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It seemed an eventuality that everything in Gem's life would fall apart. She'd done an excellent job ruining it herself even before sister's death. After a close call her mother sends her to live with her estranged father in her childh...
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Perfect, I thought flicking the butt of a burnt out Lucky Strike from the window of my piece of shit Honda. I'm gonna break down before I even get there.
Not that I even wanted to be there in the first place.
I was cruising down Interstate five going ten over the limit and blaring Song 2 out of my blown speakers when my RPMs starting going crazy. My car sputtered and jerked making me spill my iced tea onto my faded denim cutoffs.
"Dammit!" I screamed while shifting into a lower gear. I yanked my bra from the backseat that I had discarded earlier and dabbed at my lap. I wasn't worried about ruining my cracked leather seats or the sticky mess I'd have to clean up later, I just didn't want to look like I had pissed myself in the event that I broke down. I conceded defeat slapping on the hazards button and slowing down to a snails pace hoping against hope that I wouldn't end up on the side of the road in the Californian heat.
I told them both my car wouldn't make a ten hour drive, I thought as I stroked the dash of my 96' Civic asking to 'pretty please with a cherry on top get me to Sacramento'. If Diane wanted me gone that bad she should've just bought me a damn plane ticket.
"...it wasn't easy, but nothing is, no..." Damon Albarn sang on in the background. I found myself smiling at the irony of the lyrics despite my sour mood. Not sure if the song was a good or bad omen I pulled out my phone and set it in the cupholder. He probably wouldn't be happy to have to drive hours to come save my ass but hey, shit happens.
I had skyped earlier that morning with Jameson, who looked older and older all the time. I noticed the laugh lines that crinkled around his eyes from all the jokes we never shared, silver hair woven through blond from all the years we didn't have together. He bounced my half brother on his knee, chubby face covered in maple syrup from breakfast.
"My famous blueberry pancakes," My dad boasted. "You used to love them when you were Bodhi's age too remember Gemmy?" My teeth gritted at the reference to my old nickname. Other than the fine dusting of freckles on my shoulders from our brief time together in the west coast sun that name was the only thing I remembered getting from my dad.
I lied and said that if anything went wrong during the drive I'd call him.
Then I thought back to the final goodbye with my mom that morning. It was raining, as it so often did in Portland, in the front yard of the house that raised me. She loaded the last of my seventeen years of life into the back of my rusted out hatchback. My remaining possessions were either packed away in boxes bound for Goodwill or covered in sheets in my room for the return that we both knew would never come.
Then we stood there, air heavy around us with things we both wanted to say but, in the end, chose not to. The words we did share felt forced and by the end of our conversation I couldn't get into my car fast enough.
