To Hell With Your New Shit

Sun burst through the slats of the blinds that covered the windows, leaking onto my eyelids and forcing my eyes to open. I groaned and rolled over to get a better look at the clock; it was 7:43 AM. I stretched my arms above my head until my knuckles graced the wall behind my pillows, and decided to get out of bed. After I stumbled onto the carpeted floor, I made my way to the bathroom and ran a hot shower, washing away the final remnants of grogginess. I moved quickly as I stepped out of the shower and dried off, before I started yanking on undergarments and eventually a slim-fitting black skirt and a white blouse.

By the time I made my way downstairs, my parents were mulling about the kitchen in their bathrobes and pajamas with mugs of coffee in their hands.

“What’s this?! Our Lindsay, awake before the crack of noon?” My father joked as I opened one of the familiar cabinets in search of a travel mug.

“Dad, I’m not the same girl that I was in high school. I actually wake up and get things done now,” I told him with a polite smile.

“Imagine that!” He teased, unfolding the local newspaper and setting it on the table in front of him. I smiled once more at him before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter.

“I need to run some errands today, is it all right if I take your car?” I asked my mother, who was just sitting down to a bowl of oatmeal. Barely half awake, she didn’t respond or look at me, but waved her hand in a motion of approval. I swiftly yanked the key ring off the hook in the hallway and shouted a goodbye before stepping onto the front porch and into the hot Arizona sun.

Before I could make it to the driver’s side of my mother’s silver sedan, a familiar voice stopped me.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little miss Lindsay Thompson, back from the big ol’ city. Tell me, does everyone really never sleep there?” His voice rang like a thousand delicate wind chimes in my ears. I didn’t know if I had that guts to turn around, but I somehow managed to do just that and squint into the morning sunlight. He was dressed in a thin, v-neck undershirt and navy blue athletic shorts and held the arms of a wheelbarrow in his gloved hands.

“I don’t think you’re exactly one to speak so condescendingly on such a subject,” I responded, taking a few small, hesitant steps across the driveway.

“At least I happen to come back every month or two. I’m not really the type to skip out of town for three years without coming back,” he retorted. His hair, matted slightly with sweat, gleamed in the sun and danced in the breeze. He set the wheelbarrow down and yanked off his gardening gloves.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry I’ve been working my ass off at a real job to pay for an extensive education, Mister Rockstar.”

“Such harsh words from such a pretty lady!” He accused. “And what is this attire we have here? Off to another grueling day at the office, my dear?” His sarcasm made me want to slap his smirking face.

“Oh, don’t I just wish I had the time and leisure to dress down and plant a garden like you!”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s what you need for a while after all those busy days in –“ He was cut off by the sound of a screen door opening behind him.

“John, sweetheart, have you got – Oh! Is that our lovely Lindsay Thompson with you?” His mother rushed through the front yard to greet me, a warm smile lighting up her face.

“Oh, Lindsay, it’s been so long since we’ve seen you around here!” She cooed. I smiled back, delighted to see her.

“Far too long, Mrs. O’Callaghan,” I agreed, giving her a hug.

“Oh, you two must be so happy to see each other! You’re so lucky you’re home this week while John is, aren’t you?” She asked, grasping my hands endearingly. “John has been such a good boy these past few days, helping me around the house while I take care of my mother. She’s been so ill, you know.”

My heart sank what felt like a thousand feet. My own mother hadn’t informed me that John’s grandmother had fallen ill. I stole a glance at John, but his gaze did not meet mine. His eyes averted mine, glaring off into the distance.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Callaghan,” I told her sincerely, “I hadn’t heard that from anyone. Really, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

“Oh, Lindsay, you were always such a sweet girl,” she responded with another smile. “I really do appreciate your offer, though I’m not sure any more can be done. For now you two should just spend some time together; you haven’t seen each other in so long!” She added, her eyes flicking between John and me. I forced a smile, but didn’t verbally agree to her suggestion. After giving me a pat on the shoulder, she made her way back inside, leaving us, two strangers, alone once again.

“I’m really sorry about your Gram,” I said quietly, focusing the attention of my eyes to the tips of my pointy, black pumps. John had always been close with his grandparents, and I could still remember clearly in my head the time that he and I had spent together when his grandfather had passed away.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he spat, shoving the gloves back on his hands.

“John, really, I am,” I pleaded with him. “If I had known, I would have… I would have –“ I stumbled over my words until he interrupted me.

“You would have what? Hopped on a plane at a moment’s notice? Flown back here and magically made everything better? Why? Would you have done the same thing for every bad thing that happened in my life had you known about them? Because if you planned on doing that, Lindsay,” he said, his voice cold and threatening, “you would have flown back here the very damn second that your plane touched down in New York.”

My feet felt as if they were nailed to the asphalt below me. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Not a single thought passed through my brain. John picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and strode angrily to the back yard of his parents’ house.

Slowly, so very, very slowly, I finally made my way to the driver’s side of my mother’s car. I yanked the door open and slammed it shut as soon as I sat in the cool, leather seat in front of the steering wheel.

And then I drove. I just kept driving, and I didn’t stop. I had no clue where I was taking myself, not the slightest idea where I would end up. That was, until I slowed down to pass a small, riverside park. The place where everything had started, ended, and come full circle. I flipped one of the car’s blinkers on and pulled abruptly to the side of the road.

“Dammit!” I screamed, pounding my fists against the steering wheel. I leaned my head against the top of the wheel, and felt hot tears brim to the edges of my eyes as I listened to the repetitive clicks of the blinker. I did not move, and I did not stop sobbing, until at least an hour had passed. Then, I finally wiped my eyes, switched the blinker, and pulled back onto the road, heading back to my parents’ house.

“Darling, you haven’t been gone even two hours!” My mother greeted as soon as I entered the house minutes later. “Did you get to all of your errands?” I shook my head as I placed the car keys back on their hook in the hallway. Before either of my parents could question me further, I took the stairs two at a time and rushed to my room, shutting the door and locking it behind me. I quickly pulled off my heels, blouse, and skirt and flung them across the room before changing into an old pair of denim shorts and a tank top. It is too god damned hot in this state, I thought to myself, before flopping down onto the welcoming comfort of my bed and dozing off into a fitful slumber.

Hours later, for the second time that day, I opened my sleepy eyes and glanced at the red digits on the clock. This time, it read 5:17 PM. I silently chided myself for sleeping the day away, but then remembered the day’s previous events and melted back into the safety of my pillows and blankets.

After a few moments of quiet wallowing, I threw the sheets off of my body and proceeded to the stairs, figuring that perhaps a glass of water would help calm me down. Contrary to my hopes, my trip downstairs only made my heart rate quicken. This morning, I had been too caught up in arguing childishly with John to notice how he had looked, how he had changed. But now, as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter, a pose that I had at once been so accustomed to seeing in my own home, I was stunned.

I halted myself a few steps from the kitchen, and sucked in a giant breath. Black jeans clung to his legs, secured at what was quite possibly the lowest point of his hips with a worn, brown belt, and met his ankles with similarly hued sandals. The sleeves of his faded, red, plaid button down shirt were rolled near his elbows, exposing tan, taught forearms, and the buttons near the collar were undone, revealing inked words on his chest that I had never before seen. His hair was no longer matted and sweaty; rather, it was dry and soft, and rested on his forehead in whisps.

“Ah, there you are, Lindsay! We were wondering when you would join us,” my father, the first to notice me standing awkwardly in the doorway, called from where he stood in the kitchen. John, along with my mother and the O’Callaghans, turned to look at me. The expression in John’s eyes changed so rapidly and so often in those few seconds where we saw each other, that I wasn’t sure what to think.

“I, uh – I have to go change,” I sputtered quickly before turning on my heel and racing back up the stairs to my bedroom.