I stare out the rain flecked window, watching as the fields of golden wheat turn first to abandoned worksites and then to luxury apartments. I sigh, thinking of the countless hours I have spent on these torn leather seats. I tilt my head back to lay it on the headrest, and turn to glance at my dad. He looks tired. There are dark bags below his eyes and deep creases are etched into his face. He catches me looking and a smile replaces his dreary look. His eyes sparkle with love. I give him a tired smile and return my gaze to the rain.
Finally, the faint outline of life becomes visible against the dark night sky, an array of tiny lights sparkling in the distance. Our old truck creeps slowly toward the big city, and I edge my seat forward and into it’s upright position. We pass by a multitude of fast food restaurants and gas stations, then pull into Westward Suites. My dad puts the truck in park and I reach down, slip on my worn flip-flops and fling open the door.
“Be careful El, this truck is not as sturdy as it used to be.”
There’s an edge of impatience in his voice and I decide it’s best not to reply. I stretch my long legs out of the truck, and stand up slowly, testing for balance. Reaching back into the truck, I quickly pack up what little stuff I have, swing my backpack over my shoulder and close the door.
“Elora, can you help me get the suitcases out of the back?” I trudge around to the back of the truck, holding back a groan. Dad pulls the larger bag out with a huff and I grab the other one, easily swing it over the side, setting it gently on the ground. For a skinny girl, I’m pretty strong.
“Come on dad,” I say tiredly, grabbing the suitcase by its handle,“Let’s check in.”
∞∆∞
I slide the key into the lock, push the door open with a grunt, and hold it open for my dad. He drags the heavy suitcase across the dark green carpet and drops his tired body onto the couch. In no time at all he is snoring softly.
"Wow..." I whisper, as I enter the bedroom. There is a king size bed covered with a luxurious brown down-filled duvet, melting like chocolate against the creamy white sheets. The room is painted a warm terracotta, and it makes me feel at home. Well, as at home as I can feel when I have none. I sit down on the cloud of blankets and hear dad’s snoring has stopped already.
“I’m heading out.” dad informs me, sticking his head into the bedroom.
“Okay.” I answer, looking up at him, but not bothering to ask where he is going. He steps into the room and gives me a quick peck on the forehead before he leaves. I know he has gone when I hear the door close behind him.
I go to the mini-fridge, find a soda and a packaged salad, plop back down on my bed and turn on the T.V. Discovery Channel is on and they are talking about dragons. Frozen remains of an unknown creature were found in a mountain somewhere and this scientist is saying that the creature is a dragon. He says it is possible that dragons evolved from reptiles, just like dinosaurs. I become bored, so I change it to Food Network. Paula Dean is cooking something delicious, with butter and heavy cream of course. I finish my salad as Paula Dean is saying good bye and decide to get a shower.
My suitcase zips open easily and I grab my toiletry bag. I take my shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream, and razor into the shower. The water is hot and I stand for a long time just letting the heat and pressure of the water loosen my shoulders and back. As soon as I catch myself thinking about dad, wondering where he is and what he is doing, I turn the water to cold. I let out a little scream as the icy water pours over my head.
I grab a fluffy cream colored towel, wrap it around my body, and step out of the shower into steam filled air. After turning on the fan, I pat myself dry and put on my pajamas. I give my long, wavy brown hair a quick, rough towel dry, then brush it out. The blow dryer turns on at high speed and hair flies into my face and my mouth. I spit it out in disgust and turn off the blow dryer.
Looking in the mirror, I see my caramel brown eyes and long lashes, and think that these must be my mother’s eyes. Dad has never shown me a picture of her, but these eyes are not his. My hair still slightly wet, I go to the warmth and comfort of the bed and snuggle deep into the covers. I have a good book, thank goodness, to occupy my mind and help me fall asleep.
I wake at the sound of the door opening and closing. I know it’s my dad, but so I don’t get caught seeing something I shouldn’t, I keep my eyes just barely open. He walks past the bedroom, toward the bathroom. I see his jeans are torn, his shirt is ripped and his sleeves gone. And, is that blood? Dad stops and turns toward me, so I close my eyes tightly and let out a deep sleepy sigh. I hear him walk away, then the shower turns on. I open my eyes and wonder what my dad might have been doing, but hearing his grunts and murmurings in the shower I realize I don’t want to know. I force myself to go back to sleep.
A/N: I don't know how theses author's note things work, but I thought I would give it a try. Let me know if it gets annoying :)
