Hey this is a short post but it’s the story I promised. And I have a little update- I have bronchitis and had been spending the days playing catch up in my classes and it’s not great but as promised,
I look out my window to the barren trees, blurred. The sounds of the local music played, static leaking in with every verse. My mind fogged with grief and my eyes still a bit swollen. I usually enjoyed road trips on fall days like these but on a day like this I dreaded it with every bone in my body. I looked into the rear view mirror, meeting my driver’s eyes and welcoming a smile. A sympathetic smile, he can see right through me.
“Family visit?” I look up from my bitten up nails and force a smile, “Yeah.. You could say that.” He nods his head slightly and I close my eyes trying to focus on anything but what seemed to be eating me up inside. The horn blaring, the image of mom grasping onto dad in the backseat, and the loud crack that seems to haunt me. My eyesight falters on the trees, when I see a figure dressed in all red holding a black object I can’t make out, I shudder when I attempt to put it all together.
The rest of the ride was exchanged half smiles and in and out of sleep but finally I had arrived. The car door closed with a creak and I handed the driver his due and I grabbed my luggage. I stood there before the house I had only seen in pictures, the paint chipping, and the mailbox rusted. It seemed so foreign in my city girl eyes and all at once my eyes caught onto her and then involuntarily I started to sprint towards her familiar face. And she opened her arms. Warm tears streamed down my face and blurred my vision. And as I latched onto her I never wanted to let go of her, of the feeling, of my home, “Addy I’m so sorry..” She began but I stopped her. “Can we talk later?” “Of course.” She opened the door and I stepped in welcoming the smell of crisp country air and a delicious aroma that seems like you would only find in a bakery.
I had never seen this woman’s house in person nor been inside it and it had a warm feeling attached to it something my city home could never give me. I had known this woman all my life, Josie but since her and my mom were so close I call her Aunt Josie. Aunt Josie had only been to our city home and I had never been to her house, and not to mention I had never met her kids. My mom used to tell me her house was bustling with 7 kids, but there was 6 since her oldest moved out. But when I stepped into her house and placed my luggage down for the first time I knew I would have to incorporate myself as 7.
That was before Lucas.
Did you guys like it? Lemme know!