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"Washington: That Little Square State Where It Always Rains and There are More Coffee Cups In One Square Mile Than People, Pets, and Cars Combined? Yeah I've Heard Of It…"
March 9th-- Sunday
Why Reality isn't as Glamorous as TV Makes it Out to Be-- Or I Fell in Love with Southwest Airlines Thanks to Bravo's show "Airlines"
-8:00 AM-
My Spring Break plans are as followed:
2 hours waiting in an airport terminal for our flight to leave
2 and a half hours in the air, flying, waiting to get to Seattle
4 days in Washington, waiting around for Serena's dad to show up
2 hours waiting in an airport terminal for our flight to leave
2 and half hours in the air, flying, waiting to get to L.A.
Serena, I love you dearly, but seriously: Washington? Why the fuck must we trek all the way to Washington? Okay, so it's not that far away, as say, oh, Georgia or something. But WASHINGTON? That place has got to be the most boring, depressing place on the planet and I get to spring break there. Bye bye sun. Bye bye booze. Bye bye my last high school spring break. I am off on a man hunt. No, don't say anything. I think we are better off it we do not speak anymore. I will return…someday…
You know what, I am surprised that Blake as yet to commit suicide. Seattle does have the highest suicide rate after all. Though he does have the whore and a sex trophy to worry about. I hope I never end up like her. If I do, it is your job to kill me… No, I take that back, I want to live forever! I don't want to die! Or die really young, like 50. There is no way in hell I am going to let myself get all old and wrinkly. NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!
Oh hey, I have internet in an airport! -dances- See ya later, paper, I am going to play solitaire on my laptop.
-10:00ish PM-
Airbuses are just like ground buses: cramped, chocked full of people, with bathrooms you don't want to use but have to anyway because it is less embarrassing than pissing your pants. Oh the wonder of mass transit. I bet you butterflies or ducks don't have this problem. But unlike buses, airplanes do not allow electronics unless the captain says so. I get the cell phone rule-- sorta. HOW THE FUCK DOES AN IPOD OR LAPTOP INTERFERE WITH A PLANE?!? They don't emit potentially cancerous radiation wave things. Screw you, captain. You went to school to fly, not to tell me when I can and cannot listen to my iPod. I have parents for that, thank you very much.
-11:15ish PM-
I wonder what the survival rate would be if we plummeted to the ground at this very moment…
-12:05ish PM-
So far this trip has exceeded my expectations. Why? BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANY! -sigh- Though two hours in a plane isn't much of a trip. This is just the first leg of it. But I have been to Tacoma before, so I can say it is nothing special. As for this place-- Forks? Or La Push? One of the two… I do not know. Nor do I really want to. Not only is it in Washington, it is by the coast and it RAINS. NON STOP. -beats forehead into tray table- As long as I remind myself that this is all for Serena, I won't turn into a selfish bitch and gripe around every fucking little detail. I will however bitch about something. Like the rain. And the cold. And the lack of sun. But not the Starbucks. That is the highlight of this trip. Starbucks.
-sigh- Serena appears to be depressed or worse… She hasn't said a word the entire flight. I really do hope for her sake we find her father. I mean that is the whole reason we are spending Spring Break in Washington. So far, all we know is that he lives on the reservation on the coast, La Push it is called. It's said the have beautiful beaches and tide pools. Hopefully the weather will be nice enough that we can go see 'em. It would be even better if her father showed us around. I pray to God that we find him for her sake. Then maybe after I punch his lights out the bonding can begin. Well either way, this was not a waste of time or money. I love Serena too much to consider that. Or accept anything in return.
Though a Starbucks would be nice right about now…
-12:30ish PM-
Circling…circling… Clouds…clouds… Annoyed…annoyed…
How fucking long does it take for someone to land a fucking plane?!?!? It's not that hard! Okay, it does look hard, but still! Clouds, last time I checked, are made of water vapor not glass and can be plowed through by a plane!! Just turn the nose down and pray that the tires meet tarmac and not some highway. Though it would be cool to end up on the evening news. I can see it now… "Plane Forced to Make an Emergency Landing on the Highway When Crazy Teen Girl Demands to Land the Plane Herself…" What a way to start a vacation. Fucking finally! We get to land! How hard what that? Wait, don't answer me. My fist and your face want to remain neutral and I want to stay out of Federal Prison. Shalom Muther Fuckers!! See you all in my own personal Hell!! -evil cackle, lightning-
The aircraft landed seamlessly onto one of the various tarmac runways criss-crossing Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. As is taxied, restless passengers began to clamor for carry-ons, small children, or simply to stretch stiff muscles.
Once again the captain addressed the cabin over the intercom, recapping the weather forecast (overcast with a light downpour), welcoming them to the area, and thanked for flying Southwest Airlines. With the jet way in place and the door open, passengers began to trickle out, the isle bottle-necking with human traffic. Seasoned travelers remained seated and patiently waited for the initial chaos to pass. Seated in the back row were two young females, essentially barricaded from the exit by a wall of people.
Sophie frowned as she peered over the rows of emptying chairs, lips pursed in a thin line. A toddler had dropped his stuff animal and wailed at the loss. His mother created a roadblock of hips and butt as she fished it out from beneath the seat, stalling departure even longer. Sophie groaned in annoyance and slammed the seat intentionally when she leaned back. Bleach blonde bangs-- evidently unnatural as tawny brown strands tumbled out from beneath the single choppy layer of dyed hair --flopped into her eyes and she brushed them back into place.
Sophie resembled a Cali native: shoulder-length blonde hair, skin tanned to a healthy golden-brown, hazel eyes, and a haughty look with an attitude to match. With the exception of the blonde being highlighted further with temporary hair color; this week's color: reddish-black. To the left of Sophie sat her best friend, Serena. Serena stared stoically out the oval window, detached from the world surrounding her.
And for just cause. This flight and subsequent trip was primarily for her benefit.
More than eighteen years ago her mother, young and naive, had a short romantic fling with a young man from Washington. Which resulted in Serena's conception. But before he knew of the pregnancy, the man fled back home, leaving behind a bitter, jaded woman and her child. Serena knew little of her father growing up as her mother refused to speak of him. When she did, her words were full of anger and resentment. After hours of coaxing, she had managed to dredge up enough information to lead her to Washington; he was rumored to reside in the coastal reservation of La Push.
Serena favored both of her parents' nationality (Hispanic and Native America, mother and father respectively): straight black hair that fell to her waist, reddish-brown skin that absorbed the rays of sun readily without burning, dark eyes that were either brown or black depending on how the light shone, and a small, slender frame. Superficially, the two girls were polar opposites. Sophie: a no-holds-barred, brash, opinionated loud-mouth; Serena: a thoughtful, reserved, mature-beyond-years model citizen. Yet the two girls balanced each other nicely and a remarkable friendship was forged, spanning the better part of six years.
It had been Sophie's generosity and persistence that gave Serena the chance to met her estranged father. Not that she had much of a choice in the matter after Sophie had purchased the plane tickets without her consent. It was just another quirky way she expressed how she cared for her friend. Serena was deeply appreciative of the notion but was apprehensive of the whole deal. Though she never made it public. Like so many of Sophie's devious ploys, Serena had no choice but to reluctantly follow and keep the damage to a minimal. Except the damage would be confined to her.
"Hey, Rena, lets go," Sophie said, prodding Serena's shoulder. "I don't want to end up on the East Coast." Bag shouldered, she slipped out into the empty isle. Only the stewardesses remained aboard.
"Coming," Serena replied after a moment's delay.
She had been steeling herself for the trip, weaving an impassive mask so she appeared as if nothing bothered her. While in reality her gut clenched with brooding anxiety. Serena anticipated meeting her father, to ask her only question: "Why?" Until then she would be deceptively calm and rational-- an act she had perfected to rehearsed lines. An act that had allowed her to survive this long without adverse effect. Serena shouldered an old book bag and followed Sophie down the narrow isle.
Moisture hung in the air and clung to every surface. It was a stark contrast to the warm, relatively dry weather of Temecula they had left behind. Serena transitioned gracefully whereas Sophie griped, predictably, about the weather. The lack of sleep and caffeine coupled with the hours spent sitting and waiting in cramped, crowded conditions made Sophie irritable and prone to lashing out against hapless victims. The weather and airport were targeted; people were just too easy and readily available worldwide.
"What the fuck is up with all the windows?" Sophie commented, eyes surveying the terminal. "Windows are suppose to let sun in, but there is no sun, now is there?" Her words trailed off into an inaudible grumble.
"Hell if I know," Serena muttered.
She was too preoccupied to indulge Sophie and her petty complaints. For some inexplicable reason, she desperately combed the crowds for a face. His face, her father. Then the brutal reality smashed her girlish delusion. If he could not have the courtesy to go down to California to meet his daughter, what would convince him to do so at an airport. A chagrin filled sigh escaped Serena.
"So where is your brother going to meet us?" Serena interjected.
Sophie had a glassy look in her eyes as the siren song Starbucks sung along the concourse lured her in.
"Baggage claim," Sophie replied, successfully eluding the temptation no thanks to her own will.
Sophie's older brother, and eldest of the three Zennick children, Blake, coincidentally resided near Tacoma. He had followed in his father's footsteps and enlisted in the Armed Forces at eighteen, but opted for the Army branch rather than the Marine. Heavy artillery may or may not have influenced that decision. After completing the mandatory training at the Mohave Desert installment, he had been deployed to Camp Lewis between Tacoma and Olympia-- it was sheer luck and a touch of skill that had kept him two states away, and not more, from his family.
Convenient, practical, and an infallible excuse, Blake had become the cornerstone of this escapade. Some of the finer details had been spared, at least when Sophie proposed the idea to her parents, more particularly her mother. Serena's mother, on the other hand, could care less whether or not the man was alive, or if Serena went so long she as was not footing the bill. Sophie had managed to get a package deal with her brother: a room in his apartment and transportation to and from La Push in his old car. Something he would have offered regardless of the situation.
Serena was indebted to the siblings. Without them she could have gone another eighteen years without meeting her father easily. She suppressed a smile as she remembered a pointed comment Sophie had made when she first devised this plan. Brother or no brother, she would have made this possible, even if that meant driving the twenty-two odd hours sustained on RedBull and M&Ms. Serena found her friend's stubbornness both a blessing and curse, but it was the undeterred loyalty and fathomless compassion and understanding (yes, it was there, just have to dig a little) that she was smitten with.
Yet once again skepticism spoiled the mood, creeping in unwelcome.
Large white arrows guided them through the maze of people, baggage, and escalators to baggage claim. A herd of passengers crowded the carousel to wrest luggage from metal while trying not to trod upon feet. Sophie paused several feet away, scouting the crowds for her brother's face, while Serena used her small frame to slip between two business men and stake out their luggage.
Blake drew upon his military skills-- the constant vigilance the Army had instilled --to locate his sister and her friend. He found the pair after a second sweep and went to greet them with sharp, concise steps. Blake was easily three inches taller than his younger sister, a touch above average at 5'9"½. Though not burly, his broad shoulders and well toned muscle made him intimidating. Blake favored his mother's Italian heritage in hair color and complexion: rich brown hair cut to regulatory military buzz, with eyes the same shade. Whereas Sophie was a perfect blend of the two nationalities, German and Italian.
Blake made a beeline for Serena as she battled for her suitcase.
"Thanks," she muttered, pushing thick black hair out of her face. The suitcase stood innocently on its wheels on the linoleum.
"Your welcome." Blake smiled warmly down at the girl who he considered almost a sister; he had known her just as long as Sophie did. "You haven't changed one bit, Serena." He swept the girl up into a one-armed hug. "How have you been?"
"Fine. How are you and your little boy?" She returned.
"We're all doing good."
"What about me?" Sophie demanded pointedly, pushing through the dispersing crowd. Hands on her hips, she stared up at her brother. Blake chuckled.
"I couldn't forget about you, no matter how hard I tried." Sophie huffed, exasperated. Laughing at the petulant expression, Blake pulled Sophie into a hug. "It's nice to see you again, Sophe."
"I've missed you too, Blake," she muttered softly.
After the short exchange and another victory over the metallic machine, Blake escorted Sophie and Serena to his car, rolling both suitcases while simultaneously inquiring about life back home. Outside the glass doors and cement walls, the humidity was more intense than the small sample from the jet way. Sophie choked on her first breath of Washington air, body unsure whether it should breathe or swallow. Serena dismissed the drama but not the weather condition; the excess moisture began to dampen her hair, making the strands cumbersome.
"I am going to drown," Sophie whimpered as she clamored into Blake's Nissan Pathfinder.
"You just might," Serena added absently.
Buckled up in the back seat, she stared out the window. She had gotten this far and suddenly felt the urge to flee. All she needed was an excuse to turn back… No, she reprimanded herself. So much had already been put on the line for her sake and she could not repay with cowardice. Blake and Sophie chattered, the drive to La Push briefly mentioned. So far it only consisted of the actual drive and the possibility of overnight in the town of Forks. The day and time they left, along with how long they spent on the reservation hinged on Serena's discretion. Serena tuned the conversation out, and studied the wet cityscape outside her window. What a miserable place, she thought to herself. A perfect place to stage a miserable reunion… She continued to stare stoically out the window, allowing the dismal weather to seep in until she felt akin to it.
For the first half of the drive she faded in and out with the tones of the voices. Anger at her own blatant weakness and concern singed the pathetic emotions that had plagued her over the last few days, leaving behind a somber emptiness. Now was not the time let her guards down, especially not when the situation was already tenuous as it was.
"So, the how are the skank and the sex trophy doin'?" Sophie inquired in a patronizing tone after a lull in topics. Blake scowled his disproval.
"It's Felicity and Aiden," he corrected shortly.
"Whatever. All I care about is whether or not I have to see them."
Sophie had a natural repulsion to small children, her year-old nephew in particular. But it was the former whom she loathed, an opinion she expressed all to readily. It was not a petty strife one might automatically assume. Rather Sophie tended to be over-protective by nature in all aspects of life-- belonging to friends and families-- especially when it came to relationships. Like a critical mother-in-law, she felt that Felicity was not the woman Blake should be with despite his vehement declarations of love.
The animosity was neutral.
"They're staying the night, so you better behave yourself. I don't want a repeat of last time." Sophie moaned but the piercing glare Blake bestowed sent the girl cowering into the seat. Very few could turn Sophie meek.
In a startling contrast, Blake glanced back to Serena, eyes crinkled in a smile.
"So Serena, are you going to cook me some of that killer Mexican Sophe keeps bragging about? Or will I have to just believe with what my melodramatic sister has to say?" He goaded coyly.
"I can make dinner tonight. Sophie said you are dying for decent, home-made Mexican food."
Serena brightened at the prospect of cooking. It would take her mind off of her father, albeit briefly.
"Great! We can stop by the store on the way home."
Time became insignificant: no longer a source of stress or a reminder of the inevitable. Replaced by menial tasks such as shopping or card games.
Serena relished the distraction florescent lighted isles presented as her mind automatically set to work analyzing the shelves of groceries, mentally creating a list. Raw surprise occasionally lit up her black fathomless eyes upon finding a specialty ingredient this far north. Satisfied with what the grocery store had to offer, the trio checked out and proceeded home.
Once there-- Blake had hauled the luggage up while the girls carried the much more cooperative plastic bags --another mundane task: unloading and storing the groceries. Afterwards Sophie and Serena joined Blake in the living room where he taught them all the card games he had picked up on the base. Many of which were tactical and required careful thinking. Halfway through one game, Sophie threw a temper tantrum at an error that would spell yet another loss. After coaxing both girl and cards from the couch, the game resumed.
At the point where 'afternoon' was replaced with 'evening' Felicity arrived with a fussing baby boy cradled in her arms. Tension cackled across the small room when Sophie and Felicity caught sight of one another. Before the verbal sparring could begin, Serena demanded Sophie's assistance in the kitchen. Reluctantly Sophie agreed, tongue curled carefully around a witty rejoinder should Felicity attack in her absence.
Soon the kitchen was alive with the smells and sounds of cooking. Pots and pans bubbled and simmered on the stove; pungent vegetables and herbs wafted on steamy vessels; dishes clattered as they toppled over. By the time the sun fell beneath the horizon, the table buckled under the expansive spread of food. Blake whistled in admiration.
"Dang, Serena, you didn't have to make all this," he commented, piling his plate with food. Serena shrugged.
"It's a habit… But I hope you like it."
"It looks amazing and it smells wonderful," Felicity complimented. "I wish I could cook like this." Sophie snorted into her plate.
Dinner, surprisingly, was a civil affair, conversation free of bickering-- brother/sister, sister/girlfriend. Topics varied, but generally followed a theme: school, jobs, friends, casual curiosity of life. Until Sophie interjected twice to rant about police officers (how she seemed to be a magnet for speeding tickets) and city politics. The latter escalated into a debate about the upcoming elections.
Blake and Sophie cleaned up afterwards, allowing Serena to relax with Felicity and Aiden, both of whom she got along with. The remainder of the evening was spent in a similar manner playing cards and watching prime time television.
Around ten o'clock the couple migrated upstairs, leaving the girls to themselves. An hour later Serena rose from the couch and ascended the stairs. Sophie clamored to her feet to follow.
Serena's emotions returned with a vengeance much to her chagrin. Before Sophie could ask what was wrong, she had ducked into the bathroom, toiletries in hand. Sophie sat on the edge of the bed, body bobbing up and down, with a thoughtful almost pensive expression. Serena had no desire to talk, not even to Sophie. So she crawled under the covers of her bed with her back to the room and sighed.
Minutes ticked by audibly on the analog clock.
"Are you okay?" Sophie asked, voice soft.
"I'm fine," Serena replied with finality.
The tone did not invite further conversation. Sophie sighed.
"No you're not. I know that sigh, Serena. It's your 'I-don't-want-to-do-this' sigh." Amusement colored the pitch of her voice. "We don't have to go if you don't want to. We can stay here and hang out with Blake for the week, forget about why we came here in the first place."
"No, I want to get this over with. Now. I've waited this long and I don't want to wait any longer." Though she could not see her friend's face, Serena knew there was a smile plastered there.
"That's the spirit, Rena."
The warm encouragement dissipated the moment Sophie shut the door behind her. Serena sighed and nestled into the sheets.
Eyes closed, she laid there listening to the a specific track of sounds night brought. Sleep was elusive, but for how long remained uncertain. An hour, maybe two? Her body felt heavy with fatigue though her mind was reluctant to submit. At long last Serena fell asleep, though it was no better than being conscious. Even her dreams would not allow her to escape the tumult of her emotions.
"Welcome To Forks."
"Good morning, Tacoma!" Exclaimed the jovial, excessively caffeinated anchorwoman. Her ear to ear smile outshone the sunny city skyline backdrop, which, in the Seattle/Tacoma area, was pathetically simple. "Today is going to be another beautiful day! The temperature is excepted to be in the high--"
"You lie, bitch," Sophie grumbled as the weather report rattled on. "You don't have shit on Google."
An equally obnoxious field anchor continued to gush over the spring weather before the tenor shifted to a more pensive story.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the stair well followed by incoherent muttering. Blake stumbled off the last stair and into the living room.
"What the fuck, Sophe, it's five a.m." He said groggily after surveying the source of the racket.
"Couldn't sleep," came her generic reply.
Yawning, he fell into the couch, his bulk consuming its entire surface. His glassy eyes stared absently at the TV screen. So spring had finally sprung on the Pacific coast, or so the news claimed. As did the crime rate. Each segment ran into one another as Blake slowly ascended to wakefulness.
"Coffee," he grunted.
Sophie nodded and scrambled into the kitchen, leaving the remote just barely out of arm's reach. A few minutes later she returned with a steaming cup of black coffee in hand. She grimaced at the brackish liquid before thrusting it at her brother. In turn, he gulped it down and demanded more. Sophie fetched another cup and returned with a bowl of cereal too. Balancing it on her lap, she spooned a few pieces in while punching in travel details and destination.
"What did you do all night?" He asked. Placing the cup on a coffee table, Blake eased into a sitting position, flexing his arms in a stretch. With the remote now in reach, he grabbed it and lowered the volume.
"Watched George Carlin clips on YouTube, played on Google Maps, called Mom, which was a bad idea cause she gave me the third degree," Sophie rattled off. "I guess she stayed up all night waiting for me to call and then took it out on me when I finally did. That woman is backwards…"
"Where's Serena?"
"Upstairs sleeping, I think." Between eating cereal and tapping away on the keyboard, Sophie jotted down sloppy directions to La Push. Afterwards, she searched for the nearest Starbucks and any that just so happened to be along their route.
"Do you know where Sporks is?" Sophie called. Blake had wandered into the kitchen for more coffee and breakfast.
"What?" Came his answering shout.
The ten foot difference required loud words.
"Sporks."
"No…" He sat back down with his own bowl of cereal.
"How about La Push?"
"Huh? La Push? Never heard of it."
Sophie gave a put-upon sigh. "Do you ever leave the city? Or use Google Maps for that matter?"
Leaning over his sister's shoulder, Blake studied the screen, rolled his eyes, and playfully shoved her head. "I'm not as pathetic as you," he commented. "And there is a Starbucks closer than that one."
"Google doesn't lie," Sophie returned darkly.
The siblings returned to their respective tasks: Blake eating breakfast and watching a less cheerfully staffed news channel, Sophie futzing on Google Maps while checking written notes.
"I need to borrow the Neon," Sophie said at last.
"Where are you goin'?" Blake asked between mouthfuls.
"Red light district. I need some pot and sex. That's where I can get it all in one place, right?" She sniggered while her brother dismissed the sarcasm. "I'm kidding. Rena and I are going to drive to this reservation called La Push to look for her father. We'll over-night in this little backwater town of Forks if we have too. I told you all this yesterday."
"Alright, just be careful. Seattle is not like L.A. or San Diego."
"No shit, Sherlock. How many years did that take you and Watson to deduce?"
As Blake stood he shoved Sophie. A satisfactory squeal followed him into the kitchen. Sophie stalked after him, glaring darkly, and snatched a fistful of paper towels to blot the milk off her pajama pants. Mission accomplished.
It was seven o'clock by the time Serena appeared at the foot of the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and smoothing down her bed head.
"Morning Sunshine," Sophie chimed from the couch.
"Morning," Serena replied in a flat tone. Sophie scrunched her legs to her chest, allowing Serena to plop into the unoccupied cushion. Brightly colored, exuberant cartoons played across the TV. High-pitched voices chattered incessantly.
"How did you sleep?" Sophie inquired during a commercial. Classic cartoons demanded respect and undivided attention.
"Not bad," Serena lied. Her dark eyes gazed, unfocused, on the screen. In fact, she had not slept at all; an hour at most.
Anxiety dominated her waking mind as several different scenarios played over and over, from the very worst to the best. Also, a child-like excitement thrummed through her body at the prospect of meeting her real father for the first time in her short life. Combined with all the other emotions, it created a witch's brew for a sleepless night.
"That's good." The show had resumed, for which she was thankful, and diverted Sophie's attention once again.
Serena continued to brood silently over their "vacation" plans and the inevitable drive to the coastal reservation of La Push. Where, presumably, her father lived.
"So when do you wanna leave for Sporks?" Sophie asked and prodded Serena in the shoulder with her foot. The screen was black with rolling credits. Serena winced, but not from the contact.
"Anytime is fine with me," she murmured. A veil of hair shielded her face.
"Be ready in an hour." And with that Sophie bounded up the stairs two at a time. Driving and Starbucks, her two favorite past times, awaited.
Approximately three hours later and the pair were thirty minutes into the four and a half hour drive to La Push. Serena stared stoically out the window, void of protest or opinions. Which Sophie found uncharacteristic of her friend as she swore, wove dangerously though traffic at top speed, played with the radio, and sipped coffee all at once. Nor did she once hear a word from the punctual teacher's pet regarding the half-hour delay leaving the house or the forty-five minutes spent locating and standing in line at Starbucks. An unsettling silence and sense of foreboding emanated from the younger girl. Sophie staved it off with progressively louder, more rambunctious music.
Several miles down the highway with traffic considerably lighter, she stole a glance at her friend, who was curled up in the seat, jacket scrunched up as a makeshift pillow. Unsure whether or not Serena was truly asleep, she leaned across the center consul to poke her. The passenger did not rouse, so the music fell to a soft chorus.
A panoramic view of jade forests and gray sky engulfed the metropolis of Olympia, dense trees encroaching on the roadway. The wall of foliage occasionally retreated where towns stood in place of plant life. At first the alien landscape was intriguing, the rain clouds a delightful shield from a usually caustic sun; a break from the monochromatic south. But as the miles disappeared beneath the tires, so did the novelty of it all. Irritation replaced awe at the unrelenting corridor of trees. For a small stretch of the highway, the Pacific ocean was visible, a restless, roiling swathe of steel-gray. Rain began to drizzle sporadically; the icing on the cake. And if it could not get any worse-- Sophie grumbled the cliche --karma proved otherwise.
Red and blue lights gyrated atop a police cruiser, accompanied by a short, yet unmistakable, call of a siren. Glancing at the rear view, a slew of profanities coursed out of Sophie's mouth-- the first words she had spoken since entering the wilderness. She slowed the Neon and coasted to a stop along side a highway sign marking the town limits of Forks. The larger vehicle followed suit. Serena sat up sedately. A ghostly grin flitted across her face as she watched the officer approach the driver's window.
"Good afternoon," the officer greeted with a cheery smile. It seemed out of place in such a dismal atmosphere.
Afternoon?! Sophie looked at the clock and sure enough it read a little before two. With the sun absent, it was impossible to get a rough estimate on the hour; consulting the radio clock was antagonizing.
"Hi," she replied flatly, keeping the annoyance from her voice. Asinine behavior would not speed the process up.
"You girls aren't from around here, are you?" As the sheriff leaned against the door, Sophie read the dull gold badge. Swan. Huh, even the people were run-of-the-mill.
"Did the out of state plates give it away, or are you just fishing for an excuse to ticket me?" Sheriff Swan was taken aback, composure and friendly demeanor temporarily out of commission from the sarcastic remark. But he attributed it to her being a young, out-of-state driver, tired and irate from long hours of driving and shook it off like rain from a coat.
"So what part of California are you from?"
"Temecula." Judging by the absent look on the officer's face, he had no clue where it was. If Sophie wanted to test her luck she would have asked if he knew where Seattle was. In lieu, she added, "It's between L.A. and San Diego." He nodded and hummed thoughtfully while she drummed impatiently on the steering wheel.
Was this going to be 20 Questions or a traffic stop? "What did you pull me over for?"
"Oh right. I just wanted to give you two a warning, since you are not from around here, to drive safely. The roads get wet and slippery out here, especially now when it's raining."
"Law enforcement and meteorologist. Got any other degrees I should know about?"
Swan laughed, oblivious to the sarcasm once again. "No, no. Drive safe and enjoy Forks while you can. It's a nice town."
"Gag me with a spoon," she muttered while the window rolled into place.
The gravel shoulder squelched as the car peeled out. A small town materialized amongst the trees and intermingled seamlessly. Sophie cruised down the main street, throwing disproving glances in either direction. "You so owe me," she told Serena.
Serena nodded and brushed away bangs before resuming her vigil. This wasn't La Push but they were close. Maybe some of the locals would know of her father by name.
"Pull over," she requested, "I'm going to ask for directions to reservation." Without acknowledging or considering the traffic, Sophie turned into a gas station.
"I'll get the gas, you get directions and caffeine."
"Deal."
Serena darted out of the car and into the mist before trotting into the store. Bracing for the inevitable, Sophie stepped out of the car and into the humidity. Instantly she regretted Washington, the weather, the gas mileage of the car, but not orchestrating it all on Serena's behalf.
Author's Note: What was said about the military bases are true. I checked Google Maps and Wikipedia.
Additional Author's Note: Upon reviewing my work (it makes for spectacular inspiration), I realized I did not add a nifty note in regards to how pronounce Serena's name. The name is a Hispanic version and pronounced "sur-REN-a" rather than "sur-REEN-a". Short "E", like wren. Now I can sleep at night, hahaha.
