by Aviva Roth, The Julius Journal, October You got in late last night!” my mom says when she comes into my room. It’s 3 PM on the Saturday after homecoming, and I’m still in bed. I’m actually awake—I’m sitting up against the wall with my guitar on my stomach, picking out chords—but I’m still in bed. I love my bed so much that sometimes I stay in it for a whole weekend. Most moms would probably be pissed if they came into their son’s room and he was lazing under a pile of crap that included an open package of those orange peanut-butter crackers. Not my mom. She also doesn’t mind that I was out ’til 1 AM last night, when Dave, who was angry about being designated driver for the homecoming party, literally pushed me out of his slow-moving car and onto my lawn. All she says when she sits down on my super-comfortable broken-down mattress is: “I’m glad you could sleep in this morning! You need it. How was the game last night?” She reaches over and brushes my hair out of my eyes.
