Crash (PTB Writing Challenge #1)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I got to my house just as the sun had fully come up over the horizon. I lived a few miles away from The Cliff but since my run had been cut short I still had energy to spare, and got home relatively quickly. I came through the side door of the house that opened right into our cozy kitchen. My mother had adorned our kitchen with everything white and country-accented. A large bay window let out onto a well-manicured lawn, just in case all the white didn't brighten things up enough.

My mother stood in front of a decorative mirror in the hallway leading out of our kitchen, fixing her dark lipstick. She beamed at me as soon as I entered and gestured to the table, which was laid out with steaming eggs and toast for me and a grapefruit for my father, who seemed to be enjoying it as more of a pillow than a food. My father was definitely not my mother.

"I thought you could use an extra boost today, with all that tough school work and everything." She finished touching up her face and turned to me. "Phillip is coming for dinner tonight with his new girlfriend, so be ready! Make sure your room is nice and tidy, and be down here at six to help me with the table and everything."

Phillip. Of course. No wonder she was acting so nice today. Normally I grabbed a bagel and a fruit for breakfast, but on days when my siblings were involved she became much more of... well much more of a mother.

I sat down to eat and tuned out my mother, who was nagging to my father about getting something on his shirt, or whatever the complaint was this morning.

Family is an interesting thing. Sometimes I wondered if I loved my family. It's hard to say when it comes to my siblings especially, since they are all so much older than me. I imagined we had relationships that were closer to cousins than siblings. They had always been 'the kids', and I was Amy: the 'surprise' baby that came when my parents started assuming they were too old to get pregnant; the unassuming child wise beyond her years yet stuck too far in her shell to get anywhere.

I thought I loved my parents, but sometimes I thought it just automatically came with the title. My father was a gentle beast, a little overweight and dare I say it, dopey. My mom loved to overshadow him. She was the type to get noticed; wearing heels, bold lipstick, and charming everyone with her booming voice. She never understood me. Neither of my parents have, really. My father was often the one to check in on me when I looked down, but only because his kind nature drove him to do it. Anytime I started to tell him the thoughts that often circled around in my head about life and death and philosophical things, it went right over his head. I appreciated his efforts but I gave up trying to explain myself to either of them a long time ago. Now I hide my emotions. Besides, I narrow the possible environmental factors that could upset me by keeping away from people.

By the time I get up to put my dishes in the sink, my mother has left in her Lexus SUV and my father has shuffled back into his room to take a last-minute nap. I shook my head and laughed under my breath. How he could cut so close to being late to work everyday and still have a job was beyond me.

I checked my wristwatch and noted that I had half an hour before I needed to leave the house. Not bad. I had time for a quick shower and maybe even some makeup before I had to leave.

I took my time making my way up the stairs, picking out an unassuming black bra, gray boy-brief panties, purple v-neck, and black skinny jeans to wear once I got out of the shower. Then I turned on the water, popped in, and was out in seven minutes flat.

I stared at my reflection in my large bathroom mirror, dulled by the humidity in the room. I was never one of those girls who spent a lot of time on their hair and makeup. I naturally had pretty nice blonde hair that fell to my chest in waves. Sometimes it could be frustrating, but most of the time it looked acceptable with no assistance. I took my towel off and used it to wring out my hair, then tossed it into my laundry basket.

I dressed quickly, careful not to get my shirt too wet from my hair, brushed on a little bit of brown eyeliner to contour my blue eyes, and was soon ready to go. I grabbed my watch and my bag, and a water bottle as I passed the fridge on my way out. Pausing to take a sip, I checked my watch. Three minutes too go. Not too shabby.