Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)"Archie, you're breakfast is getting cold!" his mother called up the stairs. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to forget to change the time on his alarm clock to account for the change in time zones. His parent's superiors had been wanting to relocate them, and his graduating from junior high had been the perfect opportunity for them to move. But first his father had taken forever scouting out a good house in a good neighborhood that had a good church and was near a good high school. Then his mother, who tended to hoard everything "in case it might come in useful some day" had taken even longer sorting the household into three categories--move immediately, put into storage until after we're settled in, and the category she agonized over each item that got put in it, things that will be sold, given away, donated to charity, left on the front lawn with a sign that says free, or just plain tossed in the trash.
Archie's mother was very big into the whole Reduce-Reuse-Recycle mantra. She never bought specially made tupperware, gladware, or other such containers. She just saved all the "perfectly good" containers food already came in and reused those. So while other kid's lunches were packed in special lunchboxes with matching containers, Archie might be eating soup out of an old cottage cheese container, spaghetti from a Cool Whip bowl, and milk from a rinsed out soda bottle. And he'd be expected to rinse all those out when he was done eating and bring them home with him. Not that he terribly minded. True, when he was in grade school, still learning how to fit in while hiding his true nature, anything that caused him to seem different embarrassed him. But he'd matured beyond that stage and understood that his mother was just doing her own small part to save the planet from overconsumption. It was a losing battle, but that had never stopped his family.
"Coming, Mother!" he called back down the stairs in a slight stretching of the truth. He'd finally found the box she had packed his school clothes in and gotten dressed. (It had quite logically been labeled "Training Materials". Some days he despaired of ever understanding how his mother's mind was organized.) However, he still needed to put on his shoes and comb his hair. At least this new school, while still a private school, wasn't a catholic school like his elementary and junior high schools had been, and it didn't have a uniform. He could finally express some individual style in his clothing choices. (Once he actually got to choose clothing, that is. His current outfit had been purchased by his mother, along with several similar variations--a white button down oxford broadcloth shirt and dark grey chinos. At least she wasn't making him wear a tie.)
Finishing his preparations, he descended the stairs two at a time, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and slid into the kitchen just as his mother was heading for the doorway to call him again. "There you are, Archie. It's about time you got down here. If you don't hurry up and eat your breakfast, you'll be late for school."
Grabbing a piece of the buttered toast from his plate as he packed the various containers which held his mystery lunch--being opaque, he never knew what he'd be eating til he opened them--into his backpack. "No time for breakfast, mother. I'll grab something at school."
"I didn't cook you breakfast so you could waste it, young man. There are starving families who'd offer prayers of thanksgiving to be able to split your breakfast amongst them as their only meal of the day." Shaking a spatula at him, she ordered, "You sit right down and eat your entire breakfast."
"But, Mother," he protested, "I'll be late for my first day at my new school. Do you want me to call attention to myself making a bad impression?"
"You should have thought of that before you overslept an entire hour."
He didn't bother replying, for every moment he spent arguing with her was another moment slipping passed without him already being on his way to school. He shovelled in his breakfast with all the speed a teenage boy could muster when it came to consuming food, and a short time later he was standing up as he drained the last of his milk. "Delicious as usual, Mother. But I really must be going. It's a good thing I already scouted out some time saving shortcuts I could take on my bike or I wouldn't even have a chance of getting there on time." Racing for the door to the garage, he called back over his shoulder, "Love you, see you after school!" and then was outside grabbing his bike.
He cycled competitively, so his bike was fast and light. He quickly put on his clips to keep his pants from catching in the chain and sped off for school. The route he took would have mystified any adult who could have kept track of him, but any kid his age who'd played certain video games would have merely approved his daring choices and envied him the points he was racking up. Of course since he was doing it in real life rather than a video game, the only thing he was earning was potentially being on time. He got to school with only a few minutes before the final bell. He really regretted the time it took to secure his bike, but it was over a thousand dollar machine. He'd never hear the end of it from his parents if he let it get stolen through gross negligence.
Dashing down the corridor, he called upon his track skills. He'd excelled as a sprinter, and the halls were virtually empty, telling him he was on the razor's edge of being late. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to memorize the map of the school, so he knew exactly the shortest route to get to his homeroom. As he ran up to the door, it was almost as if he could feel the last bell buzzing in preparation to begin ringing. Reaching out he breathed a sigh of relief, he was going to make it. Then the strangest thing happened. In his relief he had glanced briefly away from the door handle to look at the watch on his reaching hand, so he didn't see another hand also reaching, and rather than taking a hold of the door knob, he instead ended up with a firm grip of that other hand.
It was like the last bell was ringing inside his head as lightning bolts flared throughout his body, arcing up from his hand, along his arm to then spread to all extremities. At first he could only stare at the hand, a pretty feminine hand. Then he eventually gained control of his reason to move his gaze up from the hand along the arm it was attached to until her reached a shoulder and from there a neck head and face. Unfortunately that allowed him to discover her eyes, and he was once again lost, this time in her twin colored orbs. Peacefully gazing deeply into the windows of her soul.
Archie's mother was very big into the whole Reduce-Reuse-Recycle mantra. She never bought specially made tupperware, gladware, or other such containers. She just saved all the "perfectly good" containers food already came in and reused those. So while other kid's lunches were packed in special lunchboxes with matching containers, Archie might be eating soup out of an old cottage cheese container, spaghetti from a Cool Whip bowl, and milk from a rinsed out soda bottle. And he'd be expected to rinse all those out when he was done eating and bring them home with him. Not that he terribly minded. True, when he was in grade school, still learning how to fit in while hiding his true nature, anything that caused him to seem different embarrassed him. But he'd matured beyond that stage and understood that his mother was just doing her own small part to save the planet from overconsumption. It was a losing battle, but that had never stopped his family.
"Coming, Mother!" he called back down the stairs in a slight stretching of the truth. He'd finally found the box she had packed his school clothes in and gotten dressed. (It had quite logically been labeled "Training Materials". Some days he despaired of ever understanding how his mother's mind was organized.) However, he still needed to put on his shoes and comb his hair. At least this new school, while still a private school, wasn't a catholic school like his elementary and junior high schools had been, and it didn't have a uniform. He could finally express some individual style in his clothing choices. (Once he actually got to choose clothing, that is. His current outfit had been purchased by his mother, along with several similar variations--a white button down oxford broadcloth shirt and dark grey chinos. At least she wasn't making him wear a tie.)
Finishing his preparations, he descended the stairs two at a time, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and slid into the kitchen just as his mother was heading for the doorway to call him again. "There you are, Archie. It's about time you got down here. If you don't hurry up and eat your breakfast, you'll be late for school."
Grabbing a piece of the buttered toast from his plate as he packed the various containers which held his mystery lunch--being opaque, he never knew what he'd be eating til he opened them--into his backpack. "No time for breakfast, mother. I'll grab something at school."
"I didn't cook you breakfast so you could waste it, young man. There are starving families who'd offer prayers of thanksgiving to be able to split your breakfast amongst them as their only meal of the day." Shaking a spatula at him, she ordered, "You sit right down and eat your entire breakfast."
"But, Mother," he protested, "I'll be late for my first day at my new school. Do you want me to call attention to myself making a bad impression?"
"You should have thought of that before you overslept an entire hour."
He didn't bother replying, for every moment he spent arguing with her was another moment slipping passed without him already being on his way to school. He shovelled in his breakfast with all the speed a teenage boy could muster when it came to consuming food, and a short time later he was standing up as he drained the last of his milk. "Delicious as usual, Mother. But I really must be going. It's a good thing I already scouted out some time saving shortcuts I could take on my bike or I wouldn't even have a chance of getting there on time." Racing for the door to the garage, he called back over his shoulder, "Love you, see you after school!" and then was outside grabbing his bike.
He cycled competitively, so his bike was fast and light. He quickly put on his clips to keep his pants from catching in the chain and sped off for school. The route he took would have mystified any adult who could have kept track of him, but any kid his age who'd played certain video games would have merely approved his daring choices and envied him the points he was racking up. Of course since he was doing it in real life rather than a video game, the only thing he was earning was potentially being on time. He got to school with only a few minutes before the final bell. He really regretted the time it took to secure his bike, but it was over a thousand dollar machine. He'd never hear the end of it from his parents if he let it get stolen through gross negligence.
Dashing down the corridor, he called upon his track skills. He'd excelled as a sprinter, and the halls were virtually empty, telling him he was on the razor's edge of being late. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to memorize the map of the school, so he knew exactly the shortest route to get to his homeroom. As he ran up to the door, it was almost as if he could feel the last bell buzzing in preparation to begin ringing. Reaching out he breathed a sigh of relief, he was going to make it. Then the strangest thing happened. In his relief he had glanced briefly away from the door handle to look at the watch on his reaching hand, so he didn't see another hand also reaching, and rather than taking a hold of the door knob, he instead ended up with a firm grip of that other hand.
It was like the last bell was ringing inside his head as lightning bolts flared throughout his body, arcing up from his hand, along his arm to then spread to all extremities. At first he could only stare at the hand, a pretty feminine hand. Then he eventually gained control of his reason to move his gaze up from the hand along the arm it was attached to until her reached a shoulder and from there a neck head and face. Unfortunately that allowed him to discover her eyes, and he was once again lost, this time in her twin colored orbs. Peacefully gazing deeply into the windows of her soul.
