Wednesday, January 16, 2019 // The Statement 
7B
Wednesday, October 9, 2019 // The Statement
7B

I 

woke up to the sound of rain. It was late August 
and the air had a coolness to it. I looked at the 
clock and saw it was 7 a.m., unusually early for me. 
But it didn’t matter, because today was a special day. I 
needed to prepare. I stretched from underneath my blan-
kets, still warm from a good night’s rest, and stared up at 
the popcorn ceiling of my tiny blue room. The old dolls 
on top of my wardrobe were smiling at me as if they were 
also aware of the day’s importance. 
I slid out from under the covers and the hair on my 
legs stood up. My bare feet hit the cold floorboards and a 
creak rang throughout the silent house. The baby wasn’t 
awake yet, I gathered, and I wanted to keep it that way. 
My baby cousin (who was living with us on account of my 
aunt having a nervous breakdown and fleeing to Europe) 
was staying in my room with me. I tiptoed to her and 
smiled at the peaceful, tiny person laying in my old baby 
cradle. I asked my mom why my aunt didn’t take her to 
Europe with her. She said my aunt could hardly take care 
of herself, let alone a child. 
I lived in the countryside, near mountains and for-
ests, but we were really just a hop away from Louisville. 
Usually, my mornings smelt like bonfire smoke from the 
neighbor’s yard along with the familiar air that could 
only be described as the scent of your own home. Now 
that my baby cousin was here, my room smelt more like 
baby powder. 
I rubbed her head and slowly leapt across the creaky 
floorboards, straight into the hallway. My head ached a 
little, but I was sure it was just the weather. Sometimes 

my head ached when I was worried, but I had no reason 
to be worried. Not today. 
I was convinced this day was going to be the best day of 
my life. Though in truth, my life had only consisted of 10 
years so far. Not much had happened to me yet. I walked 
into the living room to see my father snoring on one side 
of the sectional and my two groggy dogs beginning to 
wake on the other. I quietly shuffled to the window and 
looked at the rain. It was definitely stopping soon. 
I wondered when he would come over. 
I could hear the floorboards creak and the washing 
machine buzzing. The house was waking up. My momma 
walked into the living room with a pot of coffee in one 
hand and my baby cousin in the other. She gave me a kiss 
on the forehead and sat next to my dad, who was now sit-
ting up and shaking off the sleep. My parents both had 
those accents. My dad’s sounded like tobacco and my 
mom’s was like sweet tea. Neither me or any of my sib-
lings had them like my parents did. And in the morning 
when they teased each other awake, their accents were 
thick. 
“Oh, you made coffee already? That’s my job!” my dad 
sang as he heaved himself up off the couch and into the 
kitchen where the fresh pot of coffee awaited him. 
“I was going to let you sleep in,” my mother shouted 
after him despite the fact a whisper could’ve been heard 
between our thin walls. My sister could be on the oppo-
site end of the house, whispering something as quietly 
as she possibly could, and I would still make out almost 
every word. I knew this because we used to play this 
game to pass the time, back when my aunt was staying 
with us. Before she fled to Europe. We always had to play 
quiet games when Aunt Autumn was around, as to not 
“evoke her headaches.” 
“Are you excited for today, Eve?” My mother pulled me 
down to sit beside her. She knew all about my plans. 
“Yes! I am! He told me he’d come over as soon as he’s 
up, but he won’t come if it’s raining.” 
“How come? He’s walked over in the rain plenty of 
times!” 
“I know, but he told me kings can’t get wet on their 
coronation day or else it’s bad luck.” 
“Well, the good news is it’s not supposed to rain for the 
rest of the day!” My dad came back in the room, sipping 
on his coffee. He sat right beside me, smooshing me in 
between my mom and him, “That Gavin boy is a quirky 
one, isn’t he?” 
“Dad,” I nudged him over a little, “He’s not quirky! 
He’s creative!” 
“Quirky isn’t a bad thing! Some of the best people in 
the world, you could say, are quirky.” 
“I know, but the boys at school call him names like 
that.” 
“What? Quirky?” My mother sat her coffee down as my 
baby cousin squirmed in her arms. 
“I mean mostly they call him crazy. Or creepy.” 
“Boys can be mean sometimes, can’t they?” my mother 
said.
“Don’t you go letting any boys call you names, now, you 
hear? I don’t want to have to deal with any …” My father 
chimed in.
“Oh, Todd, what would you do about it? Are you gonna 
go and fight some 11-year-old boys?” 
“I mean I don’t want to, but if I HAD to …” 
“I won’t let boys call me names, Daddy. I won’t let any-

one call me anything! Queens don’t stand for that kind of 
nonsense!” I proclaimed, beaming. 
My father cheered, “That’s my girl!” 
My mother lay her head on my shoulder for a moment 
and giggled. There were mean kids at school who thought 
of me as “different,” too. Quirky, perhaps. But even at 10 
years old, I knew I could tell my parents I was a queen 
and they would send me off to my coronation with love. 
And a bologna sandwich. 
“I’ll make one for Gavin, too, OK?” It was about eight 
o’clock now. My father was doing yard work and my 
mother was packing me snacks to take on my big adven-
ture, “He likes bologna, right?” 
“I’m sure he does.” 
“I’m so glad some kids finally moved into the area. And 
one with an imagination like yours!” 
Suddenly there was a knock at the front door. My dogs 
began to bark. 
“I’ll get it!” I gasped, running towards the door. I 
pushed the dogs back and cracked the door open just 
enough so he could squeeze through. There he was. My 
partner in crime. He was long and thin as a stick, and he 
hunched a little like he wasn’t sure what he was growing 
into yet. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves 
rolled up and blue jeans cuffed at the ends. His typical 
attire. He was a bit too “Grease lightning” for the Vine-
yard Vines kids we went to school with, but I liked him 
that way. As always, he entered my home rather silently, 
but my mother knew I had let him in because the dogs 
stopped barking. 
“Hello, Gavin!” She came around the corner holding a 
Kroger bag filled with snacks. 
“Hello, ma’am. How’s your morning been?” His lanky 
arms swung a bit as he spoke. 
“Very good, thank you,” my mother smiled. She liked 
how Gavin was so polite. I also think she felt a little bad 
for him. I didn’t know exactly why. 
“Mom can we go now?” I took the Kroger bag and 
stuffed it in my backpack filled with miscellaneous 
objects — mason jars, a compass and keys that had lost 
their locks long ago.
“OK, but be home in a couple hours!” 
“Coronations take a long time.” 
“It’s OK. I gotta be home by two. I’ll get her back here,” 
Gavin grabbed my arm and I got goosebumps. The kind 
of goosebumps that at 10 years old feel comforting and 
electric. Definitely not cold. 
“Bye, Mom. I love you!” 
“Bye, be safe!” 
I slammed the door shut and squealed, “It’s coronation 
day!” 
Gavin laughed. We ran across the street into the neigh-
bor’s yard and around back until we were in the woods. 
We made our way towards the creek’s edge, skipping 
stones and listening to the sound of birds chirping and 
leaves rustling. The sun was shining through the tree 
limbs and Gavin and I were trampling over rocks and 
twigs. I was abundantly happy. My headache was dying 
down. 

The good, the bad, the in between

BY CAROLINE GLAZIER, STATEMENT CONTRIBUTOR

Read more online at 
michigandaily.com

ILLUSTRATION BY MAGGIE WIEBE