Charming Heathra - a novella companion to Dirty Lying Faeries

Passing Strangers

Heathra

Rural State of Washington, June 1948

I groaned and fell onto my bed, arms stretched out to my sides. I yawned and debated sleeping on top of the blankets, rather than spend the energy to crawl beneath them.

"You need to brush your hair before bed, Heathra," my twin sister Viola said in clipped tones. "Otherwise it gets dreadfully unruly."

"How many times must I tell you?" I said in unison with her. I grinned as she scowled at me.

She was sitting at the desk we shared, reading a book. She snapped it closed and grabbed the hairbrush, throwing it at me.

I yelped as it landed on my stomach. Sitting up, I reached over to the bed next to mine and threw Viola's pillow at her.

She squealed as it smacked her in the face, sending a few feathers into the air.

"Why must you always be so childish?" Viola spat at me. "If you're not going to be civil around the house what is the point of coming home?"

I scowled at her. "I don't see you buying Mama's medicine. Maybe you should leave me alone, I'm tired form working all day!"

She sucked in a breath, shocked. "Heathra!"

I shot up from the bed and stormed out. My face flushed as Viola called after me. I knew I had crossed a line. Viola cared for Mama all day since the day she fell ill. I was too squeamish for it. Too afraid of the inevitable.

I opened the hall closet and took out the leather jacket that hung inside. I tucked my long braid inside the back and pulled my arms through the sleeves as I left the house.

The cool spring air whipped the loose strands of hair around my face, invigorating me as I strode to the back shed of the old farmhouse. Any tiredness I had felt a few minutes ago was wiped away when I creaked open the rusty door and shone the setting sunlight on Papa's old '39 Knucklehead. The most glorious bike I've ever seen. It took my breath away every time.

I slid on, brushing my fingers along the smooth handlebars with a sigh. I put Papa's helmet on and started up the Knucklehead. It purred to life under me and I walked it out the door.

I saw Viola at our window, watching me take out the bike that I wasn't supposed to be riding. We both knew I kept it gassed up and ready to ride, we were in an unspoken agreement to not tell Mama and make her worry. I ignored Viola at the window as I slid the goggles down over my eyes and hit the road.

I did a lot of things that made Viola mad lately. I wore pants, which she didn't like. I kept taking Papa's motorcycle out, which she didn't like. I couldn't cook, and I knew she hated having to do all the housework without help.

I sighed and sped forward, letting my worries fly away behind me.

Trees flew by. The sun went down and the fireflies came out. I laughed as I raced an eagle overhead through the winding roads that would carry me away. Away from Viola, away from my troubles. When I rode the Knucklehead it felt like my father was still here. I could forget the last five years and breathe again.

The twists of the Washington state roads flowed into the highway, which eased into the city. Cars passed me as I slowed into the traffic. The outskirts of Seattle were perfect for a night of forgetting.