ch. 24 • the Chy Chy drink

25 6 32
                                    

I'm perched on one of the small mismatched bar stools located in the cramped kitchen of Chyette's second-floor apartment

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I'm perched on one of the small mismatched bar stools located in the cramped kitchen of Chyette's second-floor apartment.

With my elbows resting on the decorative green and purple tiled countertops, I keep my charging cell phone pressed to my ear as Mom speaks to me.

She's doing what she does, going through every detail of her day. Running through the upkeep of the homestead is a comfort for her.

Being sure the goats are fed and milked, checking on the pigs and their crumbling fence that's been failing because of the dense mud they've stirred up, collecting all the eggs from around the property where the chickens have laid, hanging the laundry on the line outside to dry before there's any chance of rain. She's at it before the sun comes up until after the sun goes down.

She and dad live a simple life. That is what they love. But I couldn't spend one more second there.

Once upon a time, I had loved it there. I never wanted to leave. It was where my happiness was. But after Foxy died, it was like she was haunting me, pulling me down into the depths of depression the longer I stayed on that mountain.

I had to get free and I had to free my sister.

"Tell me, Pen, how was your first week? How's the apartment? How're classes?" Mom asks but her voice is dull and forced. She runs herself ragged until she's too tired to do anything but go to sleep.

I don't remember a single thing from my classes this week. I've been consumed by Foxy and her life here, however, to not worry my parents, I lie, "Class is good. The apartment is..." I scan the small apartment and crack a smile when Chyette's singing voice comes from the bathroom close by. He's singing another Whitney Houston song, rather poorly, but is making up for it by a boisterous performance.

"Apartment is good." I conclude.

Sure, sleeping on someone's couch isn't ideal, but anything is better than my bus.

"What's it like? Does it have good juju?" Mom asks.

I canvas the living room with the small velvet green sofa I've been sleeping on and the additional bean bag chair shoved into the corner of the room. There's a small cube-shaped coffee table made in leopard print tufted fabric,topped with a large glass bong along with many other interesting decorative pieces. Some of which look distinctly like penises.

"Very good juju." I say with a snort.

"That's good honey..."

It's quiet for a moment and I look over my shoulder to see Chyette step through the hanging multicolored beads curtained in front of the narrow hallway leading towards the bathroom and his room.

"Okay, Mom. I'm going to go to sleep now." I watch as Chyette enters his kitchen, wearing a lace kimono with silk shorts and a matching tank top. He is free of makeup but wears two under-eye patches to help with circles.

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