Where our hearts meet

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I force the keys into the old lock, give it a jam and juggle it furiously until it clicks. Then throwing some weight onto the heavy wooden door I shove it open. The house smells of fluid cleaner, hospitals and sandy air. The odor of sand comes from our neighbors, who I think have made it's their lives work to make our lives miserable; their succeeding so far.

I shuffle into the dark room and my hand fumbles for a light switch. I find it and press it down. The lights don't come on. Swearing under breathe I walk cautiously in the darkening room, guided by only the smallest glimmer of daylight that still hangs in the sky above.

I find my way into our small kitchen, gripping the counters and cabinets as I search for a pack of candles. Finally my hands clasp a rectangular box. Bingo. I shake it in air and hear the familiar sound of candles hitting against their wooden outer casing.

Moving on a search for a box a matches and eventually strike gold. Swiping the match against its emery surface, I light it and hang it over a candle. The flame appears and I quickly blow out the match and toss it into the trash.

Sauntering over to the white fridge, I pull the handle and stare into the empty shelves. The current things stocked in the fridge happen to be: vanilla yoghurt, two tomatoes, and a bunch of kale, two chicken breasts and expired hot chili pepper sauce.

I sigh, exasperated, pulling out the kale, tomatoes and chicken while trying to think of something to do with them. Tossing them down on the counter I head towards the pantry and find a packet of pasta and dry mix in sauce. Feeling more encouraged, I take those and put away the kale. Pasta with chicken and sauce is the specialty on the menu tonight.

I slice the tomatoes' while the pasta is boiling and my mind finds its way back to interesting episode in the library. Zachary Anderson, not a bad name. I'm guessing his one of the rich kids, his name suggests it anyways. And what could he have done to receive a 'punishment' at the library (I also spent quite a bit of time fuming at the fact that being in the library was considered a punishment).

Did he spray paint a couple of choice words on the school property; did he smash a teacher's car; did he drink in school? The options and scenarios where endless and a character of want Anderson might be like assembles up in my mind. I got so carried away with this that I had to remind myself that I was just fabricating a person up. He could be nothing like I envisioned him. Zach might not be all macho and brute force.

This led me to think of Zachary as a scrawny nerd who wore baggy pants and striped shirts. I burst out into laughter at this image while checking the pasta. The steam fogged up my lenses so I took them off and swiped them quickly against my grey sweatshirt.

I had been so busy in my own mind that I didn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing.

"You have got to be kidding me," curses a voice behind me. I spin around to face Jules, my mother.

"Hey," I say, carefully.

She doesn't respond and instead her hand slams against the light switch a couple of times. A loud groan of frustration erupts from her mouth when it doesn't work. "I swear I paid the bill," she hisses, sitting down her messenger bag.

"It's okay, you can pay tomorrow?" I question hesitantly.

"Yeah, I got my paycheck today." I breathe a small sigh of relief. "So what's for dinner?" Jules says. I can hear the fridge door swing open. A sharp breathe follows.

"Yeah, uh we're having pasta and chicken," I say, stirring the mixture together. "It's almost ready."

"Great, I'll go upstairs and change." She leaves holding a candle leaving me to my own thoughts. She's just come back from her shift as a nurse so she's still dressed in her blue scrubs.