Status: New! Comment & Subscribe!
Hopeless Desires
Quatre pt. II
We pulled into my driveway the next morning, each of us still wearing our pajamas and only half awake.
“I’ll see you Sunday?” Amber asked, pulling one of my suitcases out of the trunk and placing it on the driveway. I put my backpack on and then pulled out the other suitcase and closed the trunk, nodding at Amber’s question.
She climbed back in her car and backed out of my driveway, waving as she sped down the road. I grabbed the handle on each of my suitcases and wheeled them up the front path. The house looked exactly like it did two years ago. The only difference was that my parents just had it landscaped and there were new flowers planted all around, butterflies and bees flying around them. As I approached the door, it swung out open, surprising me, and there stood my mom.
She looked the exact same as she had the day I left. Her skin holds the same natural tan and smooth complexion it’s always had, much like my own. Her lips are large and pink, and her eyes are small and brown. Her hair is short and wavy, a rich black color, with strands of grey, which have appeared over the past few years. She has lines on her face that show her wisdom and age but she still doesn’t look a day over 30. Her cheeks were flushed a light pink and she had a pair of glasses adorning her face.
“Hi, mom,” I smiled, shuffling awkwardly.
“Chesna,” she said quietly. Her brown eyes pooled with tears and she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing my body to hers. I dropped my suitcases and wrapped my arms around her waist, burying myself in her familiar smell.
My mom and I always had a really close relationship. I talked to her about everything and anything. Growing up, she had a calm and rational way of dealing with situations and it was rare that she yelled or implemented any punishments. Her mother taught her that talking things through and having discussions was a better way to learn what’s right and what’s wrong instead of taking away privileges and screaming in your face. I got most of my looks and personality from my mom and she’s someone I look up to immensely.
After standing on the front stoop for a while, my mom pulled back, her hands still resting on my shoulders. A few tears slipped down her cheek, though she didn’t care and simply ignored them.
“You look so good, honey. You’re glowing,” she smiled, each of us letting out little laughs. “Come on, come on. Get in here before the neighbors start snooping.” She ushered me in with her hands, grabbing one suitcase and stepping inside. “Where’s Carter? I thought he was coming down with you?” I explained to her that he was sick and she nodded her head, a sad look on her face. “Well, next time then, yes?” I nodded my head, looking around the familiar home. “Your father has been waiting for you to get here all day.”
Inside, nothing had changed. The same pictures were still hanging on the walls, the same furniture was still being used and the same lights were still hanging from the ceiling. The only thing that had been added to the mix was some pictures I had sent her from California. Other than that, it still looked and smelled like my childhood home. My mom brought my things up to my old room and told me to go out onto the back porch, where my dad was.
Walking through all the familiar hallways and rooms brought back so many memories. I got to the patio doors that were open and I could see my dad further in the yard. He was lying on his back, his face out of view, working on fixing his tractor. I walked out to him, trying to keep my foot steps as light and quiet as possible. I knelt down at his feet and cleared my throat.
“You’re still using this old hunk of junk?” I asked.
My dad lightly jumped, hitting his elbow on the rusting medal underside and grunting. I stood back as he pushed himself out from under the tractor. When he saw it was me, the glare he had on his face instantly faded and was replaced with a wide, toothy grin.
“This is my baby, Chesna. She is not a hunk of junk.”
“You’ve been saying that since I was 15.”
“And I’ll keep saying it till your 50.”
I rolled my eyes at my dad’s love for his simple and old things. To him, nothing is garbage. Everything can be used for something or taken apart and it’s pieces used for something. He and my mom always used to get in little spats about how he was always saving things that were broken. But he didn’t see them as broken; to him, they were just temporarily unusable.
He stuck his hand out, dirt and grease stains covering it. I placed my hand in his and helped him stand up. He sighed as he stood up, wiping his hands on the red, grease towel he had sitting on the steering wheel. He smiled at me, his blue eyes identical to mine. He was a man of few words, usually very quiet, only speaking when spoken to.
I learned what I needed to know about life through my father’s own life. It was the way he lived his that taught me how to live mine. He has simple interests that he loves and dedicates his time to. And when given the chance, he could sit and talk to you for hours about any one of them.
“You look more like your mother every time I see you,” he said, looking up at me through his eyelashes. I smiled at him and stepped forward, giving him a tight hug, which he reciprocated.
I was glad to finally be home.
Surrounded by familiar faces, the people that you love to see. Where everybody knows your name and they’re smiling.
“I’ll see you Sunday?” Amber asked, pulling one of my suitcases out of the trunk and placing it on the driveway. I put my backpack on and then pulled out the other suitcase and closed the trunk, nodding at Amber’s question.
She climbed back in her car and backed out of my driveway, waving as she sped down the road. I grabbed the handle on each of my suitcases and wheeled them up the front path. The house looked exactly like it did two years ago. The only difference was that my parents just had it landscaped and there were new flowers planted all around, butterflies and bees flying around them. As I approached the door, it swung out open, surprising me, and there stood my mom.
She looked the exact same as she had the day I left. Her skin holds the same natural tan and smooth complexion it’s always had, much like my own. Her lips are large and pink, and her eyes are small and brown. Her hair is short and wavy, a rich black color, with strands of grey, which have appeared over the past few years. She has lines on her face that show her wisdom and age but she still doesn’t look a day over 30. Her cheeks were flushed a light pink and she had a pair of glasses adorning her face.
“Hi, mom,” I smiled, shuffling awkwardly.
“Chesna,” she said quietly. Her brown eyes pooled with tears and she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing my body to hers. I dropped my suitcases and wrapped my arms around her waist, burying myself in her familiar smell.
My mom and I always had a really close relationship. I talked to her about everything and anything. Growing up, she had a calm and rational way of dealing with situations and it was rare that she yelled or implemented any punishments. Her mother taught her that talking things through and having discussions was a better way to learn what’s right and what’s wrong instead of taking away privileges and screaming in your face. I got most of my looks and personality from my mom and she’s someone I look up to immensely.
After standing on the front stoop for a while, my mom pulled back, her hands still resting on my shoulders. A few tears slipped down her cheek, though she didn’t care and simply ignored them.
“You look so good, honey. You’re glowing,” she smiled, each of us letting out little laughs. “Come on, come on. Get in here before the neighbors start snooping.” She ushered me in with her hands, grabbing one suitcase and stepping inside. “Where’s Carter? I thought he was coming down with you?” I explained to her that he was sick and she nodded her head, a sad look on her face. “Well, next time then, yes?” I nodded my head, looking around the familiar home. “Your father has been waiting for you to get here all day.”
Inside, nothing had changed. The same pictures were still hanging on the walls, the same furniture was still being used and the same lights were still hanging from the ceiling. The only thing that had been added to the mix was some pictures I had sent her from California. Other than that, it still looked and smelled like my childhood home. My mom brought my things up to my old room and told me to go out onto the back porch, where my dad was.
Walking through all the familiar hallways and rooms brought back so many memories. I got to the patio doors that were open and I could see my dad further in the yard. He was lying on his back, his face out of view, working on fixing his tractor. I walked out to him, trying to keep my foot steps as light and quiet as possible. I knelt down at his feet and cleared my throat.
“You’re still using this old hunk of junk?” I asked.
My dad lightly jumped, hitting his elbow on the rusting medal underside and grunting. I stood back as he pushed himself out from under the tractor. When he saw it was me, the glare he had on his face instantly faded and was replaced with a wide, toothy grin.
“This is my baby, Chesna. She is not a hunk of junk.”
“You’ve been saying that since I was 15.”
“And I’ll keep saying it till your 50.”
I rolled my eyes at my dad’s love for his simple and old things. To him, nothing is garbage. Everything can be used for something or taken apart and it’s pieces used for something. He and my mom always used to get in little spats about how he was always saving things that were broken. But he didn’t see them as broken; to him, they were just temporarily unusable.
He stuck his hand out, dirt and grease stains covering it. I placed my hand in his and helped him stand up. He sighed as he stood up, wiping his hands on the red, grease towel he had sitting on the steering wheel. He smiled at me, his blue eyes identical to mine. He was a man of few words, usually very quiet, only speaking when spoken to.
I learned what I needed to know about life through my father’s own life. It was the way he lived his that taught me how to live mine. He has simple interests that he loves and dedicates his time to. And when given the chance, he could sit and talk to you for hours about any one of them.
“You look more like your mother every time I see you,” he said, looking up at me through his eyelashes. I smiled at him and stepped forward, giving him a tight hug, which he reciprocated.
I was glad to finally be home.
Surrounded by familiar faces, the people that you love to see. Where everybody knows your name and they’re smiling.