Perfect blue skies, windows down, Dad blasting Mr. Blue Sky. Couldn't ask for a better day, in Phoenix. It's like the whole state was begging me to stay and part of me wanted to listen.
In a few hours, Forks. A tiny town tucked in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State. Dreary skies and mosquitoes were the only thing to look forward to there.
And that was going to be my 'new' home. "We can turn back," Dad says, his knuckles white on the wheel. Eyes fixed on the road. "What about the ticket?" I asked, still looking out of the window.
"Doesn't matter." He pulled over to the side of the road.
Staring out of the window, I expressed firmly, "I wanna go," while my hands unconsciously traced the contours of the seatbelt.
"No, you don't," he shouted back, annoyed.
He was right, I hated Forks. It was the complete opposite of everything I love. A dingy, wet, muddy pit that even the sun avoided.
If I had to endure more than a couple weeks of summer there as a kid, I'd have lost it.
So why am I willingly heading back now?
For as long as I could remember, it was me and Dad. He wasn't the best dad and I wasn't the best son. We made due, I handled the Bills and he tried with all his might to find my passion.
It was boring, completely ordinary and nice. But not enough, he didn't need me. I was just baggage from a failed marriage dragging him down. He needed Paula, someone who truly loved and supported him.
Dad's fingers sifted through his graying hair, and his intense gaze lingered on me, creating a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. I focused my eyes behind him, counting the large white fluffy clouds that slowly drifted through the sky.
"Why do you want to do this, Bela?" He asked softly.
"No reason," I said nonchalantly, "I just want to try something new, you always said you want me to try new things." I closed my eyes waiting for his response.
He huffed loud before starting the car backup. It was a short drive, maybe ten minutes at most but it felt like hours.
When he got to the airport, he unlocked the doors and handed me my bags. It was uncomfortable at first, like I was leaving during a fight. But then he hugged me, tighter than I could ever remember.
I hugged back reluctantly unsure how to respond, I mumbled under my breath "I love you too, Dad."
He patted my head softly, "Come back when you want."
I nodded back, knowing he still saw me as the angry little boy who used to cry every summer.
Phoenix to Forks, Four-hour flight to Seattle, followed by an hour in a small plane to Port Angeles and a final hour driving down.
The flying was always fine, I enjoyed the time to myself. It was always easier to prepare for any possible questions or comments before I got there.
I hugged myself tight in my seat as the plane settled down in Port Angeles. I had no one but myself to blame, I wore only a thin tee shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. I forgot how cold it could be outside of Phoenix.
When I walked out of the airport I could see her posted at the entrance sitting on the hood of her cruiser. A very big puffer jacket next to her, the tag still on it. Of course she would remember.
She walked over to me quickly, and gave me a small awkward pat on the shoulder. Her face was twisted like she wanted to say something but she just handed me the jacket and gestured at the cruiser, "I got the heat on."
Charlie Swan, better known as mom, was always quiet. She was a police chief that leaned heavily on the stoicism that type of job required.
During the last summer I spent with her, we barely exchanged more than a few words. It was no secret I hated being in Forks, and to some extent, I think Charlie believed I hated her too.
And to be fair she wasn't wrong to assume that, this was the first time since I was a toddler that I truly chose to stay by her side for an extended period of time and it was purely to help my dad. But she was wrong, I didn't hate her, you have to actually know someone to hate them. I just didn't think much about her at all.
"How's Renè?" She broke the silence after a few minutes on the road.
"He's good," I answered looking out the window. Of course it was raining.
"Everything's set up for ya, room, school…" she paused and added quietly, "Truck…"
"Truck?" I repeated sitting up looking over at her.
"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "I found something good for you, a Chevy."
"Mom, I didn't need you to buy me a truck." I said sternly.
"I wanted to," she insisted, "Anyway it was real cheap, barely put a dent in my wallet."
"But…" I started softly but she cut me off.
"Bebe, It's an old truck. Let me do that for you." She continued softly, "if you don't like it, you can see it as a start and work from there. No skin off my teeth." Her voice was wary, she clearly anticipated me giving her some push back.
I sighed deeply and responded, "where did you find it?"
"Remember Billy Black down at La Push?" Charlie asked, referring to the tiny Indian Reservation on the coast.
"Kinda," I admitted.
"We used to go fishing with her in the summer," she reminded me.
I nodded slowly, I remembered her less now.
"She's in a wheelchair," Charlie continued, not giving me a chance to respond. "She's the one that gave me the idea of giving you the old truck."
"That's nice, how old is it?"
"A lot of work was done on it, so it's practically good as new." She answered wearily.
"When did she get it?" I asked suspiciously.
"Nineteen Eighty-Four, I think."
"New?"
"It's a little older, maybe a decade or two," she admitted quietly.
We sat in silence for a moment before she added. "I wouldn't buy a clunker. It's a classic; they don't make them like that anymore."
She let out a sigh, "I just wanted you to be happy here," her voice quivered slightly, she was scared. Scared I wouldn't be happy, not just with her, but because of her. It made me feel guilty.
"Thanks, mom." I said softly, looking over at her sincerely. A free truck is a free truck. It was a waste of both of our time trying to argue about it. I wasn't going to lie and pretend to be instantly happy in Forks, but I could at least make it easier for her.
"It was nothing," she mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
We fell back into silence after that, it was more comfortable. Looking out of the window while barely audible country music muffled by static hummed in the background.
The view outside felt like something out of a sci-fi movie, totally alien and sickly green. Trees with moss-covered trunks formed arches over the road, enveloping everything in a never-ending blanket of leaves. It would be beautiful if it wasn't so wet.
Finally reaching Charlie's house, I couldn't help but look at it. Throughout my entire childhood it stood unchanged, a small two-bedroom yellowing white house at the edge of the woods. A home I barely lived in for three years and a reminder of a marriage that barely lasted one.
In the driveway sat my 'new' truck, the paint had faded to a perfect rusty red shade, great for hiding any rust or dirt. She had big rounded fenders and a bulky cab that made her look like she preferred walking rather than running, but to me, it was absolutely perfect. It had that timeless quality that could survive a couple of crashes without even a scratch. This was no ordinary truck; she was mine.
"Dude, is that it?" I exclaimed, jumping out of the Cruiser. Charlie reluctantly replied, "Yeah."
I ran over, grinning from ear to ear. "This is awesome! Thanks, Mom! I really love it!"
"I'm glad you like it," she responded, sounding embarrassed and pleasantly surprised.
I looked at her one more time before running back to the cruiser to get my bags.
"We can head into town if you need more clothes." She said opening the trunk.
"Yeah," I agreed, grabbing the two barely filled duffle bags.
"You still got some clothes in your room," she laughed dryly before adding, "but I think you grew some since then."
I rolled my eyes and walked towards the front door. The room hadn't changed much over the years.
It had always been mine - the creaky wooden floors, light blue walls, low ceiling, and dusty white lace curtains.
The only modifications were the removal of a crib and the addition of a desk when I was twelve.
The newest change was a small old computer and a landline phone on my bedside table.
I'd like to think that Charlie had suggested the desk, but deep down, I knew it was Dad's decision.
Charlie treated her house like a museum of loneliness. A clock that stopped sixteen years prior. Waiting for a husband that would never return and a child that was going up without her.
If it was up to Charlie I would still be sleeping in a crib. You could still find a lonely rocking chair tucked away in the corner and the small blue toys hidden in the closet. Even the bathroom held my old toothbrush, dusty, untouched for four years.
Only benefit of living here was that she didn't linger. When we got in the house she slowly made her way to the living room and I quickly went upstairs to unpack.
I was glad, It was hard to relax when she was around. I always had to be on guard, monitoring my behavior. I felt guilty enough for dragging her into this, using her for my own selfish reasons. I could at least try to put on a happy face.
The window was a dirty gray that made looking outside almost impossible. All I could see was my truck in the driveway and a smudge that had to be the cruiser.
I was really living in Forks. The next day, I would be starting school.
Forks High School had an intimidatingly small student population, a mere three hundred and fifty-seven - now fifty-eight - students, barely over half of what my old school in Phoenix had.
Everyone here knew each other, and families had known each other for generations. I would be the new face from the big city, an outsider who willingly chose to return to this small town. I felt like some kind of freak who had been given a way out but decided to dive back into the swamp in mid January of all times.
If I were some hot, buff jock, I could probably use this to my advantage but, I doubted I would be able to swoon anyone as a skinny white shadow. I was more likely to be compared to a Wendigo than a Greek God, and just as dangerous with a baseball bat in my hand.
I watched the sun go down through the dirty window, it was already just after five and my room was mostly done.
It was time for a shower, I walked in slowly, a bundle of Pajama pants and a towel wrapped in a ball in my hands.
Unable to resist, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it was the lighting, but I looked awful. My long, messy hair clung to my head in thick greasy clumps.
My green eyes were bloodshot and lacked their usual vibrancy, while my translucent skin seemed to blend almost seamlessly with the whitewashed wall behind me.
I looked like a ghost destined to haunt the world around me. I didn't believe I would fit in here; I struggled to fit in even at home, where I felt like I belonged.
It wasn't easy for me to understand others, or perhaps I simply didn't want to understand. Even with my dad, despite our closeness, I maintained a distance. I created a new facade to spare both him and myself from the burden of real problems.
Real problems have to be dealt with, they have to be understood and they have to be talked about. They are annoying.
It's easier to be an anomaly, to be alone. Maybe I was someone who was never meant to be loved or comprehended?
I could attempt to present the best version of myself for school, fake a smile until it felt real. But it wouldn't stop the inevitable, that it was just the beginning of another failure, so I must prepare myself accordingly.
That night, I struggled to sleep. It could have been due to the unfamiliar environment or the constant sounds of rain and wind battering against my window. Or it could have simply been my restless mind.
Regardless, I found myself awake past midnight, listening as the loud roars of the rain gradually transformed into hushed whispers. The thick fog enveloped my window making it even harder to see through it. I felt like a bird with a blanket over its cage, scared and confused with no choice but to sleep.