disclosure. We both know that there
is nothing I can say to bring this vision into fruition, and must savor the
ephemeral dream instead.
We enter the residential complex for tier
two doctors and their children, strolling down a pitch-black street of
crackling pavement with identical houses lining the sides. Originally, these
homes were constructed as carbon copies of one another, however, time has
ravaged some more than others. To our right, a rumpled husk of stucco and
timber lays splayed out in the amber glow of setting sun. I wonder what this tangle
of concrete and wood looked like in its prime. Perhaps a respectable merchant
slept here. Or maybe an army wife missing her husband. Or even a single parent
saving every penny to provide for his offspring.
As the street tapers to a round tip, I
identify the sallow yellow abode I was raised in. Unruly ivy branches climb the
outer walls, and multicolored rose bushes shroud part of the fractured stone
walkway. Finally standing on the limp welcome mat, I capture one last deep
breath before rapping firmly on the quaint maple door. I hear footsteps rapidly
approaching on the other side, and calmly anticipate the extravagant greetings
of my family members. The lock disengages, and the door swings violently
inward.
Chapter 9
“Avey, my precious baby!” my mother coos
as she smothers me in a crushing embrace. “I’ve missed you so much! How is
everything? How is school? Are you eating right?”
“Easy mom,” I reprimand. “I have only
been here a minute! It’s been a long day. I can fill you in on everything
later.”
As I struggle against her iron grip to
release myself, she gives me three quick pecks on the forehead before turning
her attention to another victim.
“And Tate. How come you don’t visit more
often? You are like the perfect son I never had.” She snags him in a warm hug,
and I hear a yelp of protest from within the house.
“What’s all this about the perfect son
you never had? You are looking at him!”
“Rian!” I exclaim, tackling my oaf of a
brother. Our reunions never become more composed, but rather seem to have
become even more dramatic over time. You would think we hadn’t seen each other
in years from the exaggerated display of emotion.
He chuckles as he ruffles my hair and
plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Hey, squirt. What’s up?”
“Not much,” I reply. “Just kicking your
butt in my midterms.” Of course this remark is entirely false since Rian scored
near perfect on every exam before he ascended.
“Yeah right,” he sneers in response. I
glance behind him and see Amy huddled awkwardly in the corner. She is obviously
unsure of how to react to such blatant displays of emotion and physical
proximity. I decide to extend an olive branch to my potential sister-in-law.
“Hey Amy. I love your sweater. It really
brings out the warmth in your eyes. Is it wool?”
“Actually, it is cashmere,” she primly
replies. Amy never uses contractions in her speech; it’s too colloquial in her
opinion. She delicately folds her hands front of her, and begins to rock back
and forth on her toes.
“I wish I had something that elegant,” I
respond with a touch of insincere longing in my voice. In reality, I couldn’t
care less about the clothes I wear as long as they protect me from the elements.
Function before form.
“Can I feel it?” I request.
“Sure… Here,” she offers her sleeve as if
I am a ravenous dog about to chew her arm off. I gingerly rub the cashmere
between my index finger and thumb, nodding in appreciation of its rich
silkiness.
“Wow, it’s so soft!” I cry.
“Yes. It is,” Amy concedes. Rian looks at
me with thinly veiled gratitude and mouths a silent “thank you”. He knows it is
hard for me to include Amy in our conversations since we have such different
priorities.
My mother animatedly gestures to the
group, declaring, “Let’s all come inside. Avey and Tate, you must be tuckered
out.
is nothing I can say to bring this vision into fruition, and must savor the
ephemeral dream instead.
We enter the residential complex for tier
two doctors and their children, strolling down a pitch-black street of
crackling pavement with identical houses lining the sides. Originally, these
homes were constructed as carbon copies of one another, however, time has
ravaged some more than others. To our right, a rumpled husk of stucco and
timber lays splayed out in the amber glow of setting sun. I wonder what this tangle
of concrete and wood looked like in its prime. Perhaps a respectable merchant
slept here. Or maybe an army wife missing her husband. Or even a single parent
saving every penny to provide for his offspring.
As the street tapers to a round tip, I
identify the sallow yellow abode I was raised in. Unruly ivy branches climb the
outer walls, and multicolored rose bushes shroud part of the fractured stone
walkway. Finally standing on the limp welcome mat, I capture one last deep
breath before rapping firmly on the quaint maple door. I hear footsteps rapidly
approaching on the other side, and calmly anticipate the extravagant greetings
of my family members. The lock disengages, and the door swings violently
inward.
Chapter 9
“Avey, my precious baby!” my mother coos
as she smothers me in a crushing embrace. “I’ve missed you so much! How is
everything? How is school? Are you eating right?”
“Easy mom,” I reprimand. “I have only
been here a minute! It’s been a long day. I can fill you in on everything
later.”
As I struggle against her iron grip to
release myself, she gives me three quick pecks on the forehead before turning
her attention to another victim.
“And Tate. How come you don’t visit more
often? You are like the perfect son I never had.” She snags him in a warm hug,
and I hear a yelp of protest from within the house.
“What’s all this about the perfect son
you never had? You are looking at him!”
“Rian!” I exclaim, tackling my oaf of a
brother. Our reunions never become more composed, but rather seem to have
become even more dramatic over time. You would think we hadn’t seen each other
in years from the exaggerated display of emotion.
He chuckles as he ruffles my hair and
plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Hey, squirt. What’s up?”
“Not much,” I reply. “Just kicking your
butt in my midterms.” Of course this remark is entirely false since Rian scored
near perfect on every exam before he ascended.
“Yeah right,” he sneers in response. I
glance behind him and see Amy huddled awkwardly in the corner. She is obviously
unsure of how to react to such blatant displays of emotion and physical
proximity. I decide to extend an olive branch to my potential sister-in-law.
“Hey Amy. I love your sweater. It really
brings out the warmth in your eyes. Is it wool?”
“Actually, it is cashmere,” she primly
replies. Amy never uses contractions in her speech; it’s too colloquial in her
opinion. She delicately folds her hands front of her, and begins to rock back
and forth on her toes.
“I wish I had something that elegant,” I
respond with a touch of insincere longing in my voice. In reality, I couldn’t
care less about the clothes I wear as long as they protect me from the elements.
Function before form.
“Can I feel it?” I request.
“Sure… Here,” she offers her sleeve as if
I am a ravenous dog about to chew her arm off. I gingerly rub the cashmere
between my index finger and thumb, nodding in appreciation of its rich
silkiness.
“Wow, it’s so soft!” I cry.
“Yes. It is,” Amy concedes. Rian looks at
me with thinly veiled gratitude and mouths a silent “thank you”. He knows it is
hard for me to include Amy in our conversations since we have such different
priorities.
My mother animatedly gestures to the
group, declaring, “Let’s all come inside. Avey and Tate, you must be tuckered
out.
Similar Books
