(((Twilight is like a tricycle. It's pretty and shinny, but only one person can own it. I'm very sad to say that the owner of the tricycle is not I.)))
The flight went by rather fast, or it seems so only because of my nap.
Either way, the plane is landing now.
"Miss?" the lady Mr. Jean was speaking, Miss O'Neil, to early ask while placing a cold hand on mine so I know it's me she's talking to. I notice now that she has an almost musical quality to her voice. That's something I didn't catch onto in the brief conversation I so rudely overheard.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Jean asked e to make sure you got off okay." He is such a sweet old man.
"Oh? You must thank him for me." I say. I sound much too mature for my age, which must have lead Miss O'Neil to ask her next question.
"Miss? How old are you?"
"Seventeen, why do you ask?"
"You sound much too old. May I ask you something else?"
"I suppose you may."
"May I see your eyes?"
"What?"
"Your eyes, may I see them?"
"No."
"Why?"
"No," no one can ever see my eyes. Not again. Not after what happened last time.
Last time. I can bear to think about last time.
"Okay. I guess I should respect that," Miss O'Neil sighed. I could tell she really didn't want to, but she did anyway.
"Thank you," Miss O'Neil opened the compartment that Mr. Jean stored my luggage and slid it out with minimal sound.
"Come this way," Miss O'Neil said as she hooked my hand around her inner-elbow. I followed her wordlessly, just listening to the very faint pitter-patter of her soft footsteps in comparison is the drum-like sound that my own emitted.
Miss O'Neil lead me through the crowd, who seemed to part for her, and outside to the curb. Her and I both settled our own selves onto a bench and waited. It was on the aforementioned bench that the surprised voice of my father broke the somewhat comfortable silence that fell over Miss O'Neil and I.
"Bells?" My father called in the said shocked voice.
"Dad?" I answer back.
"Bells, what are you doing out here? I was going to go inside to get you. Your mother would have a fit if she knew you were just sitting out here by your lonesome."
"Dad, I'm not by myself. Miss O'Neil lead me out here to wait for you."
"Miss O'Neil?"
"Yes, that would be-"
"Me," she finished my sentence herself.
"Oh!" Dad said as if just realizing that she as there, "So…who are you?" he asked bluntly.
Miss O'Neil's musical laugh filled the air, causing several conversations to stop, "Mister, I am one of the flight attendances. Mr. Jean had asked me to make sure she got to her family in one piece. And before you ask, Mr. Jean is the nicest old man that works for any airport."
"Oh," Dad said, still trying to absorb all the information.
"Thank you, Miss O'Neil. I hope that you give y thanks to Mr. Jean as well," I say, wrapping up the conversation."
"That goes for me as well," Dad put it.
"Your welcome, both of you, and I will pass it on."
Miss O'Neil handed me my suitcase and I grabbed Dad's elbow so that he could show me to his car, which I assume he brought the cruiser. Being the Chief of Police has its benefits, like a free car.
"Here, Bells, let me take that for you," Dad said as he took my suitcase.
"Thanks, Dad," I replied before finding the door handle and sitting in the car. Seat belt buckled, of course.
"No problem, Bell," Dad answered once he settled down into the driver's seat.
From what Mom said, Dad was very much like me in person. I don't remember much of Dad, seeing as Mom hated anything that had to do with her being away from me, but I do remember that he doesn't fill every waking moment with excessive chatter. And for that, I was glad.
But, there are sometimes, when you just have to talk. Like when you haven't seen your only child in over fifteen years.
"So, Bells," he said trying to strike up a conversation.
"Yes, Dad?"
"Well, how's life?"
I had to laugh, "life's pretty good, Dad."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"So, have any boyfriends?" I just about choked?
"Boyfriends?"
"Yeah, did you have any?"
"No. Dad, most guys like girls who can compliment the on their masculine forms, or something of the sort."
I heard the brakes squeal in protest as my dad stopped the car, "don't put yourself down like that," Dad said. I nodded and waited for him to go again, but instead he turned off the car.
"Dad?"
"Oh, yeah, we're here."
"Oh," I said as we both climbed out of the car. I hear the trunk open then close once more before Dad led me with a hand against my back.
"Okay, now Bella, there are," I paused and I heard him counting, "five stair-steps until you get to the railed front porch," I nodded and went up the steps. No need to tell him that I could have gone up the steps without that information, because it did prevent the likely meeting that my face would have had with the porch.
"Thank you, Dad," I said as we arrived at the top.
I heard the smile in his face as he replied, "Your welcome, Bells. Now, hold on a second so that I can open the door," I heard the jingle of keys and the squeak of a protesting door before Dad said, "Home, sweet home.
"Dad?"
"Yes Bells?"
"There isn't any breakables out, are there?"
"No. I actually don't have many breakables. And, I made sure to pick up so that you didn't trip on anything."
"Thanks, Dad. Now, where is my room? I should get acquainted with it."
"It's right up the stairs and to the right," Dad helped me to the stairs and said, "Fifteen stair-steps up and the door strait ahead when you turn right," He said before handed me my suitcase.
"Thank you, Dad."
"Welcome, Bells."
I made my way to my room and thought.
Living with Dad will be great. He doesn't have that over-protective hovering thing that Mom has. It's not that I didn't like living with Mom; it's just the whole babying thing again.
"Bells, is pepperoni pizza okay for dinner?" Normal food? Something that already has a name and that Mom didn't make up as she went? Oh yes, I was really going to love it here.
"Yes, Dad, it sounds great," I replied, "But, where is the bathroom?" I really just want to relax.
"The only door on the right side of the hall, don't turn left or you'll fall down the stars, and strait ahead is my room," Dad yelled. It might just be me or just the way he yells, but it sounds like he is yelling at an armed criminal in a hostage situation. It must just be because he's a police officer.
"Thanks Dad!" I yelled back before finding the bead to plop the suitcase onto. After getting the suitcase onto the bed, I unzipped it and found the bathroom bag snuggled up in the corner I put it in.
I walked into the hallway and found the door Dad was taking about, I guess Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs, but cause he voice was coming from down there when he said, "Pizza will be here in half-an-hour. Towels are on the towel rack."
"Thanks," I said before shutting and locking the bathroom door and finding the shower. I need to rid myself of the smell of airplanes.
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