Strangers When We Meet

Arizona in the spring time wasn't as warm as people would have you believed, or maybe I was just used to the heat now. I had spent my childhood in the south, in both Georgia, where I was born, and Louisiana, where my family is from, and it got hot and humid often in both places. We, mom and me, had spent a few years in New York before mom moved us to Flagstaff, where she met Andrew, then Phoenix where we now reside. They married three years ago, and I instantly inherited a family.

I had been used to it just being me and mom, the two of us taking on the world, things were different now. And being fatherless all those years before Andy came into the picture made me immediately push him away. We still weren't close, but it was better and I was happy that mom had found someone to be with after all those years alone.

My biological father was unknown to me, mom didn't like talking about him, nor did anyone else in my family, I didn't even know his name. Oh, I was given a name, but it turned out to be bogus. I overheard my gran talking once about it, saying she still didn't know who that man was, apparently mom didn't tell anyone his name.

Why? I don't know. I suppose he was some low-life loser, she had a one night stand or something and he didn't want anything to do with her after that. Or she was embarrassed, plain and simple. Either way it went, she didn't tell me much about him, it really didn't matter now. I didn't need him.

“Still haven't taken that thing out, I see.” Mom said as we drove.

I didn't roll my eyes, although I really wanted to.

“I'm not going to.” I said in a low voice.

“So is this it then? Your rebellious phase? I was wondering when that would stop.”

I sighed. “This isn't rebellion.” I told her in a flat tone.

She turned her blue eyes to me. “What do you call it?”

“Life.”

We grew silent for a few minutes. I knew she was mad, she would be for another week or two, then she would forget about it, or at least stop mentioning it every chance she got.

“Mom. I'm not doing this to upset you. Believe me.”

“I know.” she said shortly. “Just don't let it get infected.”

I hid my smile. “Sure thing.”

Mom pulled up in front of my grandparent's house a few minutes later. Just like most of the houses in this neighborhood, it was a ranch style, one level, but it had a nice sized back and front yard, and my gran made it look great, her petunia's were now in bloom and looking amazing. We climbed out of mom's car, and went to the door. It opened before we reached the porch.

“There's my girls.”

“Hi, grandpa.” I said, wrapping my arms around my grandpa, George.

Grandpa, smiled, his wrinkled face tan, his grey hair was cut close to his head, military style, and his pale blue eyes shinning bright through his thick rimmed specks. He smelled like outdoors and cigars.

“How's my baby?”

“Good.”

He looked behind me to the curb, “Where's the car?”

“Home. I'm trying to on save gas.”

He whispered to me. “Your mom made you carpool, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, dad.” Mom said, giving him a hug and a kiss before we all headed in.

“Your mother was starting to think you forgot, she went on one of her rants.”

“Not again.” Mom said, with a hint of humor. “Where is she?”

“In the basement... Already.”

We went into the kitchen, there were fresh baked muffins on the center island.

“I told her we should have left that stuff behind in Louisiana.” He said the state's name with a deep southern twang. I loved hearing him speak that way. “But no, she insisted we bring it along. “Kate might want some of this stuff, it's from her childhood, after all.”” He waved a hand around and looked at my mom. “Your mother.”

I bit into a blueberry bagel carefully, so as not to disturb the ring on my lip. Grandpa noticed, a smile on his face, but said nothing.

“Hey mom.” I said after swallowing the first bite down. “Why don't you go check on grandma.”

“Is that your way of kicking me out Brie?” she said. I shook my head innocently. “Oh dad, why don't you talk to your granddaughter about that thing in her lip.” Then she walked away.

“That's gotta hurt.” he said once mom's footsteps retreated.

“Not too much now.”

“Why do you insist on doing things to infuriate your poor mother?” he wasn't scolding, he didn't put any real weight behind his words, he just asked.

I shrugged. “I wasn't really thinking about her. She has to accept that fact that pretty soon I'll be on my own, And all those stupid decisions will fall on me, not her. She has to let me be.”

“Spoken like a true teenager.” He laughed. “You've only just turned seventeen. You've got another year under her rule, don't make it a painful one.” He had a point. “Next you'll be getting tattoos and having hangovers.”

I made sure not to choke on my muffin. I aid nothing, taking another bite. Grandpa didn't miss a thing. He noticed my reaction, gave me a stern look, that spoke more volumes than words.

“It better had been worth it.” he said a minute later.

I still said nothing. Better that way.

We heard mom and grandma heading into the kitchen.

“Oh, don't move a muscle. We'll do all the work while you sit and eat.” That was my gran.

A lovely southern woman, with a rich twangy accent, of and undisclosed age who still insisted she was still forty-nine. The math didn't add up there.

She strode into the kitchen, hand on her hip, a hard look on her lightly wrinkled face. Her dyed blonde hair was in a ponytail and covered with a red bandana. Even I could admit she looked real good fro her age,... whatever it really was.

“Hi, gran.”

My gran honed in on the lip ring immediately. “What is the thing?”

“A lip-ring.” My mom answered, standing next to her mother, unconsciously mimicking her stance.

“A lip-ring?” Gran sighed heavily. “You're a beautiful young woman, why would you want that thing sticking out of your face? Tell her George.”

Grandpa was smiling as he said, “I like it.”

The two woman were shocked. “What do you know?” Grandma said dismissively. “You think socks and sandals are stylish.”

“They're very comfortable.”

“So,” I said before gran could turn this into an all out fight, “I'm heading to the basement.”

Then I left the room, grandpa hot on my trail, he didn't want to be alone with either of them. I couldn't blame him.

The basement was large, the previous owners had fixed it up. There was a place to do laundry off to the right, and a small half bath in the back of the space. But the room was covered with boxes and things that they had stashed down here after the move. I could see that they had already gone through some of it, and there were keep, recycle, and trash boxes and bags near the stairs already half full.

“Wow.” I whispered. “Where do we start?”

“Back here would be best.” Grandpa said, as he made his way past me.

I followed and wordlessly we got to work. Mom and gran joined us, everyone shouting out to everyone else about the things they would find in those boxes, do you want to keep this, or that,... clothes, books, shoes, papers.

We broke for a late lunch, turkey sandwiches, and lemonade. Gran and Mom both teamed up on my about my style, which consisted of lots of eyeliner and dark clothes. I wasn't a goth or anything, I just liked dark clothing, and gran still wanted me to grow my hair out, she hated me pixie cut. My gran was very opinionated, and spoke her mind, even if you didn't want her to. Grandpa George had my back, that's why out of the two, he was forever my favourite.

We headed back down and resumed our work, but gran had left to run and errand with mom. I started on a new box that was labeled Katie's H.S. stuff. Inside were things from my mom's teenage years, when she was just as reckless and rebellious as I. There were some books, report cards, old schoolwork, loads of pictures.

And her yearbook.

I had never seen it before. I started flipping through it, looking for her, the pages were yellowed with age. As far as I knew my mom wasn't apart of any clubs in high school, so I didn't bother looking there, I just looked at the class pictures. According to the year this was from her senior year, so I found the senior class and searched. And low and behold, there she was, her hair big and teased and even though it was black and white I could tell it she had blonde highlights. It wasn't pretty. I snickered.

I showed grandpa, “We're definitely not getting rid of this. Andy needs to see this.” I was sort of gleeful at showing my step-dad this picture.

“Oh, Georgie,” that was his nickname for me. “She's gonna be pissed.”

We joked about my mom's less than stylish teenage years, then was distracted by a face on the opposite page.

“Can't be.” I murmured to myself. “No... way.”

“What?” Grandpa said.

“That's...” I pointed to the page, “That's Jared Leto.”