,” he calls out cheerily.
“Morning!” I answer, just as cheerfully even as my eyes droop. The air is cool and moist, but I can already tell that it will be a hot one in Montreal.
I pack the car and take my place in the front seat just as AA comes out onto the stoop, locking the door and getting into the Jeep. She sprawls in the back and is practically asleep before we start moving again. She’ll sleep until we reach the meeting point, then sleep some more until breakfast. After breakfast, she might manage to stay awake for a few hours, but the car lulls her – and she can find a comfortable spot no matter how much gear seems to be digging into her spine. It’s a gift.
We start to drive, BB’s window down and mine open just a crack at the top. The neighbourhood is dead quiet, and I take off my glasses to rest my eyes. The streetlights are haloed and I can feel the tiredness behind my eyes just waiting to draw me in to sleep. BB has the radio going, but it’s a quiet murmur, like someone were playing music in another room. The rush of the wind in the window is soothing. We come to leisurely stops at the lights and we do not see a soul.
The autoroute is the same – the lights pass at even pace, and my eyelids start to droop. I listen to the sound of the radio, playing Sixties on Six – I think it’s a Beach Boys tune but I might be imagining it. The more I try to focus on the lyrics and figure out the song, the more I can’t discern any sense from it at all. I notice BB glancing over at me, just before my eyes close for good.
“You two are always such good company,” I think I hear him joke, but it might’ve been the wind, or it might’ve been a dream.

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