Lassoing Love

Riding that Chevy

Chapter 2

Her smile faded a little bit. I don't think she knows how to respond to that.

Her husband steps in and tries to save the day. "I'm George Adams," he says extending out a hand.

I look at it, debating if I should shake it or not. I don't really mind being rude.

George seems to pick up on this fact. He discreetly moves his hand and points at his wife. "And this is my wife, your Aunt, Sarah Adams."

Normal people would probably smile and say that it's nice to meet you, but I wasn't into the whole fake thing. I wasn't going to lie to them.

A few awkward seconds tick by. Finally George decides to, once again, break the silence. "Do you want some help with your bags?"

Before I can answer, he is already stepping forward, taking the duffel bag out of my hands. Although I'm glad I don't have to carry that heavy bag anymore, I don't say thank you. The words would just feel too weird coming out of my mouth right now.

We walk over to the conveyor belt and I wait for both of my bags to roll around. George helps me lift them off the belt and then both he and Sarah take charge of wheeling both my suitcases out of the airport.

As soon as we exit through the sliding glass doors, I am instantly overwhelmed by humidity. I make a disgusted face and adjust the book bag that is weighing on my back.

"Beautiful day out today," Sarah comments.

I look over at her. She is smiling, as if she is genuinely pleased with the weather. I have the urge to ask her if the weather is normally worse than this. I can't imagine.

I'm already regretting my choice of clothing: a half-sleeved black shirt and jeans I've had since I was fourteen. My black shirt and hair is attracting the sunlight like a bug is attracted to florescent lighting.

I follow George and Sarah as they walk across the parking lot. After a minute we stop in front of an old, rusted, red Chevy truck. My lip curls with repugnance. I absolutely loathe trucks. Loud, dirty, disgusting, air-polluting pieces of metal that rednecks drive.

I watch in horror as they load my two suitcases into the open hatch back of the truck. George sets my duffel bag back there as well and then he heads to the driver's seat.

Sarah turns to face me. She gives me a small smile. "It's cleaner on the inside than it is on the outside." Her accent is thick, I note. It's going to be weird being surrounded by people with southern accents.

I let out a sigh and walk up to the truck. I quickly realize it's a three seater with no seats in the back. I'm going to be sandwiched between two strangers for who knows how long.

With a little effort I manage to climb into the middle seat. I set my book bag on my lap.

"Want me to throw that in the back?" Sarah asks.

I try not to frown at her. But her choice of words is a little frightening. Throw it in the back? Letting out another long sigh, I hand my bag to her. She moves to the back of the truck and then comes back.

She squeezes into the passenger seat next to me.

"All set?" George asks loudly.

"You bet!" Sarah's voice is excited. She's probably been looking forward to meeting me since she got the letter in the mail, informing her that she would have to house yet another kid. All I can think about is how she is going to be disappointed once she gets to know me. I'm sure I'm not what she was expecting.

George fires up the truck and backs out of the airport.

Both of them attempt to make idle conversation with me for a while. However, after ten minutes they give up. It probably didn't help that I was only answering in grunts and nods.

With nothing to do, I am forced to look out the window in front of me. There are several scratches on the window shield, making it slightly difficult to focus on what's outside and not the scratch itself.

The scenery doesn't change much. It's a lot of dry land, scraggly trees, corn, cotton, and other crops. We pass by a few barn houses with livestock in their front yard.

I really hope George and Sarah don't have livestock. I'm tempted to ask them but that would require making conversation and I'm not yet ready to do that. Instead I just cross my fingers and hope.

After seeing crop after crop, I decide I need something else to think about. The roads are always the same and the view seems to be a looping farmland.

I reach for the stereo to turn it on.

"Oh, Hun that doesn't work."

I look over at Sarah. "What?"

"The radio," she says. "It's been dead for years.

Of course it has been. I let my hand drop before it turns the 'on' switch.

"Are you hot?" George asks.

"Yeah," I answer. My shirt is clinging to my back and I can feel my forehead starting to sweat a little.

Both George and Sarah roll down their windows. No air conditioning...of course.

Nonetheless, the breeze helps. I sit forward more in my seat and let the wind cool my back.

"Are you hungry?" Sarah asks, looking at me.

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

"You're awfully thin," George comments.

Sarah shoots him a glare, but I don't mind his comment. I am pretty thin. There was never much to eat at home. Luke didn't have a definite source of income and when he did have money, he forgot to buy groceries.

"There was never much to eat at home," I mutter. It's probably the longest sentence I've spoken to them.

Sarah gives me a sympathetic look. "That'll change."

George nods his head. "Sarah's the best cook in Chunky." I wonder if that is a good accomplishment, seeing as how there aren't many people living there. "She makes a mean fried catfish."

"Oh stop it," Sarah says with a wave of her hand.

Meanwhile, I'm trying not to throw up over here. Fried catfish? I'm not much of a fish person. Most menus in Chicago always had some sort of fish. I had tried shrimp and salmon and had almost thrown up. It was just the whole consistency of the fish. It was just so...fishy. It tasted how it smelled.

The rest of the car ride goes by quickly because I manage to fall asleep.

The next thing I know I'm being shaken awake.

"We're here." It's Sarah. She has a huge grin plastered on her face, making it obvious that she's excited to show me around.

I let out a little groan and stretch my arms out in front of me. And then I look ahead of me.

There's a small, light brown two story house with a decent sized porch wrapped around the front. An American Flag is nailed neatly on the front of the house by the door. Surrounding the house is an abundance of open land. The grass surrounding the area is dead, no doubt from the unbearable heat.

Sarah is holding the door open for me as if it will close shut if she doesn't. I step out of the truck and hop down onto the rocky driveway.

Meanwhile, George is unloading all of my luggage from the back of his truck and bringing it around to the front porch.

"What do you think?" Sarah asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "It's a house."

For the first time I hear her sigh. I think she finally realizes that I'm not really a fun person to have around.

"Let's go inside." Her voice is flatter than before, as if I had deflated some of her peppy air.