When I was younger, I was told to not jinx my luck. Because like everything, it wouldn't last. I didn't listen. And now, I was 15 and I wish that I could go back in time. Unfortunately, that isn't how life works.
I stared down at my homework. The crisp paper edges had started to crinkle from my fiddling. I had found out that no matter how long you stared at the pages, the assignment wasn't going to finish itself.
'Oh well,' I thought, pushing myself away from my standard IKEA desk. Spreading out my arms and legs and spinning around and around on my black gaming chair, I took a moment to check my watch. The watch itself wasn't much. Just a plain silver face with a worn, cow leather strap.
The glowing red numbers read 1:15am. Time had slipped away like a piece of slippery Jello. And in less than a few hours, I was going to go see my aunt and uncle. For the first time since I was 7. I would get a break from all the pressure from school and the never ending assignments and exams.
If only Monica were here. Then maybe things could have been different. My older sister would have helped me study for the tests, answer my questions. But she died in a storehouse fire 4 years ago. The tragedy had shattered my family beyond repair.
My parents had drifted further and further apart from me and had become so consumed in their work, that the only times we saw each other was at dawn and dusk. Finally, my parents had made the decision that I needed a short vacation. So they were sending me to my aunt's and uncle's apple farm for the weekend. I was more than excited.
Standing up, I brushed pencil shavings of my plain blue pajama shirt paired with plaid green pants. My eyes drooped with exhaustion as I flopped on my bed and surrendered to sleep. To a dreamless oblivion.
....
My irritating alarm clock startled me awake 5 hours later. I rolled out of bed and onto the floor with a loud Thump! Instantly, I regretted my decision. I rose wobbly to my feet and rubbed my hip. Yawning, I opened my bedroom door and made my way to the kitchen. The house was as quiet as a mouse.
I figured my parents had already left for work, leaving me to pack and call a taxi to take me to the farm. My aunt and uncle's farm was only about 20 minutes from the city but, for some reason, they had never visited.
Practically buzzing with excitement, I whipped up a quick breakfast which consisted of blueberry pancakes. In a hurry, I fumbled for my phone, dropping it not only once, or twice, but three times. It was a miracle the screen only had the smallest crack on it.
Finishing up my breakfast, I phoned a taxi. My suitcase was stacked up neatly against the wooden front door. The taxi pulled up the curb just as I finished getting ready. I brushed a few strands of auburn curls out of my face and exited the house and onto the creak front porch.
Creak! Creak! I winced as the porch steps groaned every step I took. Every. Single. Step. I hated the way te steps creaked and no one was willing to fix it. 'If this were my house I would have it fixed immediately,' I thought as I stepped into the cab.
"Name and place,'' the driver stated in a bored tone. His shaggy beard was the colour of rust. His bushy eyebrows prevented me from seeing his eyes. Based on his slouched position, I assumed he was very tired of this job and he didn't really want to be here.
"Jasmine and Willow Apple Farm.''
The driver turned around to face me and e raised his eyebrows so I could see his eyes. But only faintly. His eyes were a shimmering sapphire. They were the kind of eyes that had a bright twinkle. But if this driver had had a twinkle in them, it was long gone.
"You know the Willow's?" He asked me tentatively.
I nodded but said nothing. Talking to people had never been one of my strengths. I found from a young age that people could be challenging and that sometimes it was easier to just not engage in conversation. The driver gave a small nod and turned back to the steering wheel.
We didn't speak to each other for the rest of the drive. Which was good. I found people that tried to attempt small talk were ridiculous. Honestly, what is the point of the conversation when one of the two people isn't even listening?
Soon enough, the farm made an appearance over the horizon, drawing closer and closer until we were parked right under the big sign that read WILLOW APPLE FARM. The driver and I nodded at each other as I handed him a twenty dollar bill. He revved the engine and sped off down the rock, making rocks and dusk dance in the air. I fanned it away to avoid it from getting in my eyes.
The farm was far from impressive. The red building with a black tile roof looked like any other farm you might find driving through the countryside. An apple orchard grew to my right with bright red apples that looked like they were going to fall off at any moment. On my left was aa chicken home. A sheepdog lay nestled beside the house, tied to a silver pole.
"Neil!" I cried out, rushing to the old sheepdog's side.
Neil barked haappily
I was not surprised to find that my parents had already left for work, leaving me a note that read 'HAVE FUN ON YOUR TRIP LOVE, MOM AND DAD.' I picked up the note and ripped off the top part of the message so only my parents' love was left. I managed to make myself some simple pancakes with Canadian maple syrup.
I phoned a taxi as I gathered my stuff. I shoved a pancake in my mouth and pulled my ginger hair up into a messy bun. By some miracle, I had just managed to drag myself outside just as the taxi pulled into the driveway.
The man that was driving the taxi looked about 40. I climbed in and asked the driver to take me to Willow Apple Farm.
"Willow Apple Farm? You know them?" The driver turned around to face me.
"Yeah... They're friends of my parents." I felt bad for lying, but I wasn't just going to tell a complete stranger that they were my aunt and uncle. It was close enough to the truth anyway.
The driver nodded simply. "Good people, those two."
We didn't speak again for the rest of the ride. I watched as the greenery and shrubs sped past. The sun had risen only a few hours ago and it had already climbed the sky and was enjoying its everyday job.
I saw the farm come into view. It looked surprisingly like a storybook farm. From the redwood walls to the black tile roof, it looked just like I remembered. Me and Monica had used to spend hours playing with the ponies and sheep and scaring the chickens. A wave of sadness washed over me as I replayed those bittersweet memories. At that moment, I wished I could go back.
The taxi parked right next to the farm. I paid and thanked the driver as butterflies fluttered around my stomach. The taxi sped off, making the dust dance. I took a few breaths to steady myself. I considered fleeing down the road. But no. I couldn't let my nerves get the best of me.
I walked down the path, my blue eyes gazing at every pretty thing in the way. I took in the natural beauty of this place. It had such a peaceful vibe to it. I instantly felt calmer being here. Trowels and wheel barrows lay abandoned, lining the path.
I reached the house and my insides felt like they were tangled up. Creak! Creak! Creak! The birch wood porch steps creaked under my feet, each step making me cringe. Before I could change my mind, I rapped on the door.
A pretty woman my mother's age opened the door and when she saw me, her face spread into an enormous grin.
"Thalia?" My aunt asked.
I nodded and my aunt closed the distance between us, pulling me into a huge bear hug.
"I'm going to need to breathe eventually,'' I reminded her.
My aunt nodded and pulled away to study me. Her eyes scanned me up and down, sizing me up. And then she nodded and gestured for me to enter. I entered. The interior of the farm looked even more cozy and welcoming than the outside. The oak wood walls were polished and the floor was lined with woven purple-blue carpet.
My uncle was waiting in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. When he noticed me, he squealed and ran up to hug me. I hugged him back. My uncle was an average height man with a gray beard and a shiny, bald head. His smile could light up a room and his eyes held a mischievous glimmer.
"Come,'' he said in his familiar, croaky voice. "You can help me make lunch."
And I did. Together, me and my uncle made lunch. The weekend flew by after that. Me and my aunt planted flowers in her garden and I helped my uncle fix the tractor. The three of us had picked apples together and cooked.
Then in the evenings we would sit down and watch comedy's until the late hour. My troubles from school seemed to float away with the wind as I climbed the ambrosia trees that surrounded the farm. I learned how to make delicious apple pie.
When I had arrived here, I had been nervous about seeing my aunt and uncle. Now, I was so delighted that I had come here. Because here, I had found unexpected treasure. Not your typical pirate's treasure. No. I had found a treasure much better than that. The treasure of family. For the first time in a long time, I felt happy. For the first time in a long time, I didn't wish I could go back.
