Hearth

       The warm air blew the smell of the freshly blooming daisies into my face as my hair became intertwined with dozens of lemon and orange blossoms. I smiled, I always loved the walk home, or at least the beginning of it. The first mile or so of the journey was pleasant, lots of grass, trees, flowers. Then it was less foliage, more dirt and pedestrians. The last two miles were my least favorite part. It was all alleys, old streets, mysterious strangers and the homeless. It was a terrible neighborhood. I sighed as the heavy pleasant fragrances began to drain from the air, as the oxygen became more and more polluted, and as I was reminded by what I had lost.

         The sun had begun to set while I had been walking home, casting beautiful pinks and oranges that seemed so out of place. I knew I had about an hour before I had to leave for the magic show, but it didn't matter. I could spot our tiny house tucked into the corner between two shops, luckily the only two without illegal drug activity.

       I slowly approached the old wooden door, the peeling green paint in the same worn out state it had been in for years. I tried to discreetly shove my key in the lock, but the jiggling motion necessary for it to enter drew mild attention. I quickened my pace as the pedestrians in the shadows emerged, preparing to take advantage of a teenage girl on her way home. 

       "Come on. Come on come on come on!" I muttered nervously, putting all of my strength into opening the door. The mysterious characters began to enclose, roughly ten of them, roughly fifteen feet away. I gulped the lump in my throat,  their devilish smiles evident every time I turned around. They kept getting closer; ten feet, nine feet, eight, seven... I felt like I was counting down to a bomb. five, four, three... Not a second later than they were within reaching distance, the door flung open, the hinges squeaking, temporarily stunning them. Without even thinking I slammed the door behind me and locked it. Sinking down to the floor, my back still pressed against the door, reassuring myself that I was safe.

          I dropped my head in my hands, comforting myself after the close encounter moments before. I half sighed, half laughed, as I opened my eyes. I was ALIVE!!! I would have stood up and happy danced, like I had done on so many ocassions, but a rustling noise in the kitchen reminded me that I didn't only have to look out for myself.

       "Mom! I'm home!" I shouted, standing up and walking away from the door. The sound of a dropping pan confirmed that she was in fact no longer under the impression that I was a gang member trying to get some coin. I strolled forward, looking at the old pale orange walls, the old stained and scuffed mahogany border, the old stained floor. I stuck my head in the doorway, the bright, classic, vibrant wallpaper of the kitchen blinded me after the darker light of the hallway.

        "Oh hi honey! How was school?" Her voice was cheery, something I hadn't heard in it in awhile. I strolled in and grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit I  had put out that morning.

         "The usual. How was your day?" I asked, attempting to find out what put her in such an average mood. She shrugged. It was weird, she seemed like a regular mom. My uneasy feeling was a cross of happiness and concern. Last time she was in this mood, she had an even worse low than usual afterword. I tried to put the thought out of my mind while she pulled me into a hug. I had missed the feel of her arms around me, she had been so depressed lately i hadn't been able to get her to leave her room. 

         I was even more surprised when I noticed the ever present smell of alcohol was not surrounding her. I was so shocked I nearly backed away. Instead, there was the cheerful smell of chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate. Something she hadn't made since my father died. The whole few minutes were bittersweet. I was overjoyed that she was so happy and in such a good mood, but I was also terrified of what would come next, and how such normal spells were few and far between.

        Stepping away, I spotted a particularly odd site. On the now old and cracked grey granite there were trays and trays of freshly baked cookies. My mouth slammed against the floor as I pointed confused at the trays.

        "Did you make those?" I questioned, my phrases stalled due to shock. My mother happily shook her head. Before I could check myself, I found the trays nearing as I sprinted unwillingly forward, likely slobbering like a dog. Impulsively, I stuck my hand out and shoveled a cookie into my mouth. It was blazing hot, but the gooey center kept me from reacting. I nearly melted onto the floor with pleasure, it tasted so good! My mother clapped with joy at my reaction. And for one breif moment, it was perfect. If I hadn't known better I would have thought my dad was at work, my mom was happy, and that I was the happiest girl in the world. But moments pass, some too soon.

         My mother walked over to the other tray, and instantaneously I felt a change in the air. Her body went from animated to limp, almost like a balloon going from full to empty, and just as fast. "Mom?" I questioned cautiously, hoping she didn't head where I already knew she did. Before I could ask if she was alright, my mother wiped her hand across the counter with surprising speed, sending trays and trays of cookies flying into the air. "mom are you oak-" I couldn't even finish. She burst into a rampage. Banging her fists on the trays, burning her skin. I reached out to try to help, but she shoved me away. I unfortunately knew all to do in the situation.

         I quickly rushed over to the side cupboard, I double checked all the kitchen knives were in place and locked it. Dashing over to the fridge, I grabbed all the alcohol and chucked it into another cupboard, rapidly locking it. My fingers numb, but moving with surprising dexterity and knowledge despite my mental blank. The furious screams of my mother became muffled as tears began to stream down my face. I sat still as a stone as she raked her fingers on my back, trying to force me to open the cupboards. Always screaming about how she no longer belonged on the Earth, how there was no point to life, how there was no joy left. I sat incapable of movement on the tie, despite her avid tugging. The screaming faded away, I didn't cry, I couldn't blink, I could barely breathe. I couldn't scream, I simply sat numb, as cold and distant as my father had been.

       An eternal blackness surrounded me, engulfing my life, flashes of everything I knew surrounded me. Cries of my mother, screams, my father lying still, my desperate attempts to save his life, fights with my mother, insults I heard everyday. My life surrounded me, but I wasn't a part of it. There was a girl, terrified, shaken, hurt, weak struggling to get her mother to put the knife down, a small child, crying desperately as her father's grip loosened and he took his last breaths, a teenage girl constantly injured and afraid. She was not the girl who had been eating cookies moments before, who skipped around like a freak with her friend, who would die to save who she loved.

         The two different sides of me began to fight, tearing at each other, putting memory against memory, sending jolts of pain throughout my entire head. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was bound, I was chained, I was just as helpless as I had been not long before. Another surge of pain raced through me. The depressing thoughts of my capture disappeared. Its just another challenge. Courageous and brave thoughts raced through my mind, ways to escape, ways to keep fighting. I flipped back and forth, weak and strong, scared and brave. Two complete opposites fighting to posses the greater part of my mind.

         I jolted back as the pain of something hard meeting my face. My senses were shocked into overdrive, absorbing every little detail. The smell of fresh cookies, the odor of alcohol, the screams of my desperate mother, the cars outside, the vibrant lights of the kitchen, the cold hard feel of the floor. Without even thinking I moved faster than lighting, pinning my mother's arms to her side and telling her repeatedly that everything was okay, that she was fine, that there was joy. She fought violently, thrusting her limps out randomly in an attempt to free herself. She slowly began to calm. I sighed, everything was ok for now. I slowly stood up, and gently helped my mother stand, but I knew it wasn't over. Her chocolate eyes were dark, filled with fury. BEfore I could process I could hear her begin to shout things. Terrible things I knew she didn't mean, but I couldn't take it. Chucking the school books out of my bag, I shoved my wallet violently in my bag and raced outside, the violent screams of my mother following me out into the street.

          I didn't turn around or give a second thought to the strangers peaking out of their shops at the sudden noise. I simply ran and ran and ran. My bag beating my side, my hair blowing back from the force, the harsh wind stinging my arms from the bitter winter chill that still remained in the air. Tears streamed freely down my face, stinging the cut that now rested on my left cheek. The bright lights of the bus stopped shined ahead, empty as usual. Just a plain blue bench and a bright sign. I rubbed my eyes, doing my best to hide the traces of earlier events, plastering on a fake smile I practiced so long people think is real.  I dragged my feet over to the stop and plopped down, not caring that it was wet from yesterday's rain.

         The stars had begun to come out, tiny sparkling lights, doorways to other worlds. When I was younger I had thought the stars were a sign from whatever controlled our lives that everything was going to be okay. I started to ponder the thought more intently when I remembered that when I was little I also was convinced my best friend was a mermaid, sooo... I lets my thoughts trail off until the still cool night began to creep up on me. The sun was still faintly on the horizon, vague pinks still reaching desperately at the sky. I glanced at my watch impatiently. I had to be at the parking lot in half-an- hour. The bus, according to the schedule that it never followed, it wold be here in about ten minutes. I sighed, shoving my hands into the large kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt, I shivered. I loved spring, but it was still cool enough to be considered winter at night. Within minutes I was rubbing my leggings, trying to give the tight black material warmth to hold in. After five minutes I became convinced that unless the bush showed up soon, I was going to  become a human popsicle.

        Thankfully the bus showed up, before the driver could call me aboard or even open the doors fully I was infront of the warmer, rubbing my hands and sighing from the newly discovered warmth.

          "Heya Eleahn! Where yah headin' today?" The driver asked, cheerily. The drivers had gotten to know me quite well over the years. After my mom sold her car to pay rent, I took the bus day and night. I knew instantly the driver was Lou. Lou wasn't just a driver, he had known my father. They had grown up together and were great friends. He was by far my favorite driver.

           "You know that empty parking lot across from that Tahiti hut place?" I asked, my teeth still chattering slightly. He nodded. "There." Nodding, he made his final call and closed the door. Taking a step back I slid into the seat behind Lou, it was the warmest, and he was always great at taking my mind off of things. The entire drive he talked about his wife, Jen, and how about his youngest song was going to Stanford on a scholarship. I mentioned random tidbits of my life here and there on the  drive, but I mostly listened. Lou reminded me of my father, something in the way he spoke and thought. It just reassured and calmed me, almost as if my father was speaking though him.

         About twenty minutes later, the old bus pulled up next to the restaurant, Mora Bora. I waved goodbye to Lou and hopped off the bus in a significantly better mood than when I boarded it. I could see Ollie inside, admiring the large neon sign that showed the name of the restaurant. The vaguely familiar faces of his drama club circled around a large table. I ran in, hoisting myself onto his back, shocking him so much he yelped with surprise. Despite the fact we were in a restaurant, Oliver began to run around, with me still clinging to his back desperately like spiderman. That no doubt got some funny looks. Eventually Oliver slowed down next to the table and I slid into the chair.
          "Hey!" I welcomed, sounding a little over-cheery from the energy coursing through me from my horsey ride. Ollie's three closest drama friends had come, the each just waved awkwardly, not sure how to react. It wasn't long though before they realized I was slightly less crazy than Oliver, and it didn't take me long to realize they were AS crazy as Oliver. There was quite a bit of putting chopsticks in noses before the waiter came by, and I could only wonder what surrounding customers were thinking.  

           "Ello! Welcome to Mora Bora, where if you don't get more that what you wanted, its on us!" The male server stated in a fake cheerful voice, his heavy asian accent making Oliver rub his hands evilly. "Know what you want?" Oliver smirked, we all knew what was coming.

          "Yeh sir. I like dechicken fafa, the shrimp, and whatever you think we'd enjoy." Ollie stated cheerfully in a fake, over dramatic, asian accent. I could see Ryan, who had spent the last few years in Beijing nearly spew his water at the sound of his accent. We all turned expectantly toward the waiter, wondering what he would do. I could tell half of us were expecting him to exploade. Unfortunately, (I think) he simply narrowed his eyes and walked away.

        The low orange light of the restaurant made it slightly difficult to see, which led to likely too many pranks on other customers and of course the waiter.  There were spit balls, claiming to have the wrong order, fake accents, accidentally dropping chopsticks, spilling water onto people, lots of trouble. It was no surprise when they eventually kicked us out, tired of loosing customers because of us "obnoxious american teenagers".

          We all burst out of the restaurant laughing, Oliver in a fake chef's hat, still screaming at people in a fake Chinese accent. Several of us fell on the floor cracking up as he tried to show his friend Ryan (who may I add was asian and was very experienced with his culture) how to use chopsticks when even Ollie didn't know how to use them. We stayed out in front of the restaurant laughing until the same waiter that kicked us out ran out waving a ran screaming.

          "You nothing but a bunch of racist kids! You have dishonored your family! Never come back! You all filthy american idiots!" He screamed angrily, jumping up and down. I was personally expecting him to pull out a knife and chop us like sushi, but luckily he went back inside. Over the breif ten minutes we were inside, I got to know Oliver's drama buds rather well from what they could say in between fits of laughter.  There was Mari, a local like me, who lived on stage, she somehow managed to make the props, work on the lighting and sound, design the set, and take part in the fall play, there was the kid Ryan, who had spent the past years with his Gram in asia. Then there was Jaime. I personally didn't like Jaime very much. She was relatively stuck up, and had an annoying tendency to state the obvious in a way she thought was funny but we all thought was just stupid.

           "Now that we have eaten and offended multiple cultures, who's up for a little magic?" Oliver announced, waving his hands in the air as if he was casting a spell. All of us nodded, (even me), and we started to skip out across the street toward the not-so-empty parking lot, all of us screaming show tunes (rather tone deafly if I may say) at the top of our voices.

 

Author's Note

Kinda a slow beginning. I love the asian man, just makes it so much better.