Paradise City

The house was lifeless. It had been that way for days now.

The only thing that might’ve held any life were the bouquet of Calla Lilies that James got me that sat on top of the wooden stand by the door, but even they were drying out; I hadn’t even bothered to put them in a vase.

It felt like years since I had stood in the living room, when only yesterday I was moving out all of the furniture and dropping it off at Goodwill. I sorted through the mail that piled up on top of the hutch in the kitchen, and it was mostly junk, if I was lucky there were a few unpaid medical bills. The floor had been swept, mopped, and shined. The windows had been cleaned. And finally, a colorful banner that read, ‘WELCOME’, in big, metallic letters hung over top of the opening into the dining room.

Everything else was gone.

I kept the big screen, two of my dad’s old bar stools that we used in the breakfast nook, the record player, the records, and the Keurig. Somewhere online is an article titled “11 Simple Rules On What To Do When Your Parent(s) Die”, writing down everything you remember about them is rule #1, and since I wasn’t the writing type, I moved on to rule #2; throwing away all of their crap. It wasn’t easy. For the past twenty-two years, I had watched my parents work hard for us to be able to have nice things, and here I was pawning it, or dropping it off at a Goodwill.

My best friend, James, was there when he could be, helping me through it. “Don’t.” He said, when he saw me trying to stash a couple of my moms old dresses that smelled like White Diamonds; her favorite perfume. The first night I cried myself to sleep in my mother’s closet. Boxing up all of her business suits and church dresses felt so wrong. Almost as if I was going to get in trouble for it. Any moment she’d come through the door and jump down my throat.

“What about this?” I asked, James, as I held up one of my dad’s old concert t-shirts. “It’s ACDC, my dad was at this concert.”

He looked up at me and gave me a lopsided smile. “Why not?” He asked. “I mean, it’s ACDC.”

Selling the house was by far the worst part, though, and I still wasn’t sure I was making the right decision. Everywhere I looked was another memory playing out in my mind; when they renewed their vows in the living room, when Jared broke up with me and my dad and I made s’mores in the fireplace, the cake fight in the kitchen on my twenty-first birthday, having ‘sock-sliding’ competitions with James in the hallway.

Looking around me, I realized, I didn’t want to be here. And it wasn’t just the house. It was everywhere I went. It was the entirety of Wallman, Tennessee. There wasn’t a person in this town without pity in their eyes when they looked at me. I couldn’t go to the grocery store without someone mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ to me in the checkout lane.

My parents died.

I didn’t need a constant reminder.

“You don’t want to stick around? The new owners will be here soon.” My thoughts were interrupted by the realtor who stood in front of the circular mirror that hung on the wall next to the door.

I looked at Bette; her white hair curled perfectly on top of her head, pink lipstick, and crisp, navy blazer looked close to perfect. She helped my parents pick out this house when they first moved to Wallman. I hadn’t even been born yet, they weren’t married. Just two “crazy-in-love teenagers” as she like to put it. She had stayed in contact with them after they moved in, being the only person who they had known in the tiny town of only 262 people, and welcomed them into her family with open arms.

“You know you don’t have to sell the house.” She spoke again. “You could stay here, raise your own family, just like your mom and dad did.”

Her words repeated themselves in my head a few times. I sighed, giving her an uneasy look. We both knew I couldn’t stay. Being in this house was painful. Knowing that I’d never come home and see my dad at the stove frying some trout, and never smelling my mother’s perfume as she passed by me in the hallway as I did my laundry, and that I’d never hear my dad yelling at his TV because the Predators lost another game. I didn’t want that.

I shook my head reluctantly.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I tried.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Bette. Thank you so much. Make sure the new owners take care of this old place for me.” I told her, squeezing her in a tight hug.

“You know I will. Please be careful out there, and keep in touch.”

I took another long look around the living room one more time, taking in a deep breath. James honked at me, reminding me that it was time to go. As I walked across the lawn to his old pick up truck, I felt like the house was attached to me with a short, rubber cord; like I’d snap back before I even reached the curb.

But it was time to go. I couldn’t change my mind now.

I didn’t say anything to James when I got in, just gave him a simple nod when he asked me if I was ready. I kept my eyes straight ahead as he sped off, not once looking in the rearview mirror. He put his hand on my knee, giving it a little squeeze.

“You can cry, you know?”

My voice cracked. “Yeah, I know.” I whispered, trying desperately not to break down. I looked down at the plane ticket sticking out of my bag; a one-way trip to Vegas. At first, in Wallman, Tennessee, I was the fun and bubbly waitress who might discount your ticket if you were nice. Then I was that girl whose parents died. So why Vegas? A city refreshed with new people every week or so? No sad faces, no pity glances, and no one who even knew who I was? I could be anyone I wanted to be; a jazz singer, a teacher, a starving artist, or a master chef. It sounded perfect to me.

“You’ve got everything you need, right?” James asked me as we stood at the gate. “Ticket, phone charger, toothbrush, exit strategy in case this doesn’t work out?” I playfully slapped his stomach. “Hey! I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay. Las Vegas isn’t Small Town, USA. It’s a big place.”

“I know, James.” I reassured him.

“Just stay strong, okay?” He kissed the top of my head as I hugged him. James was my best friend. He had been my best friend since I could remember. If anyone could make me think twice about staying, it was him. “Go before I start crying too, please.” He said. When I pulled away, he wiped the tears from my cheeks with the sleeves of his pullover.

“About that exit strategy,” I said, taking a few steps backwards. “it’s you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll always be here. I’m not fearless like you.”

“I love you.” I told him as the woman took my ticket.

“I love you.” He called as I was shoved down the ramp.

As the plane ascended over my tiny town, I watched as it disappeared through the clouds. I’d be in Vegas soon. I’d be surrounded by bright lights and desert, women in huge feather costumes and tourists in Hawaiian print shirts.