The darkness of the orphanage was something I got used to after 9 years. The strong noices from the outside went through my ears and went out the other as caws and chirps sounded.
Blinking the sleep away from my eyes, and slightly, very mildy wiped any phantom germs on my nightly clothing, I had caught a glimpse of the bright Monday morning beneath the grey curtains and had myself straightening myself and ready to wake up. Always the orphanage mothers (at some point we decided to call them that as their actions were not far off from someone we could call motherly) would ring the bell which had the loudness of an air horn at a 5 meter radius I would guess, and at rare occasions I could feel the slight ringing from my ears after the wake up call.
Double deck bed, not the one that was wooden or anything that looks relatively good really, just metal wires that are strong enough to carry a bed and a decent weight of a kid. 4 stumps that were hollow, I checked, and the blankets were nothing special but two pieces of cloth pieced together. White was everything they could afford honestly. They had 60 kids to take care of and picking favourites would be unfair.
It took some effort to not pull out a loud and long creek from the bed's metal frame and it took even more to make sure that I didn't shook the whole damn thing.
I managed to wake up at 5 in the morning, I knew that all because of the anonymous grey clock at the far side of the room, the clock's handles are considerbly that big too, and had laid there at the double decked bed for an hour. Twiddled my fingers, and shuffled the digits of my hands, as kids we didn't had much energy or general feeling to get back to sleep again after waking up at such time, I figured that an hour before breakfast is fairly in between of a little too late and a little too early and decided to just had myself laid down doing purely nothing. Besides, the watch lady whould might have whooped my arse if I did stepped outside the hallways. And waking up the other guys would might as well be hell to deal with the aftermath.
I guessed that at that time, the bed was the not quite the worst quality but just a little touch over to call it nice to have your back laid on. And maybe I did made more noise than I thought.
"Jane, you wake yet?" At that I had to turn my head to the left side to look at the sound of Mike casually having his hands behind his head like those over exagerated poses people made in magazine covers, and somehow he managed to make that comfortable by any means. Unbelievable.
"Yeah, I'm awake. " And I paused. Feeling oddly dumb about not noticing how he was awake in the first place with how often he makes noice on a daily basis. Adding, "When did you woke up."
"At 5:30, you've been moving like, a lot under the blanket and I thought that you would've noticed me by then. Staring stuff in the air a bit too much." He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, before getting comfortable in his own bed with his own sheets.
"My man, you can't keep quiet for the life of you. How am I suppose to believe that?" Whispering with the same confident voice I would at times get when I was with people I knew.
Mike was one of there older kids, one who was deviously known throughout the whole town of Yandele for being a loud and the sort to encourage the smaller ones to either take up any competition or just any other event that would make the resident youngsters nervous and too scared to actually participate in it, that or acting them up to do dangerous but really fun stuff like playing at the running river waters where, at times the current would get strong enough to sweep anybody aside. He was the type who would had hold a kid's hand and deny it a minute later. Freaking kid was nervous when we talked about his singing skills. Which was down right hilarious for us at that time, and would render Jack to a silent, hunched-shouldered mess after a few gasping laughs when he found it so amusing that he can't pull out any sound anymore from his throat.
He was funny, even at the first moments of the first time meeting, he had made jokes and had get the horrible sense of humour kids had in their younger days. Laughed when needed to, dissipated the tension in the air with just spewing random tom-fullery in the air in hopes to lighten spirits. One of the best boys I've ever met and still is.
"I hate that damn pole. Freaking wakes me up in the morning at the wrong time." The window near me was one of the more frequent reminders of the morning, when I was more lazier and hazy minded, and notably groggy with tiredness still in my bones. The clock was dead to me in whatever sleep-deprived stage.
"It's called a lightpost, Jane. Your fault too. I think." And I guessed that Mike also had a certain dreamy feeling to him, at that time 40 minutes felt like 5, being in bed makes the time turn faster. Your mind works slower, just woke up and a headache is forming, the certain inability to think. "Is Frannie there?"
Absently, I flipped myself around and took a slight peak through the curtains and let the moonlight, now a bit brighter, go through. The damned pole stood standing, that reminded me briefly of the candy canes the orphanage would give us for Christmas, and spotted a familiar black outline of our favourite dog at her full glory with her shadow stretching at a long distance.
Standing there, and hopefully taking a nice hot piss at that metal lampost that I hated with my entirety, was the beautiful blond dog and mascot of the orphanage. (which only we claimed her to be) Loved by everyone of Yandele, and admired by the toddlers and the babbling kids, had became fond with the elders of the neighbourhood and emitted a sense of otherworldly calmness that had petting her more therapeutic than it needs to be, was Frannie.
Out of impulse and purely by childlike wonder, and somehow I knew that Frannie wouldn't have seen me anyway with the length difference, I waved at her.
We never owner her, but she was better than the empty desolate streets where the bugs belong. She was one of the best things that ever happened to Yandele and we never would replace her for something else. Frannie was a soothing reliever that just plainly stuck around when she wanted to and went wherever, like a wandering salesperson. She didn't mind the affection we gave her, not at all except when one kid decided to scratch the inside of her ear (she almost bitten his hand off). I guessed Frannie was one of the dogs they would give you, you know when you don't feel right, those emotional support animals or something? Well Frannie might as well be one except exceptionally a million times better.
"Yeah Frannie's there. Still raining though." Frannie shook the rain off her fur, and a smile threatening to spill at the floppy ears going everywhere.
"Wave him a hello for me."
"Frannie's a her Mike."
"Nahh, he's a man. Like Wellerman." This was the uneventful starting of a playful argument. The ones we would come up with, and, even with proof or even without, this was one of the best things I ever had the chance to participate in. More than once, this would end up fishing out a good laugh from us and purely to brighten up the bland environment when having to listen to speeches of what-not.
(Well, even Jack's mom said Frannie's a girl. But this was fun things, I surrounded myself in a lot of fun things in my younger days.)
"Accusations." The smile that was previously threatening to break out was already opening the best defences I had. Even as I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hand, I never tried to stop it from forming since it would be a losing battle anyway.
"Lies and slander." In the high haze from the good night's rest and a too early of a morning had fallen into easy laughter.
Soon enough, the warm welcoming feel of sunlight filtered in through the curtained windows, it splayed and played life into the recently dark hallways of the Yandele resident orphanage and woke up, or at least at some point disturb, anyone unlucky enough to be hit by the slightly dull rays. The walls, never that taken care of but guarded enough to avoid children to scribble them a mess with Crayola crayons and wipe their grimy fingers across, had the late paints starting to peel off out of age.
A new day.