Well, here I am…Once again, I'd like to thank livromaniaque for making me feel slightly less insignificant on here. I've officially decided to give you the "Best Person Ever Award". Ahem…*presents a poorly decorated paper plate* HEY! HEY! Paper Plate Awards are an honor. : D Sooo, anyway, sorry it seems like its been so long. I went to NYC yesterday to see a Tim Burton exhibit at the MOMA with my favorite people. If anyone wants pictures, you have to prove you love me. :D
Soo, this is now in Izzy's POV.
I don't own RENT. Besides, I'm too busy getting down to business to defeat those damn Huns. Heather, that was for you, because you love Asian people so much. ;)
"1048 Post Road, Scarsdale, New York," I excitedly tell a cab driver through his open window. The driver nods in reply and gets out of his car to open the trunk. He helps me toss my bags in, and then I hand him the address scribbled on a piece of paper. I inhale a big breath of the cool, Philadelphia air surrounding me before letting myself in the back seat of the taxi. When the vehicle begins to move, I loosely clutch my large, brown purse to my chest. I honestly don't know why; it was just a habit, I guess.
The date was September 15th, 1989, and I was in a taxi that was taking me from the Philadelphia Airport to New York. Finally, after four long, hard years of school all the way in Europe, I was returning home. At last, I was going to get to see my parents again, after spending four straight years of talking to them on the phone and not being able to see their faces. I was going to see my little brother, who had to experience the first two years of high school without me around. And, finally, I was going to see Mark and Roger again…
Obviously, I wasn't seeing them today. It's already 2:00 PM (which means I wouldn't be home till about 5), and I'm worn out from waiting in several different airports and the awful case of jetlag I had. They lived all the way in the East Village now, on Avenue B. It was at least a good hour drive from the city to Scarsdale, and I forgot to mention one tiny detail- the two were carless. But, just last month, they did offer for me to stay with them once I got home. Obviously, I accepted, because the Village was an artist's dream…well, mine, at least. Roger had to explain to me that living in the city isn't exactly as glamorous as it seemed. Of course, I refuse to believe him. Anyways, I'd have to find a way to get myself down there.
My cab driver was awfully quiet, which was making the whole situation extremely awkward. I let out a loud yawn, making it even worse. "Tired?" The chubby, middle-aged man asks me. I nod.
"Yup," was all I had to say for a reply. You know, I really was tired. I guess it wouldn't hurt to rest my eyes for a while…
"Ma'am? Ma'am?' I hear a voice call, shaking my leg. I quickly jump out of my light sleep. It was the cab driver that woke me up. "We're here." I quickly turn my head toward the window, only to find the car parked in front of a familiar landmark. The sides of my lips curl into a wide smile. I was finally home.
The house was small, white and Victorian-style. The windows were all in an arch shape and were wide open- along with the front door- letting the cool, 65-degree breeze enter the house. A light brown, wooden rocking chair sat on the right side, next to the matching porch swing. The garden was full of flowers in every color, hinting to our neighbors that my mom had way too much free time on her hands. A short, white fence surrounded all of our property.
I reluctantly pay the cab driver they extremely expensive fare, grab my bags from the trunk, and lug them up the steps that lead to my front door. I was greeted by the sweet sounds of Luciano Pavarotti quietly penetrating through the house and the smell of basil and boiling tomato sauce, which obviously meant dad was cooking. "Hello?" I call out, taking a step in the door. "I'm home!" I glance over at the clock on the wall- it was 5:15 PM. I was ready for bed by now, considering it was 11:15 PM in the time zone I became accustomed to. A few moments later, I hear light and quick footsteps coming from upstairs, and eventually see my mother coming down. The short, middle-aged woman with black and partially grey hair rushes toward me and engulfs me in a tight hug.
"Isabella!" She excitedly shouts, kissing my face repeatedly. "Mia bella bambina! Welcome home!" I smile and hug her back.
"Thanks, ma," I reply, at a loss for words. She takes a step back to observe the daughter she hasn't seen in years. Her smile fades a little.
"Ay, sweetheart, what are you wearing?" She asks. I stare down at my outfit selection- baggy cargo shorts, a white v-neck and black flip-flops. It was comfy, simple, and no different from what I wore every day. "I was hoping you'd pick up some fashion sense over there…" Ah, what a "welcome home" that was.
"Uh, well, I've kind of been stuck on planes all day, ma." I state, rolling my eyes.
"Well, go change! We have some family coming over soon!" I let out a sigh.
"Did we really have to do this today? I'm really tired, and-"
"Go!" She demands.
Hey, ma, I don't know if you remember this, but I'm 24 years old now. I think I can make decisions for myself.
Obviously, she didn't remember, because she shoves my bags at me and points upstairs. I sigh, not wanting to lose an argument to my mother 5 minutes after walking in the door, and drag my bags and myself upstairs. "And hurry up! Your father and Nick will be home from the store any minute!"
My old room looked so…empty. When I still lived here, my desk was always covered in paint tubes, charcoal pencils and scrap paper. My purple walls were covered in posters and artwork. My bed was never made, with the comforter always rolled up somewhere in the corner of it, and you could barely see my floor with all of the clothes that covered it. Now, everything was completely clear and clean. It was actually kind of frightening. I throw my suitcase on my newly made bed and un-zipper it, pulling out the cleanest, nicest outfit that was closest to the top- which was simply a pair of faded, blue jeans and a green tank top. I didn't really own any nice, dressy clothes; I always preferred to be plain and comfortable.
I didn't have to wait very long for the whole family to come swarming in the door, or for them to raid our pantry for every single alcoholic drink known to man. If the neighbors heard us next door, they probably thought some horrible fight involving the whole family was going on with the way everyone was yelling. What they probably didn't understand was that my family was just full of loud people. Eventually, they got even too loud and obnoxious for my sake, and after they popped a bottle of champagne and toasted to me, I took my glass outside and sat on the porch swing. It was about 7:00 and the sun was just setting. I made sure to close the front door on my way out, leaving me to swing back and fourth in peace. "Tired of us already?" I turn around, only to find the huge 16 year old I refused to believe was still my little brother, Nick. I sigh and flash him a small smile.
"Nah, I just a headache already," I explain. He replies with a most likely subconscious nod and takes a seat next to me on the swing, which I'm surprised didn't completely brake off because of the nothing-but-muscle teenager. We sat in silence for a few moments, which I felt the need to break. "Nick?"
"Huh?" He asks, staring off into the empty street.
"Promise me you'll lay off the steroids, okay?" He turns his head toward me and arches an eyebrow.
"What the hell are you talking about, exactly?" I nearly jump out of my seat.
"Look at you!" I exclaim. "Do you even remember how tiny you used to be?!"
"It's been four years, Izz," he explains with a chuckle. "People change; and, besides- were you expecting me to stay a scrawny 12 year old forever?"
I spent the rest of my night talking to my brother and catching up on all the years I missed while I was away.
I awoke the next day to a chorus of whispers and a sudden, heavy pressure on the back of my legs. "Whoever you are," I groan, "go away."
I didn't fall asleep till 2 AM last night. Jetlag was such a bitch. Whoever was trying to bother me at this hour was seriously going to get an arm ripped off.
"You've already slept through half the day, dear," a familiar voice mocks me. My head immediately perks up. Was that…? I rub my eyes and sit myself up, only to see exactly whom I thought I heard. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
MUAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, I felt the need to leave you off at a cliffhanger, even though you probably know exactly what's happening from here. ^-^ Soooo, while you wait for the next chapter and I go finish my Non-West project, I suggest you all get your asses on On Demand and go watch Repo! The Genetic Opera, which is my new obsession, thanks to Heather. We've come to describing it as, "Rent and Sweeney Todd, with a hint of Rocky Horror's twistedness." :)
~ Veeeeeeeg, (or Butter, hah.)