Chaos, Book 1; Emergency Trilogy

Chapter One

 

I

It felt like centuries has passed since I've been out to the mid-west. I roll down the window as the breeze blasts our music abroad the golden sheen of the countryside. The sun beams radiantly reflecting the undying face of the landscape. It’s beauty as unrivaled; besides the woman in the passenger seat. Our 1974 GTO set's the scenery ablaze a fiery red, the vibrant colours of the sky crease the horizon mid-day, flaring a vista like no other. I glance over to Jane, her hair flies as diligently as the flag from a nation. Her smile so full of life, not a worry in sight.

After we’d parted ways with Lynn and Dunc, Jane and I had thought about moving out. Somewhere quiet and far away from society. She first looked straight in New York desperately searching for a spot, but to no avail was a deal we could afford. From that moment on we had a problem, weeks had passed, searching for a place to live. Anywhere else but a place we fancied, nothing on the East, and we wouldn’t go out beyond Kansas. We were stuck, we tried to look back on our lives; considering how many places we’d lived. Jane called her mother, I looked through old photo albums, and one in particular, dusted and weathered, screamed “open me”. I’d flipped through the fragile pages, preserving every moment catalogued. Containing pictures from a time long forgotten, I was only a baby when these were taken, small and as delicate as the pages It lye on. 

My parents had planned to have me homeschooled at first, that’s why they moved so much; they couldn’t find a school they thought right for me. Regrettably when my father died- in a workplace accident it all went downhill; like an avalanche without the roaring thunder. My mother, a trembling wreck just couldn't sustain us with the job she had; a ghost of her former self. We lived in a husk of dwindling heirlooms, most from when my parents had first met. Unable to live in comfort of their memories, she soon packed them in a hoard of boxes, never to see the light of day again. Her face so pale and a life without meaning; she couldn’t handle having me around. A lucky curse I figures, my genes passed on the figure of my father. A well sought man strongly built, with an impeccably photogenic figure. It struck a ghostly pain to her soul with every sight of me; less now, favourably.

Her kindness uncaged, she called my relatives; sprawling to find someone that would send me to school, feed me, and care for me. My aunt being the kind soul she is offered to take me in, as long as it was alright with me. It was nice for a while having an aunt who would buy me whatever I wanted, though I tried not to abuse that power. As the years passed, my needs grew weary and I halted the gifts. As much as I appreciated all the support, I couldn’t take her money anymore. While mother had visited periodically, each time she just looked at me and then smiled realizing she was staring; more gazing at me, the awkwardness ensued through the visit. Soon after she moved to Seattle, finding a new job worth millions, she stopped visiting, only sending cards for the holidays. Understandable when the weight of corporate greed stands wearily on your shoulders.

Jane’s mother on a happier note, was the most jubilant person you’d know. Growing up with an aunt could be awkward at times, the feelings of love and consideration without being able to say “I love you mom”. Cecilia was like a second mother to me, always supporting my decisions; the rational ones at least. She would give me a place to stay if I felt the need, rides home when my aunt wasn’t around; and never questioning my beliefs or values. Always bringing our families close together, saying “you two are perfect together” referring to Jane and myself.

As I look at us now, I see when her mother standing by saying "You two are perfect together", she always knew we'd notice one day how great we are for each other.
I slow down a moment as Jane glares my way,
"Why're you slowing down?"
"You might want to hold onto your hat!" I say reaching for the roof’s controls
Bewildered, Jane scrambles to find her hat; only it’s already off her head. She smack’s it back on and I flip the switch, our roof flares upwards in one swift motion; sending a hurricane of wind inbound. Jane immediately clenches onto her hat only before throwing her hands in the air, her hat flies off back into the seat, continuing to laugh with joy, admiring the world around her.

Approaching our house, set square in the middle of nowhere I slow down for a reason this time. Pulling in I can see just as promised the land owners had left the keys on the porch with the garage opened. We pull up to the farmhouse and Jane hint’s for my wallet
"Is it anything like you remember?" Jane wallows over the car door pulling out a picture,
"I don't know much of its history, too young to- " The thought of my father crosses my sentence
"Did your mom ever tell you stories?" she's now grappled on my side
“Rarely, after my father died . . .” I still trail off into my memories of my-
"Let's go inside!" Jane drags me from the car before I finish the thought.
Probably for the best, I was only five when my father died; not to say I wasn’t wretched from it.
Being rushed from my seat I get a tad lightheaded, obscuring my vision. Once I open my eyes again, I’m welcomed by the dazzling sight of my childhood home.