This is the first chapter of my multi-chapter I've been planning since just about the beginning of Hell Bound. The plot really has a lot of sentimental value because I've been in this position before but under different circumstances. I hope you guys like it as much as I do.
It's funny the way things happen. They way things just happen to turn out for the better or worse. I realized at a tender age that the world is a bitch, nothing less than that. I realize that the world just doesn't stop so you can sit there and wonder why the things that happen did. It keeps going, whether you damn like it or not. The world keeps spinning and people keep living and dying. It doesn't give you reasons why those horrible things happen or gives you consolation when you land back at rock bottom. The age I learned that wasn't exactly the age that anyone would want that sort of outlook at life
Frankly, I didn't like the way my deck of cards were dealt, but it wasn't like I had a say in the matter anyways.
I didn't know how I found myself back in the small town of Lake Cheyenne, Connecticut, the town I swore to myself five years ago I would never return to. I don't know how I found myself bent over in the drivers seat of my car, my head resting on the steering wheel at eight in the morning, waiting for my brother to get in so we could start this summer which was certain to be horrendous.
He just had to bring all of his lacrosse equipment and play Tetris with my trunk as he tried unsuccessfully to fit everything in the small car. From the rear view mirror I could see his puzzled face as he moved his hockey sticks back and forth while trying to stuff his overly sized bag in the back. Finally, when everything was figured out and I was nearly as aggravated as a nest of disturbed hornets, Mike got into the car with a triumphant smile. I just forced the key into the ignition and headed for the highway, trying to calm myself down with the spectrum of emotions piled in me.
"Blue car says I buy the pizza for dinner, red car says you do." Mike said from the passenger seat, though his voice didn't have the usual challenging tone to it like he used to when he made a deal like that. We were halfway to the house, at least that's what I thought from what appeared on my GPS. I was just thankful that Mike had his phone to distract him otherwise he'd try to start unnecessary conversations that would further drive me up the wall. But that was the way things were done between me and him. From the tender ages of eight and six, we had devised a solution for all our bickers in the car. If a blue vehicle passed us next, the battle was in my favor. A red car meant it was in Mike's.
From the corner of my eye, I could see his face falling. He was no longer entranced in whatever game he happened to be playing on his cell.
"Who says were getting pizza? Isn't mom making dinner when we get there?" My eyes quickly dart to the electronic clock in my car, as expected, it was only around ten. Why my brother was thinking about dinner in the midst of all out families troubles was beyond me.
"Mom and Dad had to stop at the oncologist for his last checkup with him before they leave because." He stopped. "You know." The words violently stabbed into my heart as mercilessly they did all the five years ago we received the horrible news in the very town we were heading to. I knew if people in the town found out, it would Rosewood all over again. The only reason I had for being thankful that we were on a 'vacation' was that I'd be away from all the pity stares I got back in my home town. Just about everyone who wasn't living under a rock knew my dad had cancer. I started to get special treatments from teachers and adults who just felt bad for me, I was sick of it. Extra points on tests and pushed back due dates just for me was great and all seeing all the pain and stress I was being put through with my family. But I didn't need it. I was thankful I had things to distract me from these horrible thoughts that clouded my mind.
His last. It was basically my dad's last everything this summer. The last vacation with his family, his last time swimming in a pool or in the lake by the house. It was said all the time by almost everyone and I was sick of it. His last this and his last that, I got it. I knew it was only a few months till he'd be taking his last breath.
"Yeah, I know." I said, possibly more harshly than I intended. Mike sighed as a blue car zoomed by in a obvious rush in the opposite lane. But it was apparent that the cost of a pizza for two wasn't the thing Mike was upset about.
Driving into Lake Cheyenne was just the first of many nostalgic pangs I'd be feeling throughout the day. The large green sign that read Welcome To Lake Cheyenne looked as new and shiny as it did the last time we drove past it all those years ago. The whole town looked as if nothing had ever changed, maybe except a few shops here and there but it the whole thing was a strange replica of the place I used to call home before five summers ago, the worst summer I could ever recall.
I was surprised that I still knew the roads here like I knew the back of my hand. The town was small, I'd give it that. It was small enough that everyone could know everyone and probably did. But as I stepped out of my car, my already worn down flip flops hitting the driveway ground, the place suddenly felt alien. The house looked like it came out of our family photos that we would take in front of it every year. It looked exactly like it did before, the yellow walls and wooden porch. The milk white shingles that hung from the windows. The dark green door with the all too happy welcome sign hanging off of it. It was a wonder that the renters who used this house never changed any of it.
"I got your bag, Aria. You just bring the other stuff." Mike called out, stuffing both of our travel bags underneath his muscular arms and hiking up the wooden stairs to the house. He seemed to be as shocked to be here as I was. Only he was better at hiding it. He almost seemed excited to be here.
A few steps back took me to the trunk of my car, where I piled all the rest of my bags into my arms and shut the trunk with a light slam. The last thing I'd want to do was alert people that we were back in town. This was a town where everyone knew everyone else. It wasn't like a Rosewood though, where everyone was is everyone else's business. This town was full of such caring and nice people, it's just that one aspect that made me sick.
"What do you think?" Mike asked, stretching out his arms and swirling around the room like he had never seen the interior of the place. "Looks like nothing ever changed. I thought for sure all of this furniture would be gone." I watched him with a half smile as his body collapsed into the cream colored couch and his hand patted around blindly for the television remote.
"Didn't workers come back here and refurnish everything before we got here?" I said, crossing my arms and chucking as Mike tried to remember.
"Maybe, I don't know."
Shaking my head, I turned around and headed for the large stairs that led to where me and Mike's bedrooms were. As I was walking up, I observed all the picture frames that remained with us in them. One especially caught my eye, and made me want to throw it into the ancient fire place in the living room.
There, sitting on the wall in its ocean blue frame, in all it's glory, was a photo of me and my dear old friend, Alison. We haven't spoken since I left and I never intend to again. She was basically my best friend from ages seven to thirteen but she was probably long gone from here anyway. The cringe worthy picture was of us, our arms draped around each others backs, with dripping red popsicle stains on our lips. We looked around nine. A few years after we first met. But the picture looked as though we knew each other from birth. Now I felt like I couldn't even remember her last name.
It took me all the more courage to walk into my room. I was quite honestly surprised that the previous renters of the house hadn't changed it up all that much. The walls were still painted a pastel purple color that I now detested. The slanted ceiling was still covered with the posters of Leonardo DiCaprio and Justin Timberlake that Alison used to rip out of trashy magazines we got from the 7-11 down the road and paste on my walls.
As I opened the closet, ready to stuff all of my summer clothes in, I noticed a tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird laying on the ground. I could feel my heart lurch as I picked the book up as if it were radioactive and flipped the cover. Inside the book, in clean script, read 'property of Ezra Fitzgerald'. It stung that I could still remember clearly the night Ezra had given it to me as a small present. It had been the first time I was in his bedroom, nothing sexual had happened from the fact that we were eleven and fourteen. I knew he had spied me flipping through the novel and reading a few pages. The next time I had saw him, he had messily wrapped it in Christmas themed paper and gave it to me on the Fourth of July. It was kinda cheesy, but as a naive eleven year old who pined for a guy she couldn't have, I thought it was cute.
It was strange for me to think that Ezra would be 20 now. I couldn't help but wonder if he still had that one curl in his hair that never left his forehead, or if he even had his curly hair anymore. He would be a man now, and in college. I doubted he would be here anymore. He was probably attending some large, prestigious university thanks to his mother's large checkbook and his magnificent brain. It was no surprise to anyone that the Fitzgerald's stayed in one of the largest houses in the entire tiny town. It was still lost on me as to why a woman as high end and wealthy as Dianne Fitzgerald would want to buy a lake house in Lake Cheyenne as opposed to Long Island or Ocean City. But from the ages ten to thirteen, I surely wasn't complaining.
Huffing, I shoved the book deeper into the closet and began stuffing my shirts and shorts into the closet and shutting it with a loud slam to relieve some of the anger inside of me. It was honestly torturous enough to even think that I'd have to spend two and a half months in this town. I had no idea how I was expected to last a whole summer in this dreadful town. How was I supposed to survive in this house that held almost as many bad memories as good ones. How was I supposed to contain myself when my mother and father came in the next day? My poor, deeply depressed mother and my terminal father. My father who didn't even have five more months to live.
Well, there it is. I hope you liked it and please review! :)
