Mine Would Be You (106)
“I’ll get there when I get there.” A sarcastic smile forms on my red painted lips and I’m sure he can hear the disdain dripping off my words.
“It’s been years, you know. Since you’ve been back. Since I’ve seen you.”
I huff, placing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I remove the gas pump and close the tank, “There’s a reason for that Shane. I hate it here.”
He hesitates, a beat of silence passes over the phone, but I know he doesn’t say what he actually wants too. “Whatever. Just get here,” Shane mumbles quietly.
“Yup.” I hang up the phone before he can say anything else and throw my phone into the passenger seat before climbing up myself. The cracked leather seats mold around my body and I lean back, my eyes fluttering closed as a breeze flows through the open windows. I exhale deeply as I start the car, the engine roaring to life and pull off onto the street.
My music blares through the speakers, as I drive towards the small town that used to be home. The sight of cacti and dirt are no great sight, not even the rock formations bring a smile to my face any more like they did when I was a kid, when I would imagine endless stories and people running through them into the forests. I try to distract myself in the music around me, the beat of the song or the lyrics, but all I can feel is the heavy dread balled up in the pit of my stomach.
The temperature gradually changes as I get closer to Flagstaff and closer to the mountains, away from the desert that is southern Arizona and the early October air creeps in through my windows. Through the desert, bright green pine trees start peeking through the sea of endless dust, the occasional tree with orange, red and brown leaves join in too, painting a picture of Flagstaff I haven’t seen in so long.
Haven’t wanted to see.
The two hour drive I still had to make from the gas station has passed all too quickly and didn’t leave me nearly enough to prepare for this. For seeing the farm again, the childhood house, or for seeing my dad and Shane. Or anything, really.
I avoid the small-town square. Not wanting to accidently see anyone that doesn’t want to see me as much as I don’t want to see them. The tension in my body thrums through my blood and over my skin, pulled tighter with every mile I get closer to what use to be home, like being stretched continuously.
And the farm looks the same as it used to.
An old rickety sign marks the long gravel driveway, The Shaw Ranch, the white paint now cracked, and a gate—broken now—hangs open below it.
The tires of my bronco crunch the gravel below as I drive slowly down the long pathway. To my left, horse pastures are marked with brown fencing. Snowcapped mountains peak in the sky behind them. The old, large white barn with faded red shutters appears like a beacon. The acers of green and brown land to the right. And in the center of it all, the old ranch house.
I pull in slowly towards the simple ranch style home. Painted white, dirt and dust stain the outside walls and the wrap around porch. Two simple rocking chairs sit near the front door and the small front garden surrounds the walkway. I park in front of the shed to the right of the house, next to an old truck and a slightly newer one.
Shane leans against one of the pillars of the porch with his arms crossed in his signature jean jacket that must be at least ten years old. I can’t see it, but I can imagine the line his lips are set into that are a mere imitation of our dads.
I take my time fixing my lipstick and adjusting my shirt, if only to piss him off further before jumping out of the car, landing on the dirt with a crunch. I leave my bags for later as I walk with my chin up towards the house. Above, the sky is gray, just a tad lighter than my mood.
Nyx, our golden retriever comes bounding out the open front door straight for me. Ears perked and his mouth open in his own signature smile, like I never left. My heart tugs in my chest but I keep my face still in front of Shane as I lean down to pet him. His soft fur is warm under my palm and I run my hand through it before standing, with Nyx trotting by my side.
“Hi Shaney, sorry I’m late.” I grin.
His deep brown eyes hold my stare for a moment, before the smallest shake of his head, “Please, you’ve never been sorry a day in your life.”
My sarcastic grin dies as quickly as it came, my lips falling back into their usual semi-pout. I raise an eyebrow, “Someone’s pissy.”
Nyx barks at the two of us, his tail no longer swishing back and forth on the old wood porch. The stare off of two people who are interacting far more like rivals than siblings. His eyes glint with a coldness that hadn’t been there when I left, but right now I don’t care. I want to find out what was so important that I come home and get out. As fast as I can.
“Sheyanne.”
“Let’s get this over with please.” I grind out, not letting him finish, holding his gaze and taking in his defensive stance before pulling the leather jacket closer to my body and walking right past him. My fingers hesitate for half a second on the old doorknob before twisting it open. I can feel Shane’s stare on my back, and I feel the swish of Nyx’s tail as he moves past me.
The temperature is the same. I can feel the breeze coming through the open windows of the old familiar ranch. The small entry way is practically unchanged, the same faded door-mat and rusting coat hooks on my right before the it opens up into the living area. Which is also practically unchanged. A corner tv, small and old, probably only running on cable—if that—and the same faded dark green couch. The wooden coffee table is scratched on the sides as it sits on a patterned rug, the coasters haphazardly spread on the glass surface, along with the remote.