TGIS

It’s Saturday and I’m awake at the ungodly hour of 8 a.m. Yes, I know most of the world is up by now, but we Christians are supposed to be in the world, not of it. My heart is instantly contrite, but the alarm blaring six feet away is not mine, and it shows no remorse.

Josh rolls over and hits the snooze button like a saint. I hear Andrew make a few sleeping position adjustments in the bunk overhead. Two minutes later I’m the only one still awake. If Chris or Michael walked in and asked me what I planned to do today I’d probably say I have to find the flying basketball before the puppies go marching by. Incoherent, yet painfully awake.

The alarm goes off again, beckoning my roommates to join in my vigilant stupor.

Why Josh, why?

Josh rolls over and hits snooze a second time. The bunk shifts and creaks for a few seconds. Quiet. Awake.

The closed blinds over Josh’s bed are growing bright enough to read a book by, and I can sense my opportunity for ever falling back to sleep becoming smaller by the minute. So much pain from that side of the room. I turn my head. Can’t sleep. I pull the blanket over my eyes. Can’t breathe. I turn toward the opposite wall and search for a place to put my arms. That button is a liar.

The alarm starts beeping again, conveniently censoring my thoughts about the situation. This time I don’t look. I pretend to sleep, hoping to lose myself in the role.

Click. Creak.

Silence.

They don’t give Oscars for pretending to be asleep, but I give a stunning performance nonetheless. I’m like Ferris Bueller without the part where he sneaks out of the house. It’s so convincing I could set up Santa Clause for Punk’d. After a few minutes, I’m not even sure it’s an act anymore.

Apparently Josh’s alarm wants to play it safe. Again with the beeping. Again, Josh hits snooze. Andrew rolls over (again).

Silence returns. I find something soothing about the grain of the wood in the bunk above me, and I need soothing right now, so I stare at it and look for faces in the lines—calm, restful faces. It’s so quiet that I can hear the phone start ringing four feet away from my head.

Four feet: that’s closer to Josh than it is to me, but he’s not moving. I wish the phone were closer so I could throw it at him. I almost fall out of bed answering it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Josh there?”

Hmm… let me check.

“Uh… yeah, hang on a sec.” I don’t have to say anything more—my blessed roommate is already sitting up bright-eyed and reaching for the phone like he expected the call.

I’m not listening. I don’t want to know who is calling or why. I only hope that whoever it is wants Josh to come over right away and never come back.

After a few uh-huh’s and a couple all right’s he hangs up the phone and goes back to sleep. But not before turning his alarm off. It’s 8:45. I get out of bed. I’m not feeling very religious anyway.