I had "zero hour" in high schoolโjazz band: a class that came before the time when "real school" started. We had to be there around 7:15am. My parents kept our house so cold in the winter. I don't really know why. I think it was to save on energy bills, but I also think they liked it that way.
Anyway, I remember waking up to my radio alarm clock. A sloshy, half-coming-in oldies station. Devastated that I had to get up. I would take a shower, then get back under my blankets, pulling my clothes along with me and I'd get dressed under there.
My dad would start his truck early so it was warm when we left. He set tile for a living and had a guy, John, who worked with him occasionally. John was a nice guy. He'd meet us at our house, and then we three would pile into the front cab of my dad's truck and those guys would drop me off at school, and then go on to whatever house they were working at that day.
John and my dad smoked and we'd sit there in the car, listening to oldies on the way to school, smell of smoke in the warm cab. But honestly I liked it. That smell still reminds me of my dad.
"Bye dad, love you," I'd say. "Bye John. Have a good day guys."
"Have a good day honey, love you." "Thanks Faye, bye. Have a good one." And off I'd go.