Sparks of Inspiration

Malibu

Prompt: A mysterious letter is delivered to your character's home. It's not addressed to them, but they can't resist peeking...

A/N: There's some swearing in this one.

Rain batters my windshield, making it nearly impossible to see as I ease my car down what I hope is the narrow lane leading home. Even if this road had edge lines, I couldn't see them in the dark with all this rain. My knuckles are white as I clutch the steering wheel of Dad's Chevy Malibu, hoping that his trust in me is not misplaced and that getting my driver's license wasn't a fluke.

It WOULD storm like this the week after I got my license, in the dark after a long rehearsal. I'm too tired for this. Even the punchy showtunes pumping through the car's stereo system can't drown out the rain or ease my nerves enough to sing along as I normally would. Peering through the rain to keep the car on the road and find my house is taking all my concentration.

At last, I see the porch light of my parents' house and guide the car into the pockmarked gravel driveway and then under the carport. "Not Throwin' Away My Shot" from Hamilton is suddenly extremely loud, without the competition from rain on the windows and roof, and I jump to turn down the volume, then slump into my seat and breathe a sigh of relief.

"Better go inside. It's already after six," I tell myself before grabbing my backpack off the passenger seat and opening the car door. The wind pushes against me, making getting out of the car a struggle, and once I'm out from behind the door's protection, rain slaps against me, soaking through my jeans and hoodie. I groan and lock the car. Looking around, my parents' other cars aren't here, but I catch a glimpse of the yellow "you've got mail" flag on the mailbox through the rain, thanks to the porch light's glow. I groan and dash through the rain to retrieve the mail, then dart back under the relative safety of the carport with the envelopes and catalogs clutched to my chest.

After a few frantic moments of fumbling to get my house key out of my purse, I let myself into the mudroom through the side door, where I kick off my shoes and deposit my backpack before making my way through the dark house to the kitchen. We've lived here since I was a baby and I can navigate the house blindfolded, which is great because no one's left any lights on anywhere in the house. The porch light is only on because of the automatic timer, I'd guess. Mom and Dad are usually too distracted by work to think ahead on things like that, and I don't remember seeing anything about a storm like this in the forecast for today.

My phone buzzes as I turn on the kitchen light, so I toss the mail onto the table and fish my phone out of my purse to see what's going on. It's too soon after rehearsal for the cast group chat to be blowing up.

Message from Mom: Dad and I are going out for a date night. Won't be home til late. There's leftovers in the fridge for dinner. Love you! Let me know when you're home from rehearsal.

Great. Alone for the night again, and leftovers for dinner.

I quickly text Mom back that I'm home and I hope they have a good time, then look in the fridge. My options are pizza, stir fry, or macaroni casserole, none of which sounds good at the moment. I'll look again in an hour or so - not that my options will be different then, but maybe I'll be hungrier and more willing to settle for what's available.

I decide to sort the mail before pulling my script back out to study my lines. The messy pile on the kitchen table will just bother me if I don't.

"Let's see... This credit card offer is junk..." I toss it into the recycling bin. "Anniversary card for Mom and Dad from Aunt Tildy? Their anniversary was three months ago. Oh well, I'll leave it for them...Furniture catalog is junk...Oh hey, what's this?"