To The Moon

Part 1; Chapter 4

I was here, in my mother’s house, five years ago. The same things were happening, the way she would drink herself to oblivion, the way she would skip from man to man, the way she would whine and complain, the way she wouldn’t remember what had happened the night before. 

Burton interested me, though. He wasn’t like the other men that usually came into the house; the others would sneak out in the morning and - as I can remember - wouldn’t stick around. According to my mother, though, Burton was often there. He had been there since Father and I left. Five years ago. 

Maybe he was the one that told Mom she needed me back. For now, that was my only explanation, because it was quite obvious that it wasn’t her own idea. She made no effort at all to love me still, and when I was young she made it very clear that I was my “Father’s idea of happiness” but not her own. 

There were three doors lining the living room. One was mine, one was my mother’s, but the other one I was uncertain about because it wasn’t a bathroom, considering that was off of the kitchen. No one was home, there was no chance of anyone yelling at me, no chance of anyone noticing that I had stolen a peek. Anyways, what could it possibly be? There was a chance that it was a spare room, for my mother’s guests - even though they would most likely be sharing her bed. I tiptoed to the doorknob, looking behind my shoulder at the door every few steps. My palm gripped the cold metal and I twisted it gently, making every moment an eternity, and as I pushed inward I saw before me a dark room. I felt around the wall for a light switch, and when I found one I let my hand hover there for a moment. Debating whether I really wanted the disappointment of what I was about to find in this mysterious room. 

All of a sudden my unconscious mind flipped on the switch and what stood before me was far more shocking the empty room I had expected. The walls weren’t painted and a bare bulb was the one thing lighting the room. It didn’t matter that the walls were unpainted, though, because little was showing between the hundreds of photos that were taped everywhere. There were photos of young men, middle aged men, men holding other women’s hands, and men with the arms wrapped around women’s waists. 

Across the small closet of a room stood a small bookcase. On the top of it, in a frame, was my school picture from this year. I walked over and popped open the back. Inside of it were school pictures from the past three years. Ever since I was twelve. The book case was stocked with scrapbooks, as I turned the pages I saw copies of my school pictures side by side with an unrecognizable boy. A different one on each page. It was typical of my mother to do this, to try and set me up with people that I looked good with. Knowing her, she probably knew every person in this room. Knowing her, she had probably slept with half of them. 

All the scrapbooks were the same, except for one that stood on the left side of the bookcase leaning against it. It was a taupe color with gold swirls across it, and in the binding pink ribbon was woven in and out of three holes. On the first page was a family photo from when I was just born. My mother was in her hospital gown and my father had a grin from one side of his face to the other. I laid in my mother’s arms with my eyes closed and my hand wrapped around my father’s pointer finger. The next page was a picture of my mother and father on their honeymoon. From then on it worked it’s way into the future until a picture that was taken a couple months before I left. 

I heard the front door unlock and I jumped. Throwing the album in the bookcase, I rushed out of the closet - shutting the door tightly behind me - and jumped on the couch, pretending I was there all along. 

It wasn’t my mother that stepped over the threshold as the door opened. That green-eyed, dark skinned man she called Burton, stepped in looking shocked as he saw me sitting there, upright, staring at him. 

“Um, sorry. I was just dropping by to pick up my coat,” he murmured.

“So you can leave, right?”

“Actually, I was just going out to find your mother. She left...upset when you stormed out.”

“I had reason to!”

“I’m sure you did, Scarlett.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and stomped off to my room. Grabbing a black string bikini and a tan shirt that was see through, I slipped those on and shed my wet sweatpants. A pair of light wash cuffed shorts replaced them and I was out the door. 

❊          ❊          ❊

When I walked up to the fiery mess of people, there were few that I didn’t recognize. I could tell by some of the faces that came my way that there were people here who recognized me just as well.  The first person to come up to me was Ali, her bright face darkened with heavier makeup and the shadow from the fire. In her right hand was a red Solo cup, not the way we did in New York, but I was up for anything at this point. It was obvious that she already had more than the cup she held in her hand.

“Heyyy!” she slurred. 

“Hi.”

“I’m sooo glad you came! Here, come meet some of my friends,” she grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the fire. 

“I won’t be meeting many of them,” I said under my breath.

“Angie!” She signaled to a girl with thick brown hair who wore tight white shorts. I knew her - she was the girl with the peppy attitude and smiley face. When I lived here, I liked her, she was in the same group as I was. “This is...what’s your name again?”

“Wait, I know this!” shouted Angie. “You used to live around here, right? Is it Sam? No, it was something different?”

“Yeah, it’s Scarlett.”

“Oh! I was right! Welcome back to sunny San Diego.” As she turned away, she was grinning. 

Ali had gone up to a guy I recognized as Jack, one of the soccer players-turned surfer- that went to the school, and started to dance with him. They were both drunk so I just awkwardly stood by myself until I spotted the keg. I needed that keg of beer.

I walked over and grabbed an empty Solo cup and had it filled to the rim. Starting to sip, I spotted the surfer that saw me earlier. His curly blonde hair had dried now, so it was shorter, and his blue eyes glistened against the glare from the fire. He was shirtless and wore black surf shorts. I couldn’t help but stare at his toned body, the six pack underneath was almost visible without flexing his muscle. 

He  came up to me and waved his hand across my eyes, “Hey, Angie said you were back.  I thought I you looked familiar today at the beach. Remember me?”

Now I did. He was the one everyone was uncertain about in eighth grade. He had two brothers, one was a druggie and one like to pick up girls. So who wouldn’t expect him to follow in their paths? Something about his eyes had always made me wonder if he would turn out to be what everyone expected of him. His eyes were too pure. 

“Yeah. Matt, right?”

“That’s right. Want to take a walk? The fire’s starting to get a little hot.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that was already making my view of things a little fuzzy or maybe it was his eyes or maybe it was because I was far too naïve, but I decided that a walk down this unfamiliar beach wouldn’t be such a bad thing.