bChapter Two/b - Oedipti Island
pIt had never occurred to us that our father might be wealthy. For as long as either of us could remember we had lived in the same two bedroom apartment. Until Jake's thirteenth birthday we had even slept in the same room, sleeping on an antique bunk bed that we were convinced would crumble one day, squashing whoever was unlucky enough to sleep on the bottom.
pOn Jake's thirteenth birthday mother had announced that we would receive our own bedrooms. For the past year and a half she had taken refuge in the living room on the foldout couch, an uncomfortable moth trap that was unfit for human habitation. It was something that only added to our memory of her, a selfless and hard-working mother that made what little we had into something spectacular.
pIt was those memories that made our father's revelation even harder to handle. He seemed to drive for hours until he pulled up to a marina where the sun was just sliding out from underneath its cloudy shield and heading steadily towards the horizon. At the marina was docked what could only be called a yacht, its whiteness almost blinding.
p"Alright," he said perfunctorily turning towards us for only the second time.
p"You will grab your bags from the trunk and make your way upon the yacht. I will be joining you in approximately," he glanced at his watch, "thirty minutes."
p"This is yours?" Jake said incredulously, glancing out the window.
p"Of course. Let's not put us any more behind schedule."
p"B—b-but," it was rare to hear Jake stutter. "Do you realize we've been living in a crappy apartment for our whole lives? Couldn't you have like, helped us? We're your kids!"
p"Twenty nine minutes," was the only answer we received. We watched as he closed his door, walking into a building directly across from the water.
p"I don't believe this," Jake muttered. Yanking open the door he slid out and I followed closely behind. He took both of our bags, his dark hair flying haphazardly in the sea wind.
p"I can help," I protested, reaching out to grab my bag from his shoulder, but he turned just at the right moment and began to march towards the ship. Without another alternative I trudged along behind him, my hands sliding into my jean pockets and my gaze planted firmly on the ground in front of me. My long dark bangs flew in my eyes, something my mother always used to hate. Thinking of this I quickly brushed them back, sighing softly.
pDropping our bags upon the deck, Jake settled down upon a bench that ran the entire length of the guardrail. Slouching considerably he slid his hands in pockets and sat staring at his worn out tennis shoes. It was something he did only when he was lost in thought. Knowing better than to interrupt him at such a moment I sat beside my bag where he had dropped it onto the gleaming floor, trailing my finger along the grooves and contours.
p"All aboard then?"
pLooking up I stared at the shadow of our father hovering above us, a sliver of a small etched on his otherwise wormy lips.
p"Where are we going?"
pInstead of answering he motioned with his hand and almost magically the motor sprung to life. His hands wound around the guard rail and he leaned over as we began to move, his eyes watching the marina until it became just a memory.
p"You didn't answer her," there was a pause as Jake looked over at me, meeting my eyes but for just a moment. "p"Our destination is the place that my family and I call home."
p"Which is?"
p"Oedipiti Island."
pIt had never occurred to us that our father might be wealthy. For as long as either of us could remember we had lived in the same two bedroom apartment. Until Jake's thirteenth birthday we had even slept in the same room, sleeping on an antique bunk bed that we were convinced would crumble one day, squashing whoever was unlucky enough to sleep on the bottom.
pOn Jake's thirteenth birthday mother had announced that we would receive our own bedrooms. For the past year and a half she had taken refuge in the living room on the foldout couch, an uncomfortable moth trap that was unfit for human habitation. It was something that only added to our memory of her, a selfless and hard-working mother that made what little we had into something spectacular.
pIt was those memories that made our father's revelation even harder to handle. He seemed to drive for hours until he pulled up to a marina where the sun was just sliding out from underneath its cloudy shield and heading steadily towards the horizon. At the marina was docked what could only be called a yacht, its whiteness almost blinding.
p"Alright," he said perfunctorily turning towards us for only the second time.
p"You will grab your bags from the trunk and make your way upon the yacht. I will be joining you in approximately," he glanced at his watch, "thirty minutes."
p"This is yours?" Jake said incredulously, glancing out the window.
p"Of course. Let's not put us any more behind schedule."
p"B—b-but," it was rare to hear Jake stutter. "Do you realize we've been living in a crappy apartment for our whole lives? Couldn't you have like, helped us? We're your kids!"
p"Twenty nine minutes," was the only answer we received. We watched as he closed his door, walking into a building directly across from the water.
p"I don't believe this," Jake muttered. Yanking open the door he slid out and I followed closely behind. He took both of our bags, his dark hair flying haphazardly in the sea wind.
p"I can help," I protested, reaching out to grab my bag from his shoulder, but he turned just at the right moment and began to march towards the ship. Without another alternative I trudged along behind him, my hands sliding into my jean pockets and my gaze planted firmly on the ground in front of me. My long dark bangs flew in my eyes, something my mother always used to hate. Thinking of this I quickly brushed them back, sighing softly.
pDropping our bags upon the deck, Jake settled down upon a bench that ran the entire length of the guardrail. Slouching considerably he slid his hands in pockets and sat staring at his worn out tennis shoes. It was something he did only when he was lost in thought. Knowing better than to interrupt him at such a moment I sat beside my bag where he had dropped it onto the gleaming floor, trailing my finger along the grooves and contours.
p"All aboard then?"
pLooking up I stared at the shadow of our father hovering above us, a sliver of a small etched on his otherwise wormy lips.
p"Where are we going?"
pInstead of answering he motioned with his hand and almost magically the motor sprung to life. His hands wound around the guard rail and he leaned over as we began to move, his eyes watching the marina until it became just a memory.
p"You didn't answer her," there was a pause as Jake looked over at me, meeting my eyes but for just a moment. "p"Our destination is the place that my family and I call home."
p"Which is?"
p"Oedipiti Island."