Before the Alarm Rings

Lyric been waking up before everybody else for as long as she could remember. Not ’cause she was trying to be responsible or anything like that, she just needed a little quiet before the day came for her. Those few minutes in the dark, when the house was still and nobody was calling her name, felt like the only time she actually belonged to herself.

But the second that alarm went off? That was it. Day started, and Lyric wasn’t Lyric no more she was everybody’s something. Somebody needed help getting dressed. Somebody couldn’t find their shoes. Breakfast had to get made. And without fail, her mama would holler down the hallway, “Lyric! Come do Sariya’s hair! I ain’t got time this morning!”

There was always something. Always somebody. And somewhere along the way, Lyric realized she hated mornings not ’cause they were early, but because they never gave her a chance to just be. 

Three girls in one house, with Lyric being the oldest to a single, working mama. Yeah, she wouldn’t recommend that life to nobody. Not the way they lived it. Not with the way she’d somehow become everybody’s second mama before she even finished growing up herself.

6:00 AM glowed red from the alarm clock beside Lyric’s bed, that harsh little light cutting through the dark like it had something personal against her. She’d barely closed her eyes when it started screaming again, not her alarm, but the one in the next room. Mama’s.

Miracle was still knocked out next to her, breathing soft, curled up like she was six instead of eleven. Truth be told, Miracle acted younger than Sariya most days, and Sariya was only six. Three girls in one house, with Lyric being the oldest to a single, working mama. Yeah, she wouldn’t recommend that life to nobody. Not with the way she’d somehow become everybody’s second mama before she even finished growing up herself.

She couldn’t even have her own room without one of them sneaking in during the night, climbing into her bed like she was the safest place in the whole house. Privacy wasn’t something Lyric ever really had. Peace either.

Mama’s alarm kept blaring, loud enough to rattle the thin walls. Mama worked as a home health aide over at the nursing home. Long shifts, heavy lifting, folks needing her every second. Some days she was gone from six in the morning to six at night. Today she didn’t have to be in so early ’cause she’d picked up overtime the night before, but that didn’t change much for Lyric.

She still had to get up. Still had to make breakfast. Still had to pack lunches and double‑check backpacks. Still had to make sure Miracle’s braids were neat and Sariya’s were actually still in because that girl had a habit of snatching her hair down whenever she got mad about something.

Lyric sighed, staring at the ceiling for one last second.

Mama called out to her, voice cutting through the thin morning quiet like it always did. Lyric answered without thinking, “Yes, ma’am,” her tone soft but tired.

A second later, Janet Daniels pushed open Lyric’s bedroom door, still tying her work shoes, scrubs wrinkled from yesterday’s overtime shift. She didn’t step all the way in — just leaned against the frame like she was already halfway out the house.

“I’m headed on in,” she said, eyes already scanning the room like she was checking off a list. “You come straight home after school, you hear me? I need you to watch your sisters. Make sure they do they homework, eat somethin’, and get in that bath before I get back.”

Her voice wasn’t mean, just worn, stretched thin from too many long shifts and too little help. But it still landed heavy on Lyric’s shoulders, the same way it did every morning.

Lyric nodded, because that’s what she always did. “Yes, ma’am.”

Janet gave one more look that quick, sharp mama glance that said she expected everything to be handled then she was gone, keys jingling, front door closing behind her.

Lyric sat up, rubbing her face, listening to the house settle back into silence for a few seconds. Then she swung her legs out of bed and stood up, already moving through the motions of a day that wasn’t really hers.

Time to start breakfast. Time to wake Miracle and Sariya. Time to fix braids, pack lunches, find missing shoes.

Time to be everything everybody needed. Everything but who she wanted to be.