dumb

♡HOME AT LAST♡

JULY 23rd, 1989

Maggie's leaving JFK Airport.

She travels close behind her mother, permanently frowning. She never wanted to come back here, never thought she'd come back here, but with more begging and pleading from Nancy Jolivet, her daughter agreed,

Agreed to come home.

It's temporary. She can only stay two weeks, then she needs to get back to work. Two weeks. It won't be that bad. No, it can't be. She can't handle more misfortune. They exit through those doors that spin. Fuck—she's forgotten what they're called. Oh, yeah! revolving doors.

The dreadful heat of the city festers on her skin. She wrinkles her nose and brushes loose curls out of her face. "You need to come to the salon while you're here. Leonna still talks about you," Nancy comments, referring to the woman who's styled her own hair for years, and always styled her daughters.

Maggie nods. "Yeah, yeah. That'd be nice."

She's forgotten the intensity of the summer here, the way the heat seems to worsen in the mass of bodies, the way city goers seem to dart around faster, somehow more hurriedly as they try to escape the heat. She hates it, how the smelly, dank atmosphere reminds her that she's home.

Her mother hails a cab expertly. Maggie could never get the hang of it. They put their luggage in the trunk of the yellow cab, then circle around and climb into the backseat.

They buckle up and Nancy tells the driver that they're going to Astoria. Maggie leans her head against the window and she can hear her mother making small talk with the driver. Always so polite, so kind. Maggie only wishes she could be so outgoing and lovely.

Lovely girls don't overdose on painkillers and undress to make ends meet, not the lovely girls she knows.

She watches the bustling crowds and street vendors pass in a nude blur as she rides in the taxi. The towering skyscrapers and men in drab suits are grey blobs in a sea of eccentricity. And she thinks of Kurt suddenly. She doesn't know why, but she does, and she silently admits to herself that she misses him.

They said goodbye to each other before she left. They hugged for an extended period of time, Kurts arms snug around Maggie. He told her not to do anything. She told him she wouldn't, and she's trying to do good by him by keeping her promise. But it's hard when she stares up at the towering buildings and imagines how it'd feel to dive off the rooftop like Icarus, let the wax of her wings melt into goo midair, and to tumble back down to the Earth and die.

But she never had wings to begin with, did she?

Thirty long, bleak minutes pass and the taxi driver stops in front of Maggie's childhood apartment. Her mother thanks the driver and pays him. They then exit the car, and retrieve their luggage from the trunk.

Children ride bikes up the sidewalk and stop at the ice cream truck parked up the block. Beggars sit on the stoops of vacant buildings, frail hands holding out cups. Few drop their change in. Maggie feels like she's a girl again as she steps into the littered sidewalk, and begins up the steps of the apartment.

Her suitcase drags noisily behind her. Nancy steps forward, and unlocks the heavy door. She pushes it open and Maggie follows her inside. She shudders quietly, because the aroma of cigarettes and Eau d'Hermes lingers in the air, the scent of her father. He's been dead for many years, but it's eerie how he seems scatter hints of his essence around the house.