Patience

Two cups - thick, heavy mugs. The kind that bring to mind nostalgic diners with strong coffee, sticky sheet-metal tables, and a jukebox in the corner. One is empty, the last dregs long-dried, forming a ring in the bottom of the mug. The other still holds a drink, dark and bitter. Any semblance of warmth in the mugs is long forgotten, leeched away by the cool night air. Pale pink curtains breathe in the window, dead insects in the windowsill shivering as the curtains brush past. A woodpecker in the distance, his staccato echoing from far away. Birds chirp, crickets sing. A shrill chorus of frogs in the fields, rejoicing in the summer atmosphere. The humidity is high, the sun is low behind the horizon. I shift in place, the worn mattress squeaking beneath my thighs as I pull the blankets higher around my chin. The window is old, with cracked white paint peeling off from the ancient wood. The house is old. But the morning is young - dawn is still an hour off. The rusty feel in the back of my throat reminds me of long hours of silence, listening to the sounds of the summer night and waiting for the sunrise. The coffee was a gift, brought to me so long ago. Around eleven o'clock, my brother set the second mug in front of me with a yawn.

"I'm going to bed," he had said, cracking his back as he stretched. "Are you going to be up long?"

"Yes," I had answered bluntly, sipping the last of the previous cup.

"Well, goodnight," he shrugged. Then he left. I hear him snoring now, from the other room. Typical Jonas. He probably knocked his pillows from his bed, leaving him without any support for his neck and head.

I should get up. My feet are cold, another reminder of how long it's been since I last stood up. But I'm afraid if I dare to stand, to walk away from the window, I'll miss it. I won't see the first rays of headlights creeping over that hill, shining on the bottoms of the telephone wires and the backs of the tree branches. I won't be able to watch the rusty old station wagon burp its way along the rutted dirt road, won't hear the greeting of the horn beeping. I might miss the homecoming if I don't stay put.

The first blush of a bashful sunrise now kisses the sky, and I smile at the thought of an innocent sun, embarrassed by her daring to leave a peck on his cheek. Ronnie, the ancient rooster, crows his excitement from the roof of the porch. Jonas' alarm clock rings through the wall, and I hear him stumbling around in the low light to get ready for the day. My own alarm clock leaps from the desk in its usual fashion, the clanging of the ringer sending violent jerks through the old clock. I let it wear itself out on the floor by the wastebasket, still unwilling to tear my eyes away from the horizon.

"Maysie," Jonas sticks his head in.

"Mor-" I cough the rust from my throat. "Morning," I finish.

"You can't wait around forever," Jonas sighs. "They'll get here when they get here - in the meantime you might as well help me get the chores done."

"Oh, be quiet with your logic," I tease, throwing the blankets off my shoulders. "I'll be right out."

"Are you going to make breakfast?" Jonas yells, slamming my door shut.

"No, you needy child!" I shout back, stepping into my favorite pair of work jeans.

"I'm only-"

"-three minutes younger, yadda yadda yadda," I finish. "Child."

The morning crawls by, and they still aren't home. I tell myself they'll be back by supper, so I work for the rest of the day to prepare the house for their return. Clean the rugs; sweep the floor under the table; wash the dishes piled up from the past week; bake the bread; put together the pot pies for supper. The work helps, but I'm still so anxious that Jonas escapes from the house around noon to go fishing. He doesn't return until after dark. He tracks dirt onto my clean floor, but I'm too busy staring into the distance, sitting at the table, to notice.

"They're still not back," I murmur.

"They'll be here," Jonas promises. "Get some sleep - I'll bet they'll be here when we wake up tomorrow morning."

I shake my head ruefully. "Can't."

"You haven't slept the whole time they've been gone," Jonas complains. "Go to bed, Maysillie Dawn!"

"Don't tell me what to do," I snap. "Patience is a virtue."

"This isn't patience, this is lunacy!"

I ignore him and return to my bedroom to watch the horizon. They'll be home soon enough. And I'll be here when they get to the top of the hill.

The cups still wait on the windowsill. By now, the coffee resembles sludge - sad, dark, and bitter. The sun sets behind the house, and the chickens and pigs and cows and goats settle in for the night. The birds fall silent, and the frogs pick up their chorus. One last crow from Ronnie, then nothing more from the porch. Jason clangs around in the kitchen, cleaning his fish and making another mess for me to clean up. I tuck the heavy quilts around my lap and pull one corner up over my head. I will wait as long as I need to. Until my parents are home from my sister's. Until all is back to normal. Until... Until... Until...

Two cups. One's empty, the other's ice cold.