The Fault In Reality

Chapter One

My cheek presses against the dusty window, already marred with a million smudges. What's one more to the mix? I watch the landscape bitterly, a blend of golden corn stalks and the occasional tree. Blue skies stretch in an endless haze, with only a handful of wispy clouds scattered here and there.

Sweat dribbles down my back, and the heat in the car is stiffling. I yearn for some fresh air. I know I don't deserve it.

The car rolls to a stop, spitting out rocks in its wake. Up ahead there is an old house, built for the most part low to the ground, except for a small section that rises out of its middle. A crumbly shingle roof and white paint more or less wrap up its appearance, that and the peeling porch.

My mother shoots me a glance, one that could mean a hundred different things, before turning the engine and slipping the keys from the ignition. I keep my gaze on the view outside my window, where a russety dog lounges in the shade of a tree. The crops I examined only moments before have given way to short, green grass.

I haul the shabby suitcase from its rest between my feet. It swings in a way I fancy disgruntled, as though annoyed at me bringing it along. At the expectant look from my mother, I push open the door. The dust flies away from the touch of my foot as I step out. Sometimes it feels like everything I become attached to dissapears, whether through death or something else.

Like my father.

The thought of seeing him again pulls at my chest in a small, reflexive twinge. My fault, my fault, I chant silently, and eye the dog. It's cracked an eye open to reveal a huge, blue pupil. Behind me the road wind its way out of sight, and I'm left with a cold, lonely feeling.

"Era!" My mother calls, and I can feel her words lash against my skin. I flinch slightly. Somehow I've escaped reality long enough to miss her clambering up the steps of the porch. Now she is poised by the door, hand raised as though preparing to knock.

I eye the dog wearily and follow up after her. My gaze sweeps over everything, trying to take it all in before -too late. My mother has rapped her knuckles across the wood, and there's a shuffling of footsteps before a clean shaven face opens the door.

I suck in a deep breath. My father. My father who I haven't seen in three years. Smiling at me, waving, arm tucked around a plump woman. I take a step back.

"Era," my mom calls, "Era, come meet Pat!"

Of course his wife is named Pat. His new wife. He reaches out to embrace me, but I stand limp to his efforts, instead examing the woman in front of me. She has a head of brown, greying hair, with wisps of it escaping from a loose bun that's knotted at the back of her head. Kind. Careless. Confident. Welcoming. Her personality radiates from the warm smile that's settled onto her face, comfortably, as though it's often there.

"Hello, Era," she says softly.

"Hello," I reply, trying to keep the sourness out of my tone. More footsteps, then a boy's face pops up between the two figures. His eyes are a startingly blue, and he gives me a long, appraising look. Right, I think to myself, I'm the freaky girl who drove her own father away.

I turn away. I lost interest in other people a long time ago.

"So... you're Era?" He says -a bit reproachfully, I fancy- "weird name."

His voice is loud, and it has a way of filling up the air around him.

"Don't be rude!" Pat scolds him. "Please, come in, Era... Julia..."

I'm surprised to hear my mother called Julia. It's always either Jules or Ms. Tiffing. I follow my mother into the house, which is furnished with leather armchairs and bouquets of dried flowers. My eyes travel over the walls, where photos in frames hang, a little crookedly. The smell of vanilla lingers in the air, warm and pleasant.