Big Yellow Taxi
Chapter 4
Item by colorful item Rowan pulled each piece of clothing she had from inside the small closet she shared with her mother. She held the clothes up in front of her, turning back and forth in front of the old faded mirror that hung on the wall in her mother's room. The glass was foggy in spots and most of Rowan's reflection was blocked by a picture someone had painted on the face of the mirror. It usually served as no more than a piece of art, since neither Rowan nor her mother ever spent much time looking at themselves. After staring at herself for the last twenty minutes straight, Rowan now remembered why she hated mirrors.
Looking at her reflection, all Rowan could focus on were the little things about herself that she didn't like. She was too tall. Too thin. Her breasts were too small and her eyebrows were too thick. She needed a haircut in the worst way. Her clothes, all of which she owned because they were made of beautiful or soft fabric and made her feel happy when she wore them, now just didn't look right to her. She wanted something that would make her look like a normal woman and not some kind of weird hippie. Rowan wanted to look like the kind of woman that she thought the man she met at the market earlier would like.
"What do bikers like?," Rowan asked the large black dog that had long since grow bored with the fashion show she was putting on. Tank had watched her with interest for the first few minutes, mostly in the hopes that she was pulling on the old worn demin shorts and tank top that meant she was getting ready to take him out to the lake for a swim. But after it became clear that swimming and playing ball was not on the agenda, the giant dog had retreated to her mother's bed where he lay down with his head resting on his paws and his eyes shut. The sound of his mistresses voice alerted him and he raised his head, opening his large brown eyes to look at her.
Rowan was naked except for a skimpy pair of black lace panties. She held a long black dress up in front of her body, her face scrunched up at the thought of wearing something that was really too hot for the weather. Seeing that there was no great emergency, Tank laid his head back down and rolled over onto his back. He wriggled around, mussing up the quilts on Rowan's mother's bed as he fought to scratch and itch that he couldn't reach with his paws or muzzle. Rowan laughed at the silly dog.
"Big help you are Tank," she scolded, her tone light and teasing. Rowan took one more look in the mirror with the black dress held up in front of her body before she hurled it to the ground with the rest of her clothes. Since the closet was empty, she started sifting through the mess on the floor of the bedroom, hoping something she had already discarded would jump out at her.
There was a soft tap on the door before it was swung quietly open. Rowan heard her mother's musical laughter drift in from the doorway. People were starting to arrive for the festival and Rowan was supposed to be helping her welcome them. It wasn't like Rowan to shirk her duties, so when she hadn't shown up her mother had become increasingly worried and eventually decided to come and look for her. Lola had not been expecting to find her daughter naked in the middle of what looked like a tornado mess of clothing. At the sound of Lola's laughter, Tank rolled and hurried down off the woman's bed. He sat down on his haunches and gave her a look of complete innocence. One that said of course I wasn't on your bed because being on your bed is against the rules.
"Roe?," her mother asked, after stopping to laugh at the guilty look on Tank's face, "what on earth are you doing in here?" Rowan threw her hands up and let out and exasperated sigh. Trying to look nice for a boy she liked. That's what she was doing. And since she was still standing around in her underpants, she figured she wasn't doing a very good job at it either. Her mother entered the room, crossing the space between them and pulling her daughter into her arms. She held the young woman close, stroking her long dark hair.
"If he likes you, he won't care what you have on," Rowan's mother assured her. Rowan nodded and let her mother lead her out of the ankle deep pile of clothes she was wading around in. Her mother plucked a top from the pile and handed it to her. It was an olive green halter style top that tied around the neck and the middle of her back. Rowan tied it on. As she adjusted it she remembered that she liked this particular top best because the fabric cups on it fit her chest just right. Next her mother tossed her a long flowy skirt. The floral pattern of the material had little flecks of the same green color the top was made of.
As Rowan dressed her mother quickly righted the wild mess she had made. Hanging dresses back on their hangers and tucking the rest of the clothing back into the drawers of her dresser. When Lola pulled open the large bottom drawer, something caught her eye. A fringed scarf that had belonged to her mother. It was cream colored, the material soft and worn from years of wear. The scarf had belonged to her mother, and then to her. The last time she wore it was the day she met Rowan's father. He had come upon her when she was bathing in the creek and she had used the scarf to hide her nude body from his stranger's eyes. At least until she changed her mind and decided she wanted him to look at her. Then she had spread the scarf out on the soft grass of the creek bed and let that strange boy with the long raven hair and the peircing eyes make love to her.
When she clutched the fabric of the scarf, Lola could feel the magic in it. She saved the scarf with the intention of giving it to Rowan for her handbinding once her wild daughter finally fell in love and stopped running so wild. But now Lola knew she had noticed it there in the drawer for a reason. Rowan was meant to have the scarf, and she was meant to have it now.
Rowan felt her eyes fill with water, a few tears of happiness spilling over the brim and streaking down her cheeks. She raised her arms and let her mother tie the scarf around her waist, knotting it just right so that the fringe would swing when she walked. Rowan closed her eyes, her hand rising up to grip the tiger's eye that hung from her neck on a silver chain. She grounded herself with a slow deep breath and willed her emotions to come back under her control. Then she looked down at the long fringed shall that was tied around her waist. To anyone else it would have appeared to be a rather ordinary item of clothing. But to Rowan it was more beautiful than anything she owned.
"Nana's special scarf," she whispered, reaching down and lifting a long silky strand of fringe. She let the material slide through her tattooed fingers before she reached for her mother. The woman was shorter than her and had been for years. Rowan got her height from her father. She wrapped her mother up into a fierce hug, more grateful than ever that she was born to the best and most loving mother in the whole entire world. Lola hugged her daughter back, feeling a swell of sadness with the joy. She knew the day would come when she would have to let go and allow her daughter to carve her own path in life. But knowing and actually feeling the release happen were two entirely different animals. Rowan felt her mother hug her back with as much emotion as she felt. Then the woman was gripping her by the waist and turning her back towards the old faded mirror with the rainbow butterflies painted across the face of it.
"You're perfect," her mother told her. Rowan wasn't so sure, but as she turned and twisted her body to get a bettter look at herself she started to smile. She didn't look like a biker. And she sure didn't look like a normal girl, whatever that meant. But she did look like herself. Rowan decided she liked that just fine.
TWD
Picking up a rumpled shirt from the floor, Daryl held it to his face and sniffed at it. An action he immediately regretted. The shirt smelled strongly of sweat and stale beer. He swore under his breath and tossed the offending piece of clothing into the corner of his room.
Daryl pulled the towel from his waist and lifted it up to rub at his hair where it was still damp from the hurried shower he had taken. Then he began digging through the clothing on his floor as fast as possible, tossing the items that were far too dirty to wear into the corner with his stinky shirt. Merle was waiting for him. And Daryl knew the longer he made Merle wait, the drunker his brother was going to get. The drunker Merle got the louder he got. And Daryl had no desire to be publicly humilated. Especially not in front of the woman he had met at the market earlier. She was not like the women his brother usually attracted. This one wasn't some slutty barfly. She was kind and sweet. He could tell. And nice girls didn't often appreciate his brother's drunken antics.
Doing the laundry never seemed to rank high on Daryl's list of priorities. He hadn't done his wash in weeks. Which meant he was now standing naked in his room, staring at a pile full of filthy clothes that smelled like dirt and looked even worse. He didn't even have any clean socks. While he didn't consider himself any sort of expert on women, Daryl was pretty sure most of them prefered men who bathed and wore clean clothes.
In the back of his mostly empty dresser, Daryl found a pair of boxers. The waistband was frayed and they were a size smaller than he liked, but at least they were clean. He pulled them on just as his bedroom door was unceremoniosuly kicked in. Merle was fully dressed, standing in the doorway of his room with one of the mason jars they used for drinking glasses in his hand. From the smell of it, he was drinking a strong glass of whiskey and coke that was already most of the way gone.
"It's six thirty fucker," Merle announced. Daryl turned his back to the man before he rolled his eyes. Of all the random things to be anal about, Merle absolutely hated being late. Being on time was one of the few disciplines that had stuck with the man after his time in the service. "Why the fuck ain't ya dressed yet?"
Daryl briefly considered telling his brother to fuck off and go without him. He wanted to go. Badly. But the more time that ticked by was more time that Daryl was spending convincing himself that there was no way that girl really liked him. She was probably just being nice and he had taken it the wrong way. Having nothing that didn't smell like hunting stink to wear was the last terrible straw in the giant pile of shit he felt like he was slowly wading into.
"Ain't got nothin' clean ta wear do ya?," Merle asked him with a laugh. Daryl squared up his shoulders, expecting the insults that were about to follow his brother's comment. But instead he felt the glass Merle was drinking from being thrust into his hand. "Drink up," Merle told him. Daryl considered the dark liquid sloshing around in mason jar he was holding. Then he lifted the glass and slurped it down, immediately grateful for the warm calming sensation that came with a cold drink.
Merle disappeared and Daryl could hear the man rustling around in his own bedroom. Then his brother reappeared, shoving a stack of clothes into him so hard that it made the air whoof out of Daryl's lungs. Merle smacked him on the back, the loud crack of his palm on Daryl's back echoing through the trailer.
"Hurry yer fuckin' sissy ass up," Merle ordered, adding with flourish that the sooner they got going the sooner he was going to get him some pussy. Daryl thought about cursing at the older man for hitting with the pile of clothes and then smacking him on his bare back. But he quickly changed his mind, deciding that having clean clothes to wear was more than worth the miniscule amount of abuse he had to withstand in order to get them. Daryl pulled on the jeans, then threaded his own black leather belt through the loopholes. Merle had given him jeans and a black tshirt to wear, which were of course much nicer quality and fit better than the cheap kmart clothes Daryl bought for himself. He hurried into what passed for their living room to put his boots on, relieved to note that Merle had gone outside for a smoke instead of going back into the kitchen and chugging another glass of whiskey down.
Daryl grabbed his leather jacket from the chair by the door and pulled it on as he headed out the door and onto the rickety set of half rotten wooden steps that was still clinging to the side of their trailer by one remaining rusty nail. The neighboring trailer was home to a mother and her slutty teenage daughter. As he came down the steps Daryl was unhappy to note that the trashy daughter in question was in his driveway, smoking one of his brother's cigarettes. Merle was nodding along to whatever idiotic story she was telling him as he stared at the way her jailbait nipples were poking at the cheap fabric of her thin tight white tank top.
"Time to go," Daryl announced loudly, giving the girl a wide berth as he headed around her to fire up his bike.
"Where ya goin'?," the girl asked hopefully. Before Merle could answer her, her drunk mother swung the screen door of their trailer open with a loud clap.
"Tracy! Get yer ass in here now!," the woman slurred. Her daughter rolled her eyes but thankfully did as her mother asked and headed back towards her own trailer. The mother made sure her precious daughter was inside before she pointed a finger at Merle. "You stay away from my daughta," she told him. Merle just laughed at the woman, but her words made Daryl angry. He had told that little whore a thousand times to stay out of his yard. The last thing he needed to deal with was having his brother get arrested again. And that little girl wasn't on the verge of being old enough as she liked to pretend. Daryl had seen her lying ass climbing onto the bus that said Senoia Middle School on the side of it.
"Keep yer whore daughter off my fuckin' property!," Daryl spit back at the woman. The way she was acting implied that Merle had gone over there looking for her daughter, which was not the case. Not this time anyway. Daryl sighed. They were just going to have to move. Daryl had been thinking it the last time he had seen that girl coming onto his brother, and now he was even more determined. This fucking trailer park was full of stray cats anyway. Daryl had secret dreams of renting a cabin in the woods. By himself. But that was never going to happen. Not while Merle was around. But they could at least find another trailer to rent. And this time Daryl was going to check out who the neighbors were first.
The drunken woman screamed a few more choice words. This time they were directed at Daryl. He fired up his bike and revved the engine a few times to drown her out. Merle hurled his lit cigarette butt at her, sending the dumb bitch scurrying for cover back inside her house. Then he fired up his own bike and headed out of the crunchy gravel driveway with Daryl behind him.