Re-write of Twilight
The sun beamed down on me, on my world, as I basked in all its glory. I partially opened my eyes to my back yard; cacti and vines with boldly coloured flowers adorned the warm and familiar setting, a generously sized swimming pool sat conspicuously in the centre.
I lay soaking wet on a sun chair, my bare chest gleaming as the sun’s rays reflected light from the droplets and danced in all directions. I sighed deeply, relishing the feeling of heat on my exposed skin. The imposing realization that I wouldn’t feel this type of heat, let alone to this degree, for a very long time after today pricked at the ever growing puncture in my chest; gnawed at its edges, steadily making it less bearable.
With this, I reluctantly hoisted myself up and made my way across the enclosed space to the large glass double-doors, pushed the left one open –as I always did-, and stepped inside.
The interior of my house was exclusively designed, and fitted, by my mother. This was blatantly evident in the way that each item of furnishing, ranging from furniture to pillow cases, was utterly unique and just so... her. She worked for a designing company about twenty miles away in our home-city of Phoenix, Arizona. Her job mostly entailed the design-work and development of clothing, but she also enjoyed creating interior items in her spare time.
I crossed the original living room, stepping quickly and quietly so as not to alert my mom, Elizabeth (whom was supposedly in the kitchen), to the fact that I was dripping water, and dragging dust from my feet, over her most-prized rug. I hurriedly sprang up the stairs, taking the steps by two at a time, and walked briskly in to my room.
An involuntary frown pulled at the corners of my mouth as I took in my surroundings. I’d miss this room so much – it possessed so many valuable memories, and would withhold a significant part of me when I left. I knew I should start packing, but simply couldn’t bring myself to do so; I hated the thought of leaving it empty, desolate. Just like the ever-increasing hole in my torso.
However, I had to leave for the airport in less than four hours, so finally decided that I couldn’t put the task off any longer. I groaned in defeat, and forced myself to retrieve a couple of suitcases from the storage cupboard to the right of the landing.
Just as I was re-entering my room with the cases in tow, my mom called up to me from the bottom of the stairs,
“Edward! Are you packing yet? We’re leaving in a few hours! You have to eat your lunch before we go, so hurry up and come down – I’ve made your favourite!”
I sighed. “Ok, coming mom! I’ll be down soon.”
The silence lasted an immeasurable moment.
“You didn’t answer my question; how is packing going?” She replied, her voice a mixture of regret, concern and worry.
“Fine, mom. I’m, uh... nearly done” I lied, looking at the empty cases and full room.
“Alright, honey. Well, be as quick as you can. I’ll put yours on the stove to keep warm.”
“Yeah, OK thanks.” I called back, wishing my room’s various items and furnishings would pack themselves.
“Ugh” I groaned again, opening the first suitcase and walking sluggishly over to my clothes draw. I violently pulled out its contents, throwing socks and underwear on to the floor. I then did the same to my wardrobe, stripping the hangers of their possessions and flinging them across my room. I found this to be of marginal release, like ripping a band-aid off quickly. I knew it was stupid though, as I’d have to fold them up to make them fit in the cases sufficiently.
I glanced around my room, reminiscing over all the happenings which had taken place. Over there, in the far right corner, was where I apparently took my first steps. And there, over by the modestly sized television, my mom had installed my first games console and played with me for hours on end. I felt a twinge of solitude ignite in my stomach as I thought of how I was about to leave her; leave everything that mattered most to me. The frown stayed plastered on my face, and my eyes pricked furiously. I hadn’t cried for years, but it was a definite possibility now.
My room seemed to call out to me, begging me to leave it whole and complete. I vigorously blinked back the tears, and let my knees fall to the floor. I picked up and packed the underwear first, and then moved on to all my clothes. The contorted frown wavered slightly as I picked up my favourite shirt; my mom had designed and manufactured it herself, and given it to me on my sixteenth birthday. I pulled it over my head, and realized I was still in my swimming trunks. I unpacked a pair of boxers and dark jeans, and dressed quickly. I was still slightly wet, but didn’t care.
I continued and finished packing in a depressed air of apprehension and increasing panic. I didn’t want to leave, but it was the right thing to do. I had to retain a brave face, fake imperturbableness for her benefit. I wouldn’t let my mom clue in to just how much this pained me, or how the move would affect me.
Finally, my cases were swollen with possessions. My room was empty, and so was I. I got up and carried them out, looked fleetingly behind me, sighed internally, and closed the door. I then began dragging them carefully down the stairs.
I was obviously making a lot more noise than I thought, since my mom appeared at the bottom and smiled up at me.
“Hey, hon. Here, let me help.”
“Thanks mom, but I think I’ve got them.” I smiled back.
“Alright, but don’t strain yourself. I don’t want to have to take you to the ER – you’d miss your flight.”
“No, that wouldn’t be good” I mumbled, with a forced atmosphere of nonchalance - unconvincingly. She threw me a concerned and troubled look, but I grinned strenuously in response; trying to reassure her and right the wrong.
“I’ll be fine mom, please don’t worry.” The statement had definite connotations.
She was an exceedingly intuitive woman, and she read me like a book. I found it very hard to keep any secrets from her, since she perpetually seemed to guess them anyway. Whenever I came home from school or work with a negative expression on my face, she sat me down and practically told me what was wrong and what I could do to solve it. We were extremely close, and I would miss her above anything or anyone else.
This was one secret, though, that I would have to hide from her. I knew it would be difficult, painfully so, but it had to be done.
She flashed me a hesitant smile, her green eyes boring deeply into mine. I felt the intensity of her stare, and I knew she was trying to figure out what I was thinking. I looked away, almost uncomfortable, and continued down the staircase.
She was very pretty; everyone thought so. Her wavy, not frizzy or in any way out of control, bronze coloured hair drifted in perfect almost-curls down to just below her shoulders, the various rich and natural highlights shining like diamonds in sunlight. Her eyes were a precarious shade of jade, radiating independence and life.
My hair, on the other hand, stuck out at odd angles and was near-impossible to tame. I inherited her eyes, though, which I was grateful for. They were my independent trait, the way I identified and set myself apart from everyone else. They were indisputably unconventional, and for that I was thankful. As was I for the unusual shade of bronze hair, complete with eye-catching highlights, which I also inherited.
My mom was of slight build, the opposite of lanky. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky in this case when the gene pool of her and my father’s chromosomes mixed; I inherited my dad’s figure, unquestionably gangly, which made me extremely uncoordinated and prone to accidents. I can’t remember the last time I hadn’t fallen over or made a fool of myself at least once in one day. Actually, I don’t think that’s ever occurred.
Sure enough, ironically on the last step, my footing slipped and I crumpled to the wooden flooring at the bottom, one of the suitcases –the heavier one- landing squarely on top of me. I felt the air whooshing out of my lungs in a sharp gust, but it didn’t hurt that much. Then again, due to my being so accident prone, the constant tripping-over and falling down had rendered me practically immune to common forms of physical pain – it was the emotional that I didn’t cope with well, that I had a hard time dealing with.
“Oh, Edward! Are you Ok? I told you to let me help you!” She fretted, trying desperately to haul me up by my hands. “I know how clumsy you can be.”
“I’m fine, mom!” I said, rolling my eyes at her slant. She either didn’t notice it; unlikely, or chose to ignore it; very likely, because she continued on with her babbling.
“Really, sweetheart. You can be so careless at times – what am I going to do with you?”
“I was actually being careful, mom. You know better than anyone that me falling over or down is pretty much inevitable, no matter how hard I try to avoid doing so.” I forced another smile in her direction, unthankful for the sudden proximity between us. Our closeness would make it that much harder to conceal my feelings, to block her scorching eyes.
She chuckled lightly, coiling her arms around my waist and pulling me tightly to her. She looked like a pixie when stood next to me, her head at least a foot and a half lower than mine. We walked silently to the kitchen.
“So, ready for lunch?” She asked, releasing me and sitting down on an elegantly designed – by her – white stool, in front of the table island. I sat down opposite to her.
“Sure” I replied; strain accidentally audible in my voice. Again, I felt her hefty gaze search my face, penetrating my resolve. I looked away instantaneously and cussed inwardly to myself, aware that I had to keep my composure, defy her searching eyes.
“My favourite you said? Yum, salad, vegetables sticks and hummus here I come.” I smiled teasingly at her, the composition of my facial features arranged in a way that would fool any normal human being; but apparently, not my mother.
“Talk to me, honey. I need to know what you’re feeling.”
“I thought you knew everything.” I teased her, my voice overly-cheerful – conspicuously so.
Her answering look made my cringe internally. Hopefully it didn’t reach my eyes, though.
“Honestly, mom, I’m fine! More than fine. I’m great actually, pretty excited about seeing dad. It’s been ages.” I said, using my most convincing voice. The problem was that it was blatantly obvious when I lied. It would have been to better effect if I hadn’t said anything so blaringly decipherable – the words I chose were a sure-fire give away, I realised abruptly... after it was too late.
I know she saw right through me because the left corner of her mouth pulled up, revealing her lovely crooked smile, and understanding flashed through and then sparkled in her wide, expressive eyes.
She spoke slowly, deliberately. “Edward. You don’t have to do this. Really, you’re too selfless for your own good. Matthew and I are happy as we are, you don’t need to make sacrifices for us. I know how much you love it here.” She smiled knowingly at me; all too aware that she’d successfully hit a sensitive spot.
I cringed again, though this one materialised outwardly. I could feel it visible in my face, promptly twisting the features, drawing my mouth in. Crap, I thought critically to myself. I worked quickly to re-construct my airy expression, however, and tired my best to reinforce my case and, in turn, reassure her.
“Mom, please. I’m okay – I’ll be fine, really. It won’t be... at all bad. It will be good. I’m looking forward to the change.” As these hollow words left my lips, the raw edges of the hole in my aching chest seemed to dissipate further, increasing the perimeter and circumference, until it reached my unsuspecting lungs – and suddenly it was harder to breathe. So much harder.
I recoiled against the all-too-familiar pricking sensation in the backs of my eyes, doing the best I could to keep my face assuring, indifferent. She wasn’t buying it.
Her hand reached across the table, entwining her cool fingers through mine. I smiled at her, obstinate in keeping my expression impassive. She simpered back, the perpetual glint of knowingness charging her eyes. I knew what was coming.
“Edward. You know how much you mean to me, and understand how much I love you, don’t you?” She asked quickly, almost pleadingly, as her bright eyes set out once again to explore my face, though her lips had pulled down at the edges to form a sympathetic frown. “I don’t want you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with or unhappy about, least of all for me. I don’t deserve such a thoughtful and over-considerate” – she deeply emphasized the ‘over’ – “son. I don’t want you to leave me, anyway. I’ll miss you too much.” I knew this was true, but only partly. She would miss me, undoubtedly so; probably as much as I’d miss her.
But she was also desperate for change. I could see it written all over her face, etched in to each unusually distant looks hindering her demeanor while I sometimes watched her doing housework, routinely cleaning and scrubbing and labouring. I noticed the deplorably... dead look in her eyes, and it didn’t look right; I hated seeing her like that.
She revelled in change, bathed in it, desired it completely; I did not. But who was I to refuse her alteration and excitement? To prevent her from doing the things she’d always wanted to do? I loved her too much to see her usually euphoric eyes unhappy, bored, and unfulfilled. It sent pangs of pity and guilt down my spine, and I’d already put this off for long enough. Now was the time – the time for change, the time to let go.
It wouldn’t be permanent, after all.
I nodded. “I know, mom. I love you too. But I really do want to do this.” My new hopefully-impenetrable resolve gave me confidence, stopped the threat of any tears or meltdowns in their tracks. I smiled seriously, squeezing her hand. Her frown wavered slightly, but I could tell she required more assurance. “Seeing dad will be fun. Forks will hopefully accommodate my desire for occasionally warmer days, and I’ve got the e-mail addresses of all my close friends; along with yours. We’ll talk all the time, don’t worry” The left side of my mouth curved up to perfectly mirror her alluringly lopsided smile.
She stood up suddenly and pulled me to my feet. I was then surprised, and a little embarrassed, when she took my face in her hands, no doubt having to drag it down to her height in the process, and kissed my cheek. “You’re a lovely boy, Edward. I’m extremely lucky to be able to call you my son.” I could feel the awkwardness apparent in my face; I didn’t respond well to physical -or emotional- proximity.
I rubbed the back of my neck, smiling tentatively at her. “It’s nothing, mom.” Then, for lack of anything better to say in the new silence, “Do you want me to send dad your regards?”
She smiled back, her eyes warm and bright. “Sure. Oh, and give him my thanks, will you?”
“Yeah, of course.” I replied, sitting back down. “So, I’m really very hungry now. Can I have my lunch?” Grinning, she ambled over to the oven and retrieved a plate from the top.
I ate slowly, actually tasting the food. I’d miss my mom’s cooking a lot. I was hopeless at it, and knew my dad wasn’t any better. When I’d finished, I put my dishes in the sink and walked out into the living room. I made my way over to the couch in the far-right corner, and sat down next to her. She was watching some comedy sitcom, and smiled at my appearance.
“How was lunch?”
“Great, thanks.”
“Good. I’ll have to send your father the recipe for my hummus. You’re likely to freeze to death over there; I wouldn’t want to increase my chances of losing you to starvation, too.” She smiled teasingly at me, and I laughed.
In some ways, the following couple of hours were relaxing, comforting. In most, they weren’t. I chuckled along with her when I heard her familiar ringing laugh, doing my best to concentrate on what was happening in the little inconsequential box which sat in front of me. But my mind was elsewhere; anywhere and everywhere. I thought about what I was giving up, how much I was leaving behind, and how long it’d take me to get used to life in Forks. I wondered what I’d say to my dad when I got there, or if our meeting would be awkward.
I pondered whether it’d be raining when I arrived at the airport. Ugh, I thought pointedly, probably.
I kept stealing peeks at the ornamental clock hanging above the TV on the wall opposite to us, counting down how much time I had left. I began to feel an omnipresent fog of dread and apprehension creeping up and closing in on me, gradually saturating the air with trepidation. It seemed ubiquitous, inescapable. Claustrophobia almost threatened to crush me.
My mom’s presence made the fuggy atmosphere bearable; her pretty laugh repeatedly percolated my reverie. I was obscenely grateful for her company – the sound of her joyful, contented voice as she chatted casually about Rachael and Joey and Chandler calmed me.
“I’ll miss this, you know. Just me and you – hanging out.”
An involuntary smile pulled at my lips when she used the words ‘hanging out’. “Me too, mom.” Another twenty minutes passed, and then, all too abruptly for my liking, it was time to get up and start leaving.
She was to drive me to the airport, though I was fully capable of doing so myself. I retrieved the cases from where we’d left them and then, after dragging both to the front door, said goodbye to Ellis, our miniature dachshund, and Benji, our golden Labrador retriever. I’d miss them second most, after my mom.
I took my first step outside and gingerly made my way to the car. I opened its door, sat down, and stared in admiration at the magnificent - well, to me - building that I was about to leave. I kept telling myself that it’d be OK, that this was the right thing to do – but my assuring internal words didn’t, on any level, begin to cancel out the crushing doubt and panic I was trying so hard to ignore.
My mom was already there; she’d loaded the cases into the back while I’d said my goodbyes to the dogs. She smiled at me, obvious guilt clouding her eyes. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
No. “Of course I am, mom. Please just stop asking.” I rolled my eyes again, trying in vain to look incredulous and convince the both of us.
The drive to the airport was quiet, but not altogether uncomfortable. I was surprised by her lack of words; she was usually such a chatterbox, always the first to initiate conversation. And not just with me, either. She had to be one of the most outgoing people I knew – always attending parties, socializing with friends on most weekends.
I, on the other hand, was extremely shy and kept myself to myself. I had a few good friends, and we were pretty close. But I’d never been one to go out. I enjoyed being on my own – revelling in aloneness, rather than being depressed by it. It wasn’t that I hadn’t the potential to be ‘popular’; I’d just never been interested in being a large group of people who I didn’t really know and wouldn’t value my friendship.
After about forty minutes of occasional small-talk, we arrived at the airport. I got out and pulled my cases from the boot. My mom took the lighter one and we made our way into the terminal. The wide open space bustled with people and the air was filled with unintelligible chatter. I checked in and, all too soon, it was time to say goodbye.
Her arms wrapped lovingly around my neck, drawing my face down to meet hers. She kissed me on both cheeks – I was too upset to object or even feel embarrassed. Evident tears filled her eyes as she stared into mine, and my heart felt as though it were being ripped from my chest and stomped on. I couldn’t stop the annoying pricking this time, and knew I was in trouble.
Her face became distorted as the tears began to build and threatened to spill from my helpless eyes. I tried frivolously to hold them back, but knew there wasn’t really any point. I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to. I was here now – I’d made my decision and I had to stick to it.
On this thought, though, I reminded myself that there was a point to restraining my tears and keeping my emotions at bay. I didn’t want my mom, the person I loved most in the world, to be more unnecessarily upset then she already was; and pain was already painted all over her delicate feature, contorting them horribly.
“Please, Edward. You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to leave me.” Her pleas were half-hearted; she knew I wouldn’t relent now. Once I made a decision, I followed it though completely and irrevocably. She knew that better than anyone; even myself at times.
“I do have to do this mom. Nothing you say can or will stop me.” I smiled at her, though she didn’t return the gesture. The tears she’d been holding escaped her pained eyes, her lips pulled up into a pout which I’d never seen her wear before. Seeing her look so miserable was almost too much; it wouldn’t take a lot more to push me over the edge.
I leaned towards her and kissed her forehead fervently. I felt the sobs before I heard them. Her body doubled up and she leaned on my shoulder, letting what was no doubt the built-up of hours of tears defy her. She was very much like me in that way; she didn’t like showing emotion where it wasn’t wanted.
“Mom, it’s OK. Please don’t cry! We’ll see each other soon. I promise.”
I lifted her face up gingerly with my hand and peered into her swollen and anguished eyes. She closed them and hugged me to her tightly, crushing my body to hers. We stayed this was for some time – I’m not sure how long, though. Seconds seemed to turn into minutes, and eventually I pulled away from her vice-like grasp. She didn’t want to let me go any more than I wanted to her.
Luckily, I’d been able to repress the tears and had composed myself into something much less vulnerable during our embrace. I smiled again at her, hoping beyond hope that this time she’d comply and smile back.
I knew it was now or never... or so to speak.
“Goodbye, mom.” I kissed her again, this time on the cheek, turned reluctantly and ambled through the gate. What had I called it? Ripping the band-aid off quickly? Yeah, that was it.
“Bye, honey! Call me as soon as you get there!” She cried as I picked up my hand-luggage. I waved and, with much effort, grinned.
“Of course, mom.” I called back, and added in an almost unabashed monotone, “I love you.”
“I love you too!” She mouthed, obvious from her face that expressing her feelings in words would mean them escaping with sobs. I smiled back one last time, and walked around the corner.
Solitude hit me harder than I’d anticipated. I tried desperately to shake the feeling of emptiness, though the splintering hole in my chest had other ideas. With each step I took towards my eventual destination, it seemed to increase tenfold in volume. They say time heals all wounds, but I found it hard to believe mine wasn’t past repair.
I boarded the plane and peered down at my seat number. 28D. I worked my way through the aisle, dodging people with bags and boxes and sat down on the allocated seat. I was one of the first on, and hoped that there wouldn’t be too many people on the flight. Minutes past, and it seemed my wish had gone unheard.
By the time it was ready to leave, all the seats had been taken up. I was wedged in the middle of two people; one a girl about the same age as me, the other a middle-aged man. He had his earphones in and his laptop on. The girl had long blonde hair and dark gray eyes. She was OK looking, though nothing that special. I’d seen prettier.
“Hi.” She greeted me when she sat down.
“Hello.” I replied, disconcerted. I always found it awkward when strangers spoke to me.
She studied my face and red crept into her cheeks. I looked back and simpered. I’d seen that expression on girls’ faces before.
She turned away quickly, her blush deepening. Her hands fidgeted on her lap. She didn’t talk to me much after that.
It’s a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Oh, the monotony.
Despite my initial embarrassment, I was cripplingly bored and so was prepared to do anything to stifle the feeling. After about thirty minutes of nothingness, - the hole in my chest ached so badly and felt so desolate that my mind began to infer that nothingness had actually engulfed me -, I turned to the girl and spoke.
“So” I began, “Why are you going to Seattle?”
Her head snapped up from her book, and she stared at me; the evident surprise in her face made her look dishevelled.
“Uhh” She stuttered dumbly, “I’m, uhm, going to visit my friend... at her house.” Her eyes darted from mine and she looked back down at her hands. She appeared terribly embarrassed. Intimidated, even.
“You?” She murmured; her shaky voice almost too low to hear.
“I’m going to Forks, actually, to visit my dad.” Though ‘visit’ wasn’t exactly the correct word, I didn’t feel an urgent need to correct myself.
“Oh. That’s... nice.” She muttered, still staring down at her book. I could see the crimson in her cheeks deepen further still. Haha, I thought to myself. Poor girl.
“I’m Edward, by the way.” I held out my hand. Her eyes widened as she registered my gesture from her peripheral vision and glanced upwards to meet my face. She offered hers back, and shook it gingerly. Our proximity and contact had obviously affected her, since her palm was extremely sweaty.
“Emily.” She replied.
I withdrew my hand and turned away, a smile dancing on my lips. I knew I was quite good-looking - I’d gotten it from my mom. We frequently turned heads when we were out and around people, and I’d had a few implied and worded offers for going out from girls. A guy, even, had asked if I wanted to ‘catch a movie’; I cringed at the amusing memory.
I’d refused every one of them.
I hadn’t brought a book or a magazine or anything else to read or do so the flight passed by excruciatingly slowly. Eventually, though, after the four longest hours of my life, the plane fluidly hit the ground and we were there. I gazed out the window, drinking in the new and unfamiliar surroundings.
As the ‘fasten seatbelts’ sign flashed off for the last time, I unhooked my belt and the girl and I stood up simultaneously, causing us to collide when we reach upwards for our bags. In my haste, and thanks to my coordination, I tripped and toppled over her. We landed hard in the aisle, my body covering half of hers.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are you OK?” I asked worriedly, removing myself from the uncomfortable predicament by hauling myself, and then her, up off the floor. She looked shocked, but was seemingly unharmed.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Thanks” She said as I dragged her from the ground. It was my turn to go red.
I mumbled another embarrassed apology, uttered an awkward goodbye to her, and walked quickly to the allocated exit. Typical, I thought sourly.
The hour plane ride to Port Angeles was just as uneventful. More so, since I didn’t get a chance to crush some poor, unsuspecting girl on the way out. Anticipation began to build as I felt the plane touch the ground; my heart started and hammered violently inside my chest.
I exited the small plane and retrieved my luggage which had already been removed and was sitting on a trolley. The icy air hit me like a thousand knives. It was raining. The clouds were a depressing shade of gray. I stared up at the sky, willing for the layer of dull colour to break and the brilliant yellow which I was so used to shine down on me. No such luck. Collecting my thoughts and attempting to calm myself, I followed the rest of people and walked in through doors to a brightly-lit room. I made my way through the small terminal, keeping my head down. A disconcerting sensation of panic flooded through me as I further contemplated the situation I was in.
I entered a room which appeared to be the arrivals lounge, and searched around for my dad’s face. The space was crowded with people and saturated with excited voices. I felt a tentative hand on my shoulder and whizzed around to see the crinkled smile and statuesque figure of my father.
“Hey, dad.” I smiled back.
“Edward. Look at you! You must’ve grown at least a foot since I last saw you. How tall are you now?”
“Six three.” I replied awkwardly.
“Whoa, nearly as tall as your old man then. Come here!” He pulled me into a brief one-armed hug and then reached down to grab one of my cases.
“Thanks.” I said, as he began dragging it towards the exit.
“No problem, son. It’s so good to see you.”
“And you. It’s been ages.”
“Yeah, too long.” He replied, a prominent smile still plastered on his face.
I didn’t agree.
Again, the freezing winds stabbed at me with all their force. I looked upward and all around, and groaned.
“Something wrong?” He asked in a concerned voice.
Yes. Everything. “No, I’m fine. Just the weather.” He gazed at me knowingly, his dark eyes piercing into mine.
“You’ll get used to it.” He said, with annoying humour in his voice. I missed mom already.
My dad’s name was Edward, too. So that made me Edward Jr. He was pretty quiet, like me. He didn’t go out much, like me. He preferred being alone, like me. There were a few similarities between us, but I felt I related better to my mother. Probably because I’d been raised by her and spent only a fraction of my time with him.
He was the chief cop in Fork’s police force. He’d been working there for years, and only recently had been promoted to head. I could tell he loved his job; he enjoyed leaving early in the morning and coming back to a late dinner in the evening. He’d told me frequently on the phone about his day and of some his adventures – which, surprisingly, were few and far between. The little town of Forks hardly had much crime; nor did anything of consequence usually happen.
The car journey to the house was filled by my dad’s enquiries and my half-hearted replies. I mostly stared out the window, absorbing the scenery. Everything was so... green. It was beautiful, I couldn’t deny that. It just wasn’t me. I sighed internally. Rain dripped down from the cage-like sky, and the blanket of gray concealing my sun never wavered.
We arrived at the house, its dullness beckoning me in – either that, or telling me to run. It looked just as I had remembered it. I’d visited Forks every summer from when I was eight up until twelve. After that, I refused to go anymore and instead made my dad meet me in Florida for a couple of weeks each year. This happened for two years, and at fourteen I gave up and told my parent’s I’d go live with him when I was older.
That time had come much too soon.
I opened the boot and pulled both cases out. Dad took one, and we both began dragging them up the stone slabs of the narrow path until we reached the front door. He reached under the doormat and retrieved a key, fitting it agilely into the lock and twisting it. I heard a sharp click, and then he turned the handle instantaneously.
I pushed through the door and into the hall. It was small... almost claustrophobic. Just like the rest of the crappy place, I thought shrewdly. We hauled the cases into the kitchen and he sat down on a rickety old chair. I gazed around at my surroundings. The yellow counters and white walls were fitted and painted by my mom before she’d run out on him when I was just a few months old. I think they were an attempt of rendering the house more airy and inviting. It hadn’t worked; the colours contrasted horribly with the rest of the dank house, since most of the wooden walls and fittings were a monotonous brown.
There was a table which sat in the left corner with three un-matching chairs positioned around it. I walked limply over to where he was sitting, and plonked down on the one farthest away from him. He smiled at me.
“So; you know I can’t cook, don’t you?” He laughed. “Are you any good at it?”
“’Fraid not, dad. I’m probably worse than you.”
“Hah, I don’t think that’s even possible.” His grin spread widely across his rain-withered face and he winked at me. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight, then?” He offered.
I thought. “Thanks, but no thanks dad. I’m not that hungry and I’m really, really tired.”
“OK, that’s fine. I’ll just whip up something quick and easy. How does baked beans on toast sound?” He chuckled. He seemed genuinely pleased to have me here; I didn’t remember him ever being so... talkative and lively. That was my mother’s forte.
“Great.” I replied, grateful for my aversion and his compliance. The last thing I wanted was to go out with him for a meal. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and... die.
Maybe not die, then - but definitely something of the sort.
“I’m going to go unpack, ‘kay?” I said.
“Want any help?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” I smiled at him and took my leave.
“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” He shouted when I was halfway up the stairs. “Alright, thanks.” I grunted loud enough for him to hear in response.
I dumped my suitcases on the floor at the entrance of my room. It, too, was how I remembered it; light blue walls and dark blue carpet with red flecks in it, a smallish single bed with a sadly outdated ‘superhero’ duvet and pillow cover, a wooden wardrobe, a bedside table complete with lamp and a large window was all the space consisted of. I walked over to the window, and peered outside. Still gray... still raining... still claustrophobic. I groaned and felt the threat of tears began to build up in my eyes once again. No, I ordered myself. You can’t do that... Not now. Not until later.
Green trees and shrubbery constituted the dense forest which sat maliciously around me. The greenery seemed utterly ubiquitous; totally inescapable. Just like the fog of apprehension I’d been feeling since this morning. The biting atmosphere hit me again as I slid the window open, preparing myself for the relentless knives. They came, with too much force. The wind crashed into me and I could almost feel its blades cutting into me, slicing at my skin.
Damned weather. It would take me an eternity get used to such crappy conditions. I quickly rolled the window down and shivered violently.
I walked over to my cases and began unpacking. Ugh, how depressing I sighed to myself, wishing I was back in Phoenix and in my chilling pool. Being cold felt nice there; but here it felt trapping, uncomfortable... dangerous. Like the knives wouldn’t stop if they actually got hold of me and I couldn’t escape.
After I was finished, I lay down on my bed and pulled the covers over my head, wishing desperately that if I pretended to disappear then I just might. That if I concentrated completely on going home, some miracle would occur and I’d be whisked away through the sheet of oppressive omnipotence and cast back onto my sun chair and into the familiar, blistering heat.
The next thing I knew, my dad was at my side and shaking my shoulder gently.
“Dinner’s ready, Edward. Do you want to come down?”
I groaned and muttered something blatantly unintelligible in response.
“Or... I could make an exception and you could eat in your room?”
“No, it’s OK, dad. I’ll be down in a minute.” I muttered, only slightly more clearly.
“Ok, but don’t be too long. It’ll go cold and I’m sure we both know that cold beans don’t taste nice.” He smiled down at me and sauntered out of my room. Yep, he was definitely being too chatty. The usual him would have stood at my door and said something like, “Uh, Edward. Dinner’s ready. I know you’re tired, so don’t come down if you don’t want to,” And left without a backwards glance.
I moaned and climbed drunkenly out of bed. I stumbled as I made my way to the door, hitting my head on the frame. Owch, I though, deeply annoyed with myself. Why’d I have to fall asleep?
I steadied myself and stepped carefully down the steps. Fatigue plus my luck plus my coordination plus stairs could only result in something bad. Amazingly, I reached the safety - if you’re anyone but me - of the floor in one piece. I stumbled into the kitchen and fell down onto the centre chair.
“Geez, Edward. You look awful.” He was sitting on the far end, a forkful of potato in his mouth.
“Thanks, dad.” I replied defensively.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult, son.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I know.” I murmured as my head hit the table, narrowly missing my plate.
“You should go back to bed.” He stated as I looked up to level his amused eyes and seemingly exasperated expression. “You’d think you hadn’t slept in days.”
I grunted. Stupid man. He didn’t know anything.
I knew I was just grumpy with tiredness, but immediately felt bad about my thoughts. He was being terribly nice about all this – nicer than I’d expected. He didn’t deserve bad or rude behaviour from his hormonal teenage son.
“No, I’ll be OK.” My stomach rumbled, as if that was its cue. I looked down at my plate and picked up the cutlery. The quicker I ate, I reasoned with myself, the quicker I could go to bed.
When I finished, I thanked him for dinner, said goodnight and exited the kitchen. I jumped up the stairs and slung my door shut. I practically ran at the bed, not bothering to pull off any of my imposing clothes or washing up before sleeping. I just couldn’t find the conviction or motivation... I couldn’t be bothered with any of it.
Even in my unexplainably dreary state of tiredness, I found it extremely difficult to fall asleep. I closed my eyes tightly, desperate for sleep to envelope me. Not five minutes ago I was practically passing out from fatigue, yet now unconsciousness seemed light-years away.
Rain pattered loudly and continuously on and off the roof... wouldn’t it ever stop? Despite my drained mood, I still felt it in me to finally let the tears spill over. So I did; I cried almost soundlessly until the rain subdued and I fell into a dreamless, restless sleep.
