A white beam of light shines through my shutters illuminating lines on my turquoise walls with black outlines of birds on branches so clearly made by stencils. I had just awakened from my slumber when I realized it was nighttime and that white beam was the moon. The smell of bread fills the house, my room and soon after the warm scent fills my nostril, sending shivers down my spine. That must have been the reason I woke up from my inadvertent nap. I swing my pale, dry legs over the side of my bed and a book hits the corner of a loose floorboard. I must have been reading when I fell asleep. I pick the book up off the floor and carry it to the dresser standing against my window. I push aside one of the shutters and examine the street outside—Not a single soul. I turn back around and glance at my clock. 1:00. Why was my mother baking bread at 1:00 a.m.? She’s usually fast asleep by now.
I head downstairs to investigate the late-night baking.