Lisa
I roll the windows down, letting the wind whip across my face and sift through my hair, trying to focus on that, rather than the raging headache forming at the forefront of my skull.
I had just finished shooting the six gremlins which Mrs. Lee likes to call her grandchildren. I'm not sure if I got a single shot of all six of them sitting still or acting right. I swear, if one wasn't crying, another one was screaming or pulling another one's hair.
Winding down the back roads, I ease up on the gas as I approach an all too familiar two storey farm house. The paint is still the same off-white colour, damaged and chipping now. The old house is slowly starting to deteriorate again after being built back up as best as it could be a few years ago.
It's been over ten years now since Mr. Kim and his family moved in a half a mile down the road from my family, only two other houses separating ours, making us distant neighbours. He inherited the house from his in-laws, never intending on moving into the old worn down house until it was his family's last option.
When Mrs. Kim got sick with cancer, they had to move closer to the city with a hospital that could help her. The only problem was that with the hospital bills, they couldn't afford anything close to the city, so they had to settle for the old farm house that was inherited, having to travel an hour to the city and an hour back. I don't think Mrs. Kim minded it too much, though. The drive was her time away from the house and the hospital.
On the few occasions that I went with the Kim family to the city, I saw how Mrs. Kim would soak up the fresh air and the sunshine, always with a look of pure serenity on her face as her thinning brunette hair freely whipped around in the wind whooshing in from the car window. She looked like how I felt out in the field, and in those moments, where she looked contented and happy, you'd almost forget that she was sick.
Coasting towards the house, I see Mr. Kim's old red Chevy sitting in the driveway, with the tailgate down and a load of groceries sitting in the back. Like a habit, I turn into his driveway, with the gravel crunching beneath my tires.
Just as I hop out of my truck, Mr. Kim comes out of the back door of the house that leads to the kitchen.
"Lisa." he greets me, with his face lighting up.
"Let me give you a hand there, Judd." I say, while grabbing the last few brown paper bags from the back of his truck and shutting the tailgate.
"Oh come on now, kiddo. You know I need a leg more than I need a hand." He grins sincerely, with humour shining in his old blue eyes.
I can't help but chuckle. "Right."
One of Judd's semi-twisted favourite pastimes is joking about his amputated leg. He was around my age when he lost it at war. As an army veteran, Judd has been through it all, but surprisingly, his worst scar wasn't earned out on any battle field.
"You can set them right on the counter." Judd instructs, while holding the back door open for me.
I walk into the kitchen, setting the bags next to the others on the counter top. I take a quick glance around the room, noting how nothing has changed or has been replaced. The outdated wallpaper that is starting to peel from the corners brings a sense of nostalgia, as well as the loose floorboard that always squeaks when you step on it, in front of the stove. The old wood floors could stand to be polished and the white cabinets repainted, but I know that's at the back of Judd's mind.
"Lemonade?" Judd asks, already walking towards the refrigerator and pulling out a pitcher of what he likes to call his world famous lemonade.
"Sure, Judd." I say, taking a seat at the counter. We haven't talked lately, and I can tell that he's lonely living in this house all by himself, so I decide to stay for a while and catch up.
"How have you been, Lisa?" he asks, while pouring lemonade into two glasses.
"Good." I reply mechanically. "I've picked photography back up and actually just got done shooting Mrs. Lee's grandkids."
"No shit!?" He laughs, while passing me a glass before taking a sip from his own, his lips slightly puckering from the tartness. "Did you have to break out the lasso to wrangle those little devils?"
"Should've..." I mutter, while taking a sip of my own lemonade, with my lips also puckering at the tartness.
"Well, I'm proud of ya, you've always been good at photography." he says, scratching at the mild beer belly that he had gained while trying to drown out the grief of losing Mrs. Kim. I truly feel for the guy.
"Thank you. How have you been?" I ask.
"Oh same old, same old." he says, with his voice trailing off in that way where I know that he wants to say more, but stops from doing so, just for my sake.
It's an unspoken rule that we refrain from talking about his daughter. I know that probably makes me a coward, but I appreciate his consideration.
Judd and I make small talk for about a half an hour before I head home to help my old man out at the farm for a bit before heading to bed early for my big photo shoot tomorrow.
