Senses

Ch. 1

I stared out the car window, still jet-lagged and groggy. What I wouldn't do to crawl into a warm bed right now. "I know it's a little gloomy here, but you'll love Forks," Mama assured, taking one hand off of the steering wheel to pat my leg. "It's not the weather," I sighed. "I'm just really tired and I feel like I could eat a McDonald's." Mom glanced at me out of her peripheral, and I could feel the judgement. "A McDonald's? Like, the entire restaurant?" Ma snorted. "EVERYTHING!!" I shouted. "The bricks, boards, food, McFlurry machine, customers...all of it!" She bounced and waved one hand in front of her face wildly as she struggled to breathe. Mama was a little Irish woman, a ton of dynamite packed into a 5'1" package. She was porcelain and slender, but I've never seen her as fragile. Her hair was thick and untameable, naturally a color I could only describe as autumn red. Her eyes were ice blue, and could be just as cold as their pale shade. We hit a red light and she gasped between chuckles. "You are...no, so much no," she managed to breathe. "So glad we've turned 'no' into an adjective, Ma," I snorted, smiling a little as I went back to staring at the town that would be my new home.

If you blinked, you'd miss all of downtown. Which wasn't a lie, because now all that surrounded us were more thick trees and a few barely visible houses. We turned down one of the narrow streets, passing many dilapidated homes. We pulled up to the last house on the street, and a sense of detached familiarity hit me. A two story grey-brick house stood, impenetrable to time's damage. The shutters were still pale blue, and my old tree house could just barely be seen behind it. I was only six, so I can't really remember why my parents' divorced, only that Mama was up to her neck in college work and paying back student loans, so I had gone with Daddy. I was too young to understand anything other than Mama and Daddy loved me, but it hurt them to be together. When I was ten, Daddy and I moved to Miami to be with his mother, my abuela, because my grandpa died. My dad was half Mexican, his mother straight from Mexico and his father a redneck from Georgia. Daddy was the exact opposite of Mama: toned caramel skin, a wall of muscle that stood a whopping 6'4", straight black hair, and piercing mahogany eyes. While Mama had more of a wild, explosive personality, Daddy was calm and suave. Guess that's where they went wrong, I thought. Mama and Daddy both used to say opposites attract, but it seems if you're too different, it can be destructive.

She threw her Ford Focus in park and jumped out to open up the hatchback. I hopped out of the car after her, rushing to grab my bags before she did. I was fully capable of carrying my own stuff inside. She gave me an annoyed look before going to the front door and unlocking it. I barely got in the doorway before she was rushing back out to the car. Mama was the prosecutor for Forks's municipal court; if I remembered correctly from our few and far between phone calls throughout the years, Thursday was court day. "Your room is upstairs, and I'll be back around seven. I love you!" she shouted before slamming the driver side door and peeling out of the driveway. "I'm so excited to be here with you, Mom! 'Me too, sweetheart. I can't believe how big you've gotten. And so beautiful! What have you been up to?' Oh, ya know Ma, nothing much. I've been in dance classes for almost four years now and I love it. Just this past summer, I won first place in a show. 'Really? My precious baby, tell me everything!' Okay, Ma," I mumbled sarcastically as I lugged my two suitcases upstairs, coming back down for my duffel bag and box. I knew Mama was busy, and I knew seeing her for the first time since I was ten wouldn't be everything I ever dreamed of, but I was still expecting...more.

The door at the end of the hall: my room. The door was already opened, so I lazily just shoved my stuff across the floor until it was all in there. The room held a full-sized bed, a six-drawer vertical dresser, a nightstand that doubled as a bookshelf-- disappointingly, with only two shelves-- a decent-sized closet, and a computer desk with a steel chair. The walls were white and so was the bed, the sheets crisply ironed and folded. Everything seemed too bare, too plain. I patted my pocket, sighing in relief when I felt my wallet. Thank you Daddy for a credit card, I thought with a smile as I started unpacking. I would walk down to the hardware store after I got done, and I'd pick up some paint and brushes to work on my room. I pulled my laptop out of one of my bags, setting it on the desk. I unzipped one of my suitcases and dug out a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Hoodie, or no hoodie? I thought, looking out the window at the overcast sky. "Nah," I mumbled as I stripped down from my shorts and tanktop, changing into my running clothes. I grabbed my wallet and house keys, jamming them in my pockets before leaving my room and jogging downstairs.

It took me fifteen minutes to get to the TruValue in town. I went straight to the aisle full of color cards and paint buckets, looking diligently for just the right shade of red. "Can I help you?" someone asked. I turned around to see a blonde woman in her thirties in a red smock. "Yeah, actually," I replied, holding up two cards. "Ruby or carnelian?" I asked. She smiled and pointed to the card on the left. "Definitely ruby," she said. I nodded and picked up two cans, grabbing a few brushes on my way down the aisle. "Is that all?" she asked as she walked ahead of me toward the register. "Yes ma'am," I murmured, setting my items on the counter. "One moment," I said, running down another aisle to grab a tarp. I came back and set it down with the rest of my stuff. She made polite conversation as she rung me up. "I've never seen you around here. New in town?" she asked. "New-ish," I answered. "I haven't been in Forks since I was little. My mom is Margaret Kelly." I swiped my card and she nodded politely as she slid a receipt and pen across the table. "Margaret...I've seen her in court before. My son had to go for a speeding ticket. She's the prosecutor, isn't she?" I nodded as she handed me the bag with the tarps and paintbrushes. I put my wallet back in my pocket and grabbed the paint cans. "Have a nice day, ma'am," I called as I walked out the door.

My bed was in the hall, the bed frame was folded up and sitting in the center of my room with a tarp over it with all of the other furniture. Three hours later, and I was done. I opened the window to let my room air out while the walls dried, and I went downstairs. 6:30 and Mama still wasn't home. I washed my hands and began looking through the freezer. The kitchen wasn't the one I remembered, with the rooster wallpaper and the sunflower dishtowels and place-mats. The walls were beige, and everything was decorated with little coffee mugs and tea cups. There was a glass wind chime in the window with little hummingbirds. Nothing in this house was the way it used to be. Digging out a pack of steak, I filled the sink with hot water and put it in to defrost. A knock at the door startled me. "Who is it?" I called. "Tamara? I am here to see Margaret. She said you would be here. I'm Billy Black, an old friend of the family," a muffled voice called through the door. Billy Black? Billy Black...the voice rang a bell, somewhere deep in the past. I made my way through the house to the front door, opening it to find a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. His long, black hair was held down with a cowboy hat and his deep brown eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Tamara!" he exclaimed. "Look at you, all grown up. How old are you now?" The man's face brought back old memories of Mama, Daddy, him, and an unfamiliar woman sitting on a tailgate and drinking beers while I played at the beach. "I just turned seventeen in December," I answered. Further behind him, I noticed a guy about my age standing next to an old black truck. "You remember my son Jacob, don't you?" he asked. At that moment, Mama pulled up behind the black truck and the minivan in the driveway.

"Billy! I wasn't expecting you until later," Mama yelled as she got out of her car. He grinned and wheeled himself over to her, striking up a conversation. Jacob came over, smiling bashfully. "You probably don't remember me," he murmured. I racked my brain for several seconds before giving him a shrug and an apologetic grin. "You stepped on my head when we were building sand castles. I was four." My eyes widened and I burst into giggles. "Yeah, I remember you. I am so sorry!" I yelped. "It's okay, all is forgiven," he chuckled. "So...what brings you to my neck of the woods? I thought you lived on the reservation," I said, tucking my hands in my pockets as we walked toward the truck. "Ahh, you really do remember me. You're the new kid here and even if I live on the Rez, Forks is still my town, so what're you doing in my neck of the woods?" he retorted playfully. I nodded a little, bumping him as we walked. "Dad and the Step-Monster finally tied the knot, and I came to live with Mama." He smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. But, I'm actually here because somebody had to drive the truck while Dad drove the van. Your mom bought this when you decided to come up here, but it needed some work. I just got done fixing it today." I gawked at him. A black 1972 Chevy Cheyenne, and it was all mine! "Seriously!?" I shouted. He nodded, holding out the keys. I snatched them away, eagerly jumping into the driver's seat. "Can you even drive a stick?" he smirked. I scowled at him and pat the passenger seat. "Why don't you come find out?" I retorted. With no hesitation, he got in. "We'll be back Dad! I'm gonna see how Tamara drives!" he shouted out of the window as the engine roared to life. "Now, the first thing you need to do is hang on. Second thing? Enjoy the ride," I giggled. He nodded, watching intently as I put it in reverse. We backed out of the driveway and I threw it in first. After that, we were off. Forks might not be that bad after all.