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good as any alarm clock, because he was not lightfooted and he had to have a cup of coffee before he
left for the cafe. Aunt Zipporah told me he does it half
out of a need to make our kitchen necessary. "He
believes things are like people. If they're not needed
or used, they fall apart faster."
The cacophony of sounds coming from the
kitchen, cups clanking, cabinet doors banging, chairs
screeching as they were glided over the floor, and the pot itself being rapped on the stove, would make anyone imagine a monkey had gotten loose in the house. Aunt Zipporah would chastise him, reminding him I was there, sleeping downstairs, and he always promised to take care next time to be quieter, but I think he was always too lost in his own thoughts to
remember that sort of promise.
I saw no reason to stay in bed anyway, so I
rose, washed and dressed before he left. He was
sitting and sipping his coffee when I entered the
kitchen. The sun had just begun to peek over the
horizon, and early rays made the world look slightly
tinted red. The sleeping birds began to stir, and I
could hear them chirping just outside the opened front
windows.
Uncle Tyler looked up, surprised.
"Hey. You're up? Oh no, I made too much
noise" "I'm glad you did," I said and poured myself a
cup of coffee.
"Mornings are the best time of day for me," he
said. "Zipporah likes to read herself to sleep and could
be up into the wee hours. Me? I hit the pillow and I'm
off. It gets her so annoyed. Sometimes, I try to stay
awake just to make her happy, but my eyelids have a
mind of their own."
I laughed and sat across from him.
"So," he said, "tell me. It was terrible for you,
the accident, all of it, right? I imagine you don't want
