Waking up in Sevilla

Terraza from bedroom window

She wakes to dusky dawn and moonlight barely tinting the windows to the terraza at 6:30 am.  Walking across the still-warm tile floors, she opens doors and windows to the coolness of the morning, letting in the distinctively Sevillian perfume – strong florals (honeysuckle?) generously mixed with city – exhaust, dust, and grilled onions.  From the 3^rd floor terraza, she looks down on the quiet barrio; the street lamps still glow brightly, and windows in neighboring apartments and villas remain dark and shuttered allowing their residents the requisite four hours of nightly rest.  A lone man strolls calmly down the center of the street dressed in pressed chinos and a white polo.  Dogs bark behind the walls of their patios. 

Kitchen

From the tiny kitchen, she hears the boy’s alarm ring and steps in to turn on his light.  “Good morning, chico,” she calls to the almost man-sized form sprawled on the single bed.  She grimaces at the boy-paraphernalia spread across the room – backpack, Euros, soccer ball, shoes, socks, earbuds. How quickly a temporary residence becomes a hovel for a teenage boy.  Filling the bottom of the Moka pot with water, she eyes last night’s sink full of dishes and wonders when (or if) the man-child will realize the cost of procrastination.  She hears distinctive “chip, chip, chip” from the adjoining room.  

 “Off the computer, AJ,” she calls.  “Shower.”  She lights the stove burner and places the Moka pot to do its magic.  

“Oh, yeah,” mumbles that scratchy, still-changing voice.  A fully- clothed teen emerges from the bedroom and stumbles to the shower.  Her eye rolling in the kitchen parallels his from the bathroom – “shower” and “necessary” being operative terms in both heads – one in the negative, one positive.  

Opening the tiny refrigerator under her kitchen sink, she removes the aseptic milk carton and pours a generous serving into her cup.   She frees the outlet of the computer to make room for the microwave and warms the milk.  The Moka pot burbles its most welcome “coffee is done” song just as the boy emerges from the bathroom.  From the kitchen window, she hears the sounds of Sevilla coming to life.  The mourning doves and people have begun their morning – cars, motorcycles, and scooters rumble past on neighboring streets, more work-ready Sevillians walk along the sidewalks.  Dogs escape their patios to walk beside humans who carry but don’t attach leases.  Dogs happily “hacen caca” (poop) in the tree banks.

Sevilla from the terraza

By 8:00, the city is fully and noisily awake, and the boy is off to school – quick breakfast of yogurt and peaches devoured through the sleepy fog of morning.  She spends a few quiet minutes on the terrace, reading the news online, drinking her strong coffee, and checking lesson plans.  She makes lunch – a Spanish tortilla with potatoes for today – and leaves the microwave- ready meal in the refrigerator.  After a quick shower (Water on for wetting, then off.  Soap overall.  Water on for rinsing.  Shower done!), she dresses in the lightest skirt and blouse she can find, walks through the tiny apartment pulling curtains and siesta shades against the heat of the day.  With the apartment cool and dark, she heads down the three flights of stairs and walks the short route to her office around the corner.