One with the Sun

I’m of the opinion that if you don’t see the sun rise over the ocean at least once in your life, you can’t get into heaven. Don't risk taking the chance that St. Peter will send you back for a field trip. It might not be on your bucket list, but it deserves a place on your sand pail and shovel agenda.

The Captain says today’s sunset is tomorrow’s sunrise, just earlier, so there’s no need to launch yourself out of bed when dew is forming on the newspaper just to see one. If you’re upset about the direction look at it in a mirror.

Our priorities are different. His are wrong.

Vacationing at the beach, I undertook to secure him a spot on the scenic side of the Pearly Gates when he finally goes to the big place computer techs go when they die, and although I’m uncomfortable mentioning Gates and computer technology in the same breath for fear of a licensing agreement infringement, I don’t mean a big room with a high speed Internet connection and a billion users who know how to synch their own Blackberry.

It was 7:00 a.m. The sunlight streamed in the window like it was on a video loop. The Captain’s face was one with the pillow and held the relaxed, peaceful air of a summer breeze in a clover-filled meadow.

Time to get up.

But how to facilitate the waking process without also calling the enemy to battle? He doesn't so much get out of bed as he does launch a ground assault on the day. After the last unpleasantness, I decided not to use the car alarm ploy again. The resulting excitement cost me the chance to see the sun at all that day.

I sat in bed, resting against the wicker headboard, celebrity magazine in hand. I try to improve my mind, even when my body is on vacation. You can’t fight too hard in the fashion battle. Flipping pages like they were fan blades, I glanced over at the victim. I’ve patented a look that will freeze jalepeno peppers, but out of love I set my eyes to stun.

No response.

I cleared my throat meaningfully.

No response.

I repositioned myself repeatedly due to an uncomfortable wrinkle in the linens.

No response.

Inspired by the sheets, I succumbed to a previously undiscovered allergic reaction to thread count.

With a snort, he turned to face the other wall.

Somewhere on another street, possibly in another town, an unknown hand flipped a switch on a small countertop appliance, and a dark beverage began a slow drip into a pyrex pot. Nobody gives a wake up call like Mr. Coffee. If they could train Captain Caffeine to sniff out bombs like he can track down freshly brewed coffee, he would always have a job as an airport monitor.

He sat up, sniffing the air like Smokey the Bear on the trail of three matchbook packing Boy Scouts.

I padded to the kitchen and returned bearing a cup filled with the drink that never sleeps
.
He burst from the bedclothes like Superman in toddler-sized tights. “So, wanna go see the sunrise?”

“Sure, but you’d better gas up the car.”

“Why?”

“Because we’d have to travel three time zones toward the west to get a glimpse.”

He took a long drink from his mug. Some women go their whole lives without the type of caress that the Mickey Mouse on that cup was getting. Captain Serenity leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“That’s okay. We’ll catch the one tonight. Got a mirror?”

He took a draw of coffee that made Mickey’s ears stretch, and shot a boyish smile at me from across the room.

Just my luck. I have a plan to get to heaven and he finds a secret door to Paradise right here on Earth.