The Summer I Met Her (GirlxGirl)

1- How 'Bout Them Cowgirls

In my fuzzy pajama pants (patterned with multicolored hearts), loose fitted vintage shirt, and massive fuzzy bunny slippers, I clicked open the handle, letting myself out of the old camper that sat parked under one of the only trees near the barn. As I did every morning.... 12:15 is still the morning.

I trudged across the wooden board that acted as a bridge between the RV and the small, one room farmhouse where my grandmother resided.

I pulled open the screen door. "Hey!" My grandmother greeted cheerfully from the sink. "Look who's awake!"

I pressed a smile. "Funny." I said, shuffling over to the table. "Where's Isabella?" I asked, taking a seat across my dad surrounded by various sandwich-making items.

"Outside with Pepper." He answered without looking up from his creation. Why was I not surprised my sister was playing with at least one of the three dogs. (The other two drooled at my dad's feet.)

"Fianna, when you're ready will you please take this sack to the folks next door?" Grandma sat a grocery bag on the counter beside her.

A slew of curses popped into my head. But I wasn't going to argue.  "Yeah, I guess so."

"You seem thrilled." My dad said.

"I'm just tired." I answered. Which wasn't a lie. It hadn't gotten any easier to sleep with railroad tracks and coyotes out in the field you suddenly live in. I missed my old, quiet, one-person room and the white noise my fan gave off. Now we live in a trailer. By choice.

I really struggled with our new situation. Sometimes I got the urge to cry, but felt too apathetic to care. I loved living out in the country, but there were times I wanted more. I wanted to only come here sometimes. I wanted Target, my friends. I wanted to move back to suburbia.

After stealing some chips from my dad and eating half a sandwich, I took my sweet time getting ready. Since it was hot as fuck outside and I had to walk all the way to the neighbors, I opted for jean shorts and a hot pink crop top. Extra mascara, lip gloss, and attention to eyebrows never hurt either. I didn't care if only the neighbors saw my look. And if I scared them, well, even better.

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Watch me get shot the moment I get there. I thought, staring at my feet as I trudged through tall grass.

Finally I could see their barn. The doors were wide open. I could hear clanging. Sounds of power tools.

Suddenly a barking collie came running from the barn down the path straight at me. It wasn't slowing down.

A boy about the age of twelve with dark blond hair, long jeans and an old cotton shirt with some marathon name printed across the chest came out of the barn and after the dog. "Hey! Tucker! Get back here! Come on boy!"

Not far from the barn, a middle aged man wearing only jeans and a white tank burst through the farmhouse's screen door, shotgun in hand. "Hey!"

The dog stopped a few feet before me, barking like crazy. I froze. I almost dropped the bag. In my head I only thought about how in my last moments, I was right. Rednecks will absolutely shoot you.

"Tucker! Tucker, get over here right now!" He yelled across the field. The dog stopped what he was doing to run back home. The man scolded the dog for a bit and walked over to me, gun still in tow.

"Sorry about that, that's just Tucker. He's harmless, we don't get many visitors. And what might I do for you?" He flashed his misaligned, very yellow teeth. I swear I saw a flash of silver in his mouth.