St. Barbara Valley (Really Rough Draft)

*Chapter Five*

After my shift, I headed straight home. 

Once I was inside, I shrugged of my layers of scarves and jackets, kicked off my boots, then headed to the kitchen. I stopped under the doorway and watched as Poppy and Noal played cards while listening to Elvis. I couldn't help but realize how similar they looked, throwing cards onto the table, feet propped up. The had the same face, dark skin, shiny black hair, and large, brown eyes. Noal was a head taller than Poppy, even though he was only one year younger than her. They looked like spitting images of their mother, who was Egyptian, and they looked nothing like their British father. 

I looked to a mirror on the wall beside me. I scanned my face, wondering which one of my parents I looked like most. I've been told I had my mother's rosy-pale skin, button nose, and large hips. But I had my father's sandy blonde hair, grey eyes, and dark eyebrows. I couldn't stand my hair in my face for any longer, so I quickly threw my shoulder length hair in a loose bun, and pinned my long bangs that graze my eyebrows back, then stomped into the kitchen. 

"Hey Lorraine. How was Flo's?" Noal asked, without looking away from his hand. Poppy slapped a card down on the pile, and Noal let out a groan. 

"Fine. Did you leave me any dinner?" I walked around Poppy and caught a quick glance of her cards. "Be careful, she has an eight." 

Poppy made a quick sound of protest, but was cut off by Noal's laughter. 

She glowered at me. "You're evil." I smiled cheekily at her. 

"I know."

"Pizza. Dad was out and neither of us wanted to cook so we ordered pizza. It's in the fridge." Noal explained as he slapped down another card. I mymbled the lyrics to Elvis' 'Jailhouse Rock,'  while throwing a piece of pizza in the microwave. 

"By the way," Poppy started, sliding her feet off the table and turning towards me. "Dad picked up the bike when you were working. It's in the garage."

There was a pause. My thoughts stopped at the idea that me and some death machine was under the same roof. Poppy and Noal were watching me, waiting for a reaction. The microwave beeped, and I whipped open the door to grab the slice. 

"Well, I'll tell him thanks later." Then I swiftly walked out of the kitchen. 

****

I opened the door to the garage, and silently walked down the stairs. Audrey sat there leaning on her kickstand, seeming lonely. I decided not to flick on the lights, since it was just going to be a quick check to make sure the motorcycle was fine, and slowly walked towards it. The key was in the ignition, a feather key chain dangling from the key hoop was swinging side to side, as if Audrey was a dog and that was its tail, wagging, happy to see me.

I slid my hand across the handle bars, attempting to remember what it felt like to ride on it with my dad. And I also couldn't help but wonder what it felt to drive it. I reached out and turned the key, the engine revved to life. It didn't sound like it hadn't been driven for a while and didn't sputter at all. I lifted my leg over the seat and shuffled so I was sitting on the leather seat, I placed my hands on the handle bars.

I replayed the memory of my father tumbling into the lake, still sitting on the came motorcycle I was sitting on at that moment. Suddenly, I felt apprehensive and tense. Each breath I took wasn't enough, and my chest felt hollow. I scrambled off it, then turned the key and ripped it out of the slot. I tripped while scrambling and slammed my elbow onto the floor, the rest of my body followed. I slid away from the bike to lean my body against the garage wall. 

It took a few moments to calm down, and when I did, I decided to stay in the garage. I didn't have the strength or motivation to get up and leave. 

What was I going to do with Audrey? I didn't have a drivers license to drive it. It wasn't like I wanted to drive that death machine, it was a coffin on wheels. But I knew I didn't have the heart to give it away. Or sell it. What was I going to do with it?

I decided not to make that decision now, and the best choice, I thought, was to let it sit in here and gather dust.

I got up slowly, then shuffled out of the garage and headed towards the kitchen to grab an aspirin for my headache that seemed to have blossomed when I fell.

Mrs. Foster was there, her work was scattered across the counter. Her head whipped up when I walked in.

"Hey Lorraine. I haven't seen you in a couple of days. I don't know whether to say I am sorry or happy they found your father's motorcycle, Lorraine." She said, her voice soft and low. That always seemed to happen, whenever Mrs. Foster talked to me about my father and the accident, she talked as if I was a hair strand away from having a melt down. 

"Thank you." I didn't even bother to smile back. She got up and gave me a quick hug. Once she released me I ran up to my room, partially to get away from Mrs.Foster's pity, and because I suddenly thought of something.

I threw open the doors of my closet, then grabbed a chair because I wasn't tall enough to reach the top shelf. I stepped up and grabbed a cardboard box squished in the corner, then threw it on my bed before I lost my balance and fell. 

In the box was an assortment of different things. An old camping hat, an elementary school book report, candy that I now wish wasn't years old, hair clips, and a chunky camcorder covered with bear stickers. I picked it up slowly, being careful because I remembered that the flip screen was loose.

I had received the crappy camcorder when I was twelve as a present from my Dad. He was going through our attic when he came across it. He said it was his when he was in his twenties, but he didn't need it, so it was passed on to me.

I was very into vlogging or video diaries when I was younger. Almost everyday I videoed taped myself blabbing to the camera about my day. It was really cool to go through the past ones and see how much I grew up, but I stopped the video diaries when the accident happened. I haven't touched the thing in two years.

But now, I felt compelled to watch the videos, maybe see if I had a clip of the motorcycle in it to compare. I skimmed through the clips until I got to the very last video I recorded. 

I watched as a fifteen year old me talked into the camera. "Hey, video journal." I waved at the camera, I couldn't help but notice I had a huge pimple on my cheek. I grimaced, I do not miss being fifteen. Fifteen year old me went on explaining what date it was and what was happening. She walked into the cave and touched the wall. Then there was a lot of shaking and rustling, somehow I ended up on the ground and facing the cave.

"This looks really artsy, oh, new background?" I giggled.

I knew what was going to happen. It was like watching a horror movie, and the stupid girl was about to open the door and you knew that something horrible was going to happen to her, probably she was going to be killed. And you start yelling at her to stop, but she doesn't listen and does it anyway. 

That's how I felt as I watched the flash go off, then the small rumble from the cave. Then came the roar. 

The camera went blurry again, it had fallen and landed on a weird angle. But somehow it captured the force traveling across the field and colliding with my dad. I watched it happened again, as helplessly as the last time. I watched as fifteen year old me jumped up and sprinted across the field. Tears started sliding down my cheek at the sound of fifteen year old me.

"Dad! Dad! Please NO! DAD! DAD!" It was useless to watch the rest, I already knew what happened next, the girl would wonder what really happen until two years later, her father's motorcycle shows up on the shore of the lake in which he drowned. Then she would question everything and not know what to do next.

I pressed the power button, but instead of throwing it back into the closet, I placed it on my bedside table. I needed to show that to Jeremiah. 

****

That was really hard to write and I don't know why. Maybe because it was mostly a filler. Oh well. Thanks for reading this far, YOU ARE AWESOME. And can I congratulate myself on these fast updates, I think I shall. Good job me. Alright, until next time, stay classy.