by Kali Emerson
The door which used to lead outside, now led to a large greenhouse added to the back of the house in the 80's when the house was repainted. It stretched to span the back of the house. That's where all of our herbs and plants sat all year round. We would open the windows in the spring and summer months, but kept them closed tight during fall and winter.
My favorite spot to sit was in there. I could still see out the window at the ocean, and with a blanket it was cozy. The rainy and windy days were my favorite. I would sit out there for hours watching the waves crash up and down, breaking against the short cliff. Every once in a while a fishing boat would drift by on the horizon, rocking back and forth almost struggling to keep afloat on the worst storm days.
I stepped into the kitchen and my dad looked up from the mug he was pouring coffee into. I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the jug of milk. He handed me the steaming mug and I dripped enough milk in, to turn the dark brown coffee a wet sand color.
I shoved the jug back into the fridge. Taking a large sip of the scalding coffee, I walked over and sat at one of the metal stools at the island in the kitchen.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
It sounded like he had been crying. He opened the oven to look at the two loaves sitting on the baking sheet, and closed the oven. I caught a glimpse, they would be done in a few more minutes. Walking over, he grabbed two plates out of the cabinet along with two forks. He sat one set in front of me, and the other where he would stand and eat.
“I was thinking I could drive you home tonight, instead of taking the train tomorrow.” I didn't want to say no. We would have to leave an hour earlier to beat Boston traffic. My bags were already packed and loaded into the back of my dad's Jeep Grand Cherokee.
The car ride was almost silent. My dad tried to talk a few times, making small talk and asking about my classes. I was surprised that he even knew what I was enrolled in.
“Which one is your favorite?,” It was an innocent question but I wanted to ignore it so bad.
“Hm…I think I like my painting class the best.” I flipped my phone around in my hand.
I never called Fiona back.
“Or maybe ceramics because it's new for me.” He nodded, eyes still on the road.
The air became stagnant and I touched a few buttons on his dashboard putting music on to fill the silence.
We left the house pretty quickly after dinner to make good time on the road. Just enough time to clean and change into matching black joggers and a sweatshirt.
My forehead was pressed against the cold glass. Looking up at the sky, I could see the black clouds rolling in. The stars started to disappear, and were replaced by utter darkness. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the trees lit up with a quick, violet light sending ghostly shadows across the highway.
It started raining again. Behind the music, was the pitter patter hitting the windows and sloshing beneath the tires. Leaves littered the road, making a soft crunch under the weight of the car, and flew behind us as we sped down the highway toward Boston. There wasn't much to look at while driving down in the dark until we got closer to the city.
It was mostly just trees and rocks. To someone who wasn't from Massachusetts it would be beautiful, but I'd seen it my whole life. We would sometimes drive through some smaller towns before getting back on the highway. The small streets were mostly pavement, but some still had brick.
I opened my window to let the cool air into the SUV, stuck my hand out, and felt a few ice drops hit my skin. I wanted to open it all the way, letting it hit my face too. But my dad was in control of the car, and I didn't want him to turn around and bring me home because he thought I'd lost it.
Halloween was getting close and all of the houses were decorated. Even business joined in. I hadn't celebrated Halloween since I was a kid when I would go trick-or-treating with my friends. Then as we got older, we started joining our parents in Samhain rituals.
They were much more fun and usually around my birthday. It was five days after Halloween, on November 5th. I hadn't expected to celebrate in any way, although it was coming up. I would be turning twenty-one, but it didn't matter cause I'd been drinking since I was fifteen.
In the distance I could start to see the buildings and the light glow surrounding the city. My apartment was right near my school, in the center of Boston.
The place was expensive, but I was fortunate enough to have a trust fund from my family. I had an old bloodline and that came with a fortune. I was only able to access it once I turned eighteen. Most older families like mine had them, from years and years of living in the same place with the same family house, and someone was always running a successful business.
It was nice, and I recognized my privilege, so I tried to live modestly.
I tried to donate whenever I could and volunteered at places that helped people that were not well off. Every year I would buy things like blankets and socks for the homeless in Boston around the Holidays.
I would go by myself and, no one else knew that I did it. I didn't do it for bragging rights. I did it because I wanted to give back. I had been given so much for nothing. Since I was an only child, I not only got something from Gran when she died, but I got in from my mom and would get more from my dad. I didn't need that much money. No one really needs that much, so I was happy to share it.
My only downfall was the luxury mall that lived in Boston, close to my house. I was always tempted to buy something and sometimes chose to treat myself.
Often I would drag Fiona with me, asking her to pick stuff out. It balanced things out in the karmic universe for me.
The closer we got, the more I felt like I was returning home. Since I'd moved to Boston, going back to Rockport felt like a trip that I'd need to return from. It was no longer my home. Boston was.
2
We pulled up to my building, a row house that split up into three flats. My unit was on the top floor, which only had street parking. When I first found the condo, I almost passed it up because it didn't have an elevator or a balcony. It was the windows that sold it for me. I had a lot of house plants which needed a lot of light. The windows lined the wall in the living room and my bedroom, facing a direction without a lot of buildings so I got some direct sunlight. It also had a good-sized bedroom compared to a lot of other places I looked at. It was hard to find bigger spaces in Boston like that, and I knew that I wouldn’t find anything comparable.
We walked our way up the three flights of stairs, and I fumbled with my keys, eventually getting the right one in. The door flung open, slamming against the wall and letting a wave of lavender hit our noses. I had hung a bunch of it up when I went home to drop my car off and take the train back. I knew it would be dried and ready to harvest by the time I got back.
The kitchen was on the left. A little bit outdated, but functional for what I needed. I barely cooked and preferred take out most of the time.
Right in front of the door down a little hallway, was the living room. The walls were painted cream for a neutral backdrop, for all of the items I had on the walls. I hung up small pictures of my family, some of my friends from high school that I didn't talk to anymore, with the exception of Fiona. We had a lot of memories hanging in my living room, most of which were taken while we were traveling. I was convinced school and vacations were the only reasons we remained friends.
On the wall where my bookshelf sat, I had a small collection of rare bugs. I hated them, but art was best when it made the observer uncomfortable.
The couch was a vintage find from Boston. I ventured out on my second day to do some shopping, where I came across an antique furniture store. The couch was from the 70's and I fell in love with it immediately. I barely had to restore it. I ended up having to move some things around in the room to make it fit, but it was worth it.
The two wooden end tables on either side of the couch had a spider plant on each of them. The mid-century modern wooden coffee table had a large snake plant and several jars for propagating my string of pearl
s, which hung from the ceiling in the corner by the window. To the left, down another short hallway, was the bathroom and my bedroom. On the other side was an extra bedroom I used for storage.
My dad dropped my bag onto the couch, sitting next to it. I was tired so I was hoping he wasn't planning on staying for very long. I wasn't really in the mood to host him, since I hadn't really been home in over two weeks.
“Could you make me a to-go cup for the road?” He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
I walked toward the kitchen and opened the cabinet above my coffee pot, grabbing the to-go mug he left when he and my mom helped me move in two and a half years ago. I sat everything on the counter and started to scoop grounds into the filter.
I heard the TV flip on, and go through several channels until it landed on the news. It was faint at first, but then he turned the volume up.
‘A suspect was apprehended tonight by Boston Police after he was seen running from the scene of a robbery at a convenience store.’
My dad flipped the channel again, this time stopping on what sounded like HGTV. I listened to it for a few more minutes. It was House Hunters.
The coffee slowly stopped dripping, filling about a quarter of the way up. Just enough, for one cup. I poured it carefully into the travel mug, filling the rest up with milk and sugar. The lid screwed on easy, and I went back by the couch, where I saw my dad fully asleep while still sitting up.
I contemplated waking him up so he could go home, but a violent thought of a car wreck invaded my brain, and I decided against it. He probably would be better off sleeping and driving when he had more energy. I pushed him slightly so he would lay down on the pillow lying against the arm of the couch. I pulled his shoes off his feet and took a thicker blanket out of the hallway closet to drape across him.
It might be the most peaceful I'd seen him since the whole ordeal. I hoped he had good dreams and a night of restful sleep. It was hard to sleep in that house, especially with her being gone. It must have been worse for him. I couldn't imagine seeing what he saw and then continuing to be mentally stable.
I leaned down and kissed the side of his head. His peppered grey hair was cut short, but his sideburns and facial hair started to grow back slightly from lack of personal hygiene. He tossed slightly under the blanket, and readjusted the pillow turning away from me.
I stood back up and turned the light off, going into my bedroom to go to sleep, too. I had to go back to class the next day and wanted to be sort of well rested. I shouldn't have gone back so early, but I wanted to finish my college experience strong, which meant toughing it out through shitty situations.
The moonlight projected through the sheer amber curtains, creating shadows of monsters across the dark wood floor. The abalone walls brightened the room enough, where I didn’t need to turn my ceiling light on very often, even in the dark.
I took off all my clothes, letting them pile on the floor, and moved the chilled oxford blue quilt over so I could climb into my sheets. My naked body rubbed against the staticy fabric under me, and I turned to face the ceiling letting my head sink deep into my pillow. I closed my eyes letting my breathing get heavier, sailing me off somewhere deep in my mind. A world of chaos and truth, the only place I could really be alone.
My head clouded from the events of the last two weeks. As my eyes grew heavy, I felt the first fragment of relaxation since everything started. She was dead, and it was over.
The next day my alarm went off at seven. The sun shone bright through the curtains. A sharp contrast to the night, which I preferred, but it was still nice to look at. The ember light show blazing on my floor, lit up the room without having to turn on the light. My sheets were warm instead of cold, and it made me not want to leave my bed.
I jumped up hesitantly to make breakfast for my dad and I. My robe was still in my bag on the couch, so I grabbed a blanket to wrap myself in to go grab it. I walked into the kitchen first to start a pot of coffee and saw an already full pot with a note that read,
‘Got up at five to get to the restaurant in time for prep. Made you coffee. Love you Bug.’
Part of me was relieved he wasn't there so I could start to feel some normalcy after constant socializing. I grabbed my favorite mug, which had a pentagram gram carved into the side, and poured myself a cup. I walked over to the couch and sat down placing my mug on the table.
I was still sad…but numb. It was how I felt about every death I'd experienced. When my maternal grandparents died, I was too young to have a memory of it.I vaguely remember their funeral. When my paternal grandfather died, I did feel a slight sting but still too young to have any vivid memory.
When my Gran died, I was fourteen. It was right before my mom started hallucinating. I had just gotten home from school, excited to start my project for History. We each got assigned a piece of modern history, to build a model about. I chose The American Revolution. I was thinking about how I would structure my essay, and how I wanted to build a replica of the The Battle of Yorktown. Instead, I walked in the house and both of my parents were sitting in the front room.
“Gran died this morning.” He shifted his weight, trying not to cry. I heard my mom start to sob. I didn't know why at the time. Everyone else was able to cry, but I was just mad. No tears came, only rage. I was angry at whoever was in charge of death. Because I didn't believe in God, I had no one to blame. I kept the anger inside of me.
After that I realized that death was just a part of life and I had to accept it.
I picked my cup off the table and crossed my legs over each other, leaning back into the couch the leather crunched beneath me. I took the remote from my side, turning on Netflix to watch the same show I've seen a hundred times before.
My phone buzzed once on the coffee table. The screen flashed and I saw a text from Fiona. I still hadn’t texted her back from the day before, but I had already told her I was going back that morning and I wouldn't have gone back on my word without telling her.
‘Don’t forget to meet me in the courtyard before class so I can give you notes.'
Shit. I stood up setting my cup back down on the table and rushed to my bedroom. I scrambled through my walk-in closet and found a black long sleeved turtle neck that fit tight to my body. I flipped through some hangers and decided on a black tank top swing dress that hit right above my knees.
I grabbed my silver moon necklace and small silver hooped earrings out of my jewelry box that was sitting on my nightstand. My hair was a mess and I didn't have time to do anything to the mess of curls, so I quickly shoved it in a bun.
I opened the hall closet eyeing my knee-length Burberry trench coat, grasped the fabric, and threw it over my shoulders in a hurry. Slipping on my black aviator sunglasses onto my face, I snatched my black leather tote that carried my Mac, pads of paper for both writing and drawing, my pencils, and walked out the door.
I didn't have time to make another cup of coffee for the road, so I would make up for it by stopping at Mugs to bring one for Fiona. She knew I was always late anyway, but it made her less mad when I brought her coffee too.
I flew down the stairs as quickly as I could and slid into my cold Honda SUV. The frost on the outside of the car didn't surprise me, especially because I hadn't driven it in four days. I turned the engine on, waiting on the intricately woven ice shapes to melt off the onyx paint, and the front window. It was way too big of a vehicle to be driving around Boston in, but I didn’t care.
I shivered. Not a cold shiver, it was something else.
I had the same feeling right before my mom got sick and again right before she died. Witches had a bit of a sense about danger, and could usually tell when something was going to happen. All the times I'd gotten an intuition shiver, it was followed by anxiety. That shiver didn't give me anxiety.
I could finally see out the front window so I shifted my enormous SUV into drive. As I pulled away, the time read 8:04am. I had twenty-five minutes to get coffee, go to the school, find parking, and get to the
courtyard.
By the time I got to Mugs it was busy, but that wasn't really out of the ordinary. It was everyone's favorite place to get coffee in that area. They were most known for their coffee, but they also served breakfast and lunch.
All the mugs in the place were thrifted by the owner, she even had mugs for different seasons and Holidays. She filtered out her seasonal mugs at the end of the season by selling them to the customers at low cost. She repeated the process every few months, so customers rarely ended up with the same one twice. It was a trend for customers to take pictures of their mugs whenever they went and post them on social media with #twinmugs.
The line traveled out the door, which meant I would be waiting for about ten minutes before I could even order.
The front doors were glass and right inside was a small waiting area with benches built into each wall. There were two groups of people waiting to be seated on one of the benches. The first was an older couple in their seventies, and the other were four college age boys. They looked like they were freshman because they still had baby faces.
Past the waiting nook, was a counter for both checking in and ordering to-go coffee's. The right side was for take-out only.
It was rustic looking with mismatched tables and chairs. The walls were covered with ink and local artist work. They all had a name tag along with a price on it, because she used the wall space to promote local Boston Artists.
I had mine up the year before and sold only one painting. It wasn't something that I aspired to do, I wanted to write and illustrate children's books. Although, It was a nice feeling when it sold, and I didn't care as much that the others didn't sell. I only had them up there because my dad encouraged me to. He came to visit by himself and made me take a photo in front of the display.
It was my turn next and the hum of soft rock sung in my head, it was so muted because of how many voices and conversations were happening in the restaurant around me. I started to look around, people watching with my sunglasses still covering my eyes so no one could see that I was looking at them.
