I wake up at 4:30 with sleep sticking to me like cobwebs. I roll over, trapped between dreams and waking, and glance at the sky through the blinds. It is a smooth, creamy navy blue tinged with the promise of dawn. Mom and Dad move through the house, knocking on doors, laughing quietly, shaking the creases out of clothes. I drag myself up, peeling myself out of my dreams. I wander through the house, excited, expectant.
Thirty-seven minutes later, we are in the car. The sky is rimmed gold and pink-orange clouds scud across it. We munch on hard, plastic breakfast bars while listening to the grainy sound of the radio.
At last, we get there. The park is shadowy and quiet, the grass gleams with dew. Trucks are parked on the golf course, like solemn little soldiers.
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