Los Angeles, California
September 21, 2016
“Blane Somerled, wake up or you're going to be late for school!” A female voice cut through his deep sleep. He knew straight away it was his mother. The room was still dark. He opened one eye to check and
see just what time she was getting him up at.
His mom, Iona Weaver, had always been there to take care of him, even when he didn't want her to, and
sometimes at the worse possible times. Like right then, at six o'clock in the morning, when he didn't have
to be to school for hours.
She was already dressed. Her flame colored curls were up in the bun she always wore for work, and the
freckles across her nose were more noticeable since she never wore make up. She had beautiful, clear
skin, and being of Scottish descent, she was rather pale. She said make up got in the way of the sunblock
she smelled of most days. Cocoa butter and her gardenia soap trailed after her in a sweet cloud as she
flitted around the apartment. He had no idea how she could be so chipper that early in the morning, just
one of the great enigmas that was his mother. “Mom,” he whined, pulling his pillow over his head and trying to ignore her sing-song voice. “It's only six, I don't have to leave until seven thirty.” “Then I guess you don't want the birthday pancakes I just made.” She wasn't mad. In fact, her tone was even more playful than it had been a moment before. Blane knew that tone. It meant she had him and
there was no getting out of it. Of course he wanted his birthday pancakes.