There were no cereal or juice cartons on the table, and there was no coffee in the infuser. There were no plates set up, no toast waiting for him, no mug he saw. There was not even a trace of milk residue and soggy flakes in the sink. Everything here looked exactly like the night before when my mother had cleaned up after lunch.
He looked around for a message. My mother loved to leave note cards before going out
from home. She did it even when he was angry with her. It was limited to laconic information at most:
"Today you are on your own" or "Cook your scrambled eggs, I went with Veronica" or even: "I'll be back later". Her mood was also easy to guess when instead of the usual "Kisses, mama" she wrote only "B, mama". there was no message together. Alan found the courage and exclaimed:
- Father!
And this time there was no answer.
He concluded that this was how he was punished. He infuriated his parents, he let them down, so they decided to act as if he didn't exist. Significant silence and a tomb-like atmosphere. Okay, he could take it. It's better than screams and complaints in the morning. He was sure that any breakfast would do him harm, so he scooped up books and notebooks and headed for the exit. In front of the door, like a log in his path, a copy was rolled up and held tight with a rubber band. He pushed the newspaper aside with the toe of his shoe, ignoring it, and ran down the empty driveway that was empty of his father's Honda Accord Sedan V-6, or the Hyundai Tuscon his mother was driving. He went briskly towards the University of California Berkeley. He thought that when he caught his sister at school, he might find out what was going on and how badly he was in trouble.
And he suspected they were really serious.