Morning Light” - Claire Eberman

Morning Light Clare Eberman ‘20

The world was cold and dark, and for just a moment everything was still. The thrumming within her blood calmed. Her muscles relaxed and her mind quieted. The dawn was a mere moment away, but for now she basked in the fading starlight of the wintery night that shone down on her.

The skylight had not been her idea, but after spending nearly two weeks in the cabin it had grown on her. Waking up with the rising sun, once a begrudging task, was now a welcome daily ritual. The sunlight trickled through casting the room into an orange hue. If Jade were to describe the feeling of warmth, it would be in that moment when the room burned brightly.

Within seconds the sun would crest over the mountain, hitting just the right angle to spill over the window sill DQGGLUHFWO\LQWRKHUH\HV6KHWUHDVXUHGWKHVHÀQDOTXLHW PRPHQWVEHIRUHWKHGD\RIÀFLDOO\EHJDQ7KH\DIIRUGHGKHU time to catalogue the day ahead, the necessary tasks to keep up the cabin and keep herself warm and the indulgent tasks to keep her grounded and happy. Her mother had suggested the month long stay in the family’s cabin; she thought it would help her daughter regain a sense of normalcy. Jade’s mother ZDVDÀUPEHOLHYHULQWKHKHDOLQJSRZHURIQDWXUH-DGHZDVD skeptic, but willing to try almost anything to feel whole again. Jade snuggled down in the bed, tucking the multiple quilts stacked on the bed tightly around her body. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the cold mountain air that seeped WKURXJKDQ\FUDFNLWFRXOGÀQGLQWKHZDOOV7KHFDELQZDVD meager sight to behold. One room with four outside walls, limited insulation. A makeshift bathroom was shoved into one corner, consisting of a composting toilet, a basin, and a converted horse troth that served as the bath and the shower.

A wooden folding shade was the only privacy provided. A wood burning stove, on the wall with the front door, served as the main source of warmth within the cabin. An ice box and a few cabinets completed the kitchen. In the corner opposite of the bed, there was a large bay-window that looked out over the mountainous landscape. A simple desk with a dusty typewriter sat in front of it. While the cabin was lacking in most creature comforts, it did have a large supply of books.

Books were her father’s favorite possessions; he hoarded them refusing to ever part with one. He was not a materialistic man, he had minimal things and the most limited wardrobe Jade had ever seen, but books were his guilty pleasure. The only book he was allowed to have as a child was the Bible and when he reached adulthood, he scavenged for the knowledge he felt had been kept from him. In college, he could be found asleep in the library with books stacked in a ring around him. That’s how he met Jade’s mother; she worked in the library on weekends to help supplement the cost of schooling. She kicked him out of the library on multiple ocFDVLRQV,WZDVDURXQGWKHÀIWKWLPHVKHGLGWKLVKLPVLWWLQJRQ the stone steps with her hovering over him, that he mustered XSWKHFRXUDJHWRDVNKHURXW2IFRXUVHWKHLUÀUVWGDWHZDVDW a bookstore. This was Jade’s favorite bedtime story as a child, she giggled at the idea of her hippy mother throwing her giant of a father out of a building. In her childish mind, her mother SK\VLFDOO\ÁXQJKLPIURPWKHVWHSVRIWKHEXLOGLQJ6KHZRXOG EXUVWLQWRÀWVRIODXJKWHUHYHU\WLPHVKHLPDJLQHGWKLVKDOWLQJ the bedtime rituals until her father was able to calm her down. Bookshelves that her father painstakingly built lined WKHZDOOVRIWKHFDELQ+LVERRNVÀOOHGHYHU\VSDFH6RPHRI the shelves were two books deep, a practice that Jade detested DVLWPDGHLWLPSRVVLEOHWRÀQGWKHERRNVKHZDQWHG+HUIDWKHU did not believe in organization, he preferred a more organic approach to shelving his books.

:KHQKHÀQLVKHGDERRNKHVLPSO\SODFHGLWLQDQ\ RSHQVSDFHKHFRXOGÀQGRQWKHVKHOYHV2QHVXPPHUZKHQ she was in high school, Jade undertook the task of organizing the cabin’s books. She pulled each and every one from the shelf and carefully categorized them by genre and then by author. By the next summer all of her hard work was completely undone by her father’s inability to put a book back where he found it. Jade fumed when she saw what he had done. He wasn’t even conscientious of what he was doing, making it impossible for Jade to stay mad at him. Books both old and new, paperback and hardback, broken spines, with missing pages, torn pages, or with mangled covers were welcome within his library. He did not discriminate against an ugly or damaged book, though he would become mad if someone damaged one of his books further.

Jade gazed out at the shelves and smiled. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had done enough crying over the past six months to last a lifetime. She allowed herself to sit with her sadness and welcome it back like an old friend, but she would not let it have her tears. She feared that if she started, she may never be able to stop. She knew he wouldn’t want that. He never could stand to see her cry. She brushed one rouge tear from her cheek and pushed herself up in bed.

The cabin smelled like her father and the books that VXUURXQGHGKHUIHOWOLNHDÀQDOZDUPKXJIURPKLP7KHFDELQ was an extension of his being and Jade was comforted to know that her father’s presence was all around her. The sunlight SRXUHGLQÀOOLQJWKHVPDOOURRPDQG-DGH·VEULJKWEOXHH\HV with the morning light.