The smell of waffles cooking, the soft feel of plush carpet on my elbows as i laid sprawled out on the living room floor and most importantly...the rocking intro from the Transformers cartoon. Saturday mornings. I wouldn't trade them for anything... except maybe to not have my little brother trying to balance a blue and red robot pterodactyl on my head for the 500th time. Strange as it may seem for a girl growing up in the 80's Transformers, among other "tomboyish" things were what I lived for, but my little brother was even more obsessed. He devoured all things Transformers. Even if it was just a pencil... as long as it had that Autobot logo... he had to have it.
I wish I could say he grew out of it, but I'd be lying. Being somewhat aware of the social que's of youth my own love of Transformers dwindled over the years partly due to self-preservation and partly due to developing interests... in other areas...like...you know... boys. The few figures I'd held on to I gifted to my ever enthusiastic brother. He let me know in no uncertain terms that although I had, "turned my back on the Autobots." He didn't consider me a Decepticon...yet. The years passed and weekends in front of the boob tube turned into sleepovers and juicy, whispered conversations.
The plucky tomboy eventually became a slim, mousy-haired secretary at a small accounting firm...300 miles from that childhood. My parents weren't happy that I lived so far away, but the money was good and it was a chance to sort of... rediscover myself. Earthy colors and a motorcycle jacket that my dad had originally bought because he thought it was "cool". I had found it packed in one of my boxes where my mom had apparently secreted it. [Good call.] No boots though. Not for a lack of trying, but rather a curse of small feet. Thank you very much Great Gran... I really appreciate it...not.
The memory dimmed... the one who took it worst of all...my little brother. He never forgave me for finally "joining the Decepticons." We haven't spoken for the last ten years except for a couple of cards around the holidays... probably my parents idea. I did see him a few years ago... at mom's funeral. He didn't even acknowledge me... probably blamed me for the stress on her... maybe he's right. I don't know. [Its cold.] I thought to myself as I stared out the passenger side window of a taxi as I looked at the house I grew up in all those years ago.
I was home, but it wasn't the home I remembered. It was empty. After mom passed away dad left the place to my brother. He said it was too much, that everything reminded him of her. Dad lives about 20 minutes away now in a small apartment. I plan on stopping by there after I get settled in. He needs me... now more than ever... because... The tears started welling up again despite my best efforts. I still can't accept it. First mom and now... My hand shook as it went to open the taxi door. "Are you okay Miss? the driver asked in a concerned tone. "No...im not, but I will be... I have to be." I responded, barely believing it myself.
I stepped out of the taxi and closed the door behind me, my dad's motorcycle jacket doing a fair job at keeping me warm. It was barely fall but there was already a distinct chill in the air. [How fitting.] I thought. I made my way up the path toward the front door of the large-ish ranch style house. A stylized "R" decorated the knocker. Digging the key out of my pocket I reached for the knob...