Stumbling Through Dawn: An Aubade

Gabriela Roberts

The chill of dawn bites at my skin, as I rise before the sun and struggle to resist the beckoning call of my bed covers. Imposing darkness has become a welcome companion as I stumble my way, half asleep, downstairs.

The only noise that greets me is of my own making. Snap! of the watch closure, click-click-click as the stove roars to life and gas meets metal in a grating w h i s p e r. Flick of one light switch, the rest are too bright, and SLAM - the microwave door. I try to be gentle but it’s never soft enough to truly be kind.

Nothing calls me into the day. A ceramic bowl too hot when touched and the flash of heat on my fingertips pairs with the slight searing of my taste buds from steaming coffee. My stomach grumbles complaints that I am not moving fast enough preparing my food and the faucet stutters at being used so early.

And yet, today finds me blissfully alone. No mindless chatter or incessant conversation to pull me from my mind too soon. No pointless questions or unreasonable happiness for this hour.

But why does my mind wander?

Why does it travel across the ocean to you and long for your company when I’m so sure I enjoy the peace of myself?

(Early last night we parted and the absence of you was a melancholy song on my tongue. I missed you. I always know I’ll talk to you tomorrow but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.

And you left me for much-needed sleep and the warmth of your bed which I can’t be upset at but you fall asleep, drop off, and I smile softly, sigh deep into my bones, and yearn.)

If I let my mind retreat into itself, I can almost picture you here next to me moving seamlessly, silently, in harmony with me as I prepare breakfast. You wouldn’t push me to speak, would be content in my existence as I am in yours.

I can see you chiding my accidental loudness with a small smile and a pointed glance upstairs, can see you checking my fingertips for burns, even though we both know they don’t exist, and gently squeezing them before letting my hand go, can see you moving your chair closer to mine, care seeping from your frame as you try to softly scrape it over tiles, can see you watching me eat, turning away with a smile, see your hand outstretch to grab the sugar and your arm brush against mine.

I can imagine you in my company, your soul bent towards mine and mine towards yours, no words needed to know how much I cherish you.

Your presence could replace the beloved comfort of my dawn given solitude and I would embrace it, would relish in the way you paint my drab mornings in soft hues of color.

Editorial

Sequel is an annual literary arts publication featuring the collected work from the student body of Dulaney High School (population 1,824 students/ 161 faculty). The magazine is managed by students enrolled in the Advanced Creative Writing course.

The class, operating as a staff, meets bi-weekly to recruit, collect, and critique submissions to the magazine, in addition to crafting their own work. Separate literary and art staff review submissions anonymously, determining acceptance to the magazine based upon artistic and literary merit.

Dedicated to celebrating and cultivating the creativity of all Dulaney students, Sequel not only makes inclusion a mission but a priority.

Inquiries about submitting to the 2023-2024 edition of the magazine may be made to mhopkins@bcps.org. Submissions open in September and close in February. In addition, the magazine offers a writing and art contest that runs from October-January of every school year.

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter for more content and candid classroom adventures: @dulaneysequel

Colophon

The theme of the thirty-fifth edition of Sequel, “Fragment of Stars”, was developed by literary staff members Jane Cox and Kaitlyn Petroski, inspired by and in memory of 2023 literary staff member, Rebecca Liao. The magazine is printed in Lora and Old Standard fonts. Titles are in Old Standard 30 point font, bylines and page numbers are Lora Italicized 15 point font, poetry copy is in 14 point font, while prose copy is in 12 point font. The cover stock and paper stock are both 60 lb., coated, measuring 8.5 x 11 inches in dimension.

The magazine was produced by Art Editor-in-Chief, Teryn Butler, as well as art staffers Kaitlyn Petroski and Sunny Shen. “Fragments of Stars” was designed on Chrome laptops, using Canva. The cover art was designed by Sunny Shen. Sequel is printed by School Publications Company, in Neptune, New Jersey. 25 hard copies were sold to the public for $10, as well as offered digitally via Issuu for a small donation to fund next year’s publication.