American Vacanza

just getting gas/tampons/something • siena

The car's one working headlight shone brightly on Aunt Eleanor's tiny brick house, illuminating its tiny features in the dark night. It couldn't have more than one bedroom, and I couldn't help wondering where we'd sleep. I immediately shut down the complaining voices in my head. Who was I to judge a woman who was providing us shelter?

Suddenly, a stout, rusty-haired woman in her pajamas stuck her head out the door with wide eyes. "Who's there?"

"Hi, Aunt Eleanor!" Ethan shouted to his aunt, who squinted hard to see who it was. It was only ten o'clock, but it seemed like the whole neighborhood was asleep. Our community of giant houses in San Francisco didn't go to bed until at least one; there was always a party, gala, or benefit at someplace or another down the street, its pumping music and flashing lights keeping everyone up.

"Ethan? Ethan O'Dell? Is that you? What are you doing here?" She shielded her vision with her hand as she stepped forward, allowing me to get a better look at her. Her graying red hair was wrapped in curlers, reminding me of our cranky neighbor, Mrs. Beecher, back in Palmsville. She was always screaming at us whenever we turned on the lights on "her side" of our house.

"Yeah, it's me," Ethan said. "I have some friends, and we're in need of a place to stay. Can we stay here?"

Madison replied, in a hushed whisper, "You didn't call her and ask her if we could stay? What's wrong with you? She probably thinks we're on the run from the cops or something!"

"Babe, I was driving," he replied. Madison's weird obsession with road safety forbade her from making a snarky comment, which I appreciated; my brain was too fried to listen to an argument right now.

"Fine," she spat, staring back up at Ethan's prunelike relative.

"Is that who that-- that hooligan with the pink hair is?" From the way she was squinting, I assumed she couldn't see much, but she proved me wrong hilariously. I don't think Madison had ever been called a hooligan in her life.

"Yeah. That's Madison, and her little sister--"

"--stepsister," I corrected. It was becoming almost automatic.

"--stepsister, Siena. We don't really have anywhere to stay and we'll be out by morning," Ethan reasoned, shrugging his shoulders and tossing his duffel onto her porch.

"Fine. Ethan, take the couch. You girls can sleep in the basement, but don't bother me," she whined, turning around and waddling back into her house in a hippo-like fashion.

"Great!" Ethan eagerly walked into the house, with Madison and I trailing behind. Suddenly, a cold hand on my shoulder stopped me from going any further while Ethan slumbered on unknowingly.

"Siena, when we get inside the house, I have something to tell you," she said, looking at Ethan, who didn't even realize we had stopped.

"Okay?" I stumbled past her, forcing my hand away from her shoulder.

"I'm gonna crash-" yeah, no kidding, Ethan, you 'crashed' at the wheel and almost literally crashed the car. - "but you guys can head to the basement. It's the door right there. I'm gonna take the couch." Ethan pointed us to the door, and as if on cue, trust-fell back onto the couch.

"Okay, baaaaaaabe," she singsonged, the edges of her maroon-painted lips curling up in a toxic smile. "See you in the morning!"

Madison grabbed me by the arm, which was weird, because she'd never voluntarily been within three feet of me in my life, and pulled me into the basement stairs. We were instantly surrounded by cold air and the smell of dust, but I was more focused on why the hell Madison was being so urgent.