Recovery

Chapter One- Home Sweet Home

After a thorough prodding and a stack of paperwork that rivals Mount Everest, Iâm finally discharged from the hospital. As we pull out from the lot, the crisp autumn breeze ruffles my already tousled curls. The anticipation of returning home has my stomach churning and my palms growing sweaty, but the car hits a pot whole in the road and jolts me from my daydreams. The familiar scoop in the road paired with the subtle thinning of the tree line indicates the start of our property line and I know it wonât be long until we reach the old farmhouse. I sneak a peek at my aunt from under the fringe of my bangs. Her razor sharp cheekbones seem all the more pronounced as she bites her tongue presumably holding back retorts about the unkempt state that the property has fallen into. 

âNeed help getting out?â She inquires lifting an overly plucked brow.

âNah, I think I got it,â I mumble as I struggle to free my crutches from the confines of the back seat.

âIâm glad because I really didnât feel like it,â she remarks in her infamously cold tone.

Her retort takes me by surprise and causes me to momentarily loose my footing on the slick gravel.  My Aunt had always been an absentee relative, sending the occasional card, and visiting twice for Christmas early in my childhood, I knew she wasnât particularly fond of both my father and I but her animosity had previously been an overlooked aspect of my motherâs family tales. A sting of fervid curses breaks the silence and prevents me from dwelling on thee issue.

            Claire stands before the screen door clutching her hand to her chest as she scolds what appears to be a small ball of fur.  That rests on the corroded bars that cross over the face of our storage grate.

            Shuffling over to her, I inspect the small scratch that mars her left wrist. The previously presumed ball of fluff lets out a squeak of a meow and twitches its tale to and fro like a plume of smoldering flames. A giggle escapes my chapped lips, splitting my usually solemn face into a satisfied grin. Who says what goes around doesnât comes around?

âCome here sweetie,â I coo to the tiny tabby, to which it lets out yet another frightened squeak.

It bears a striking resemblance to my motherâs old tabby Mrs. Pickles who ran away sometime before the accident. Upon closer inspection, I notice a white mitted patch of fur on its left paw, which confirms my suspicions.

âThis little guy here is from Mrs. Pickles recent litter, see how small it is? It must be the runt,â I decide as I scoop the little guy up in my arms despite my Aunts sputters of protest.

âIâm taking with him with me.â

            My Aunt pauses her task of fiddling with the lock and spins on a stiletto heel to shoot me a poisonous glare.

âYou will do no such thing now get in the house this instant before you attract any of its filthy friend.â

As much as I strive to keep the peace between my aunt and I, I know that abandoning the poor kitten is sentencing it to death. I run my finger over the quaking skin, stretched taught over his pronounced ribs.  

âPlease Claire, I know you donât like me that much and thatâs okay, but I also know that you loved my mother. This is what she would have wanted,â I insist raising the kitten to a few inches bellow her upturned nose.

            Letting out a sigh of defeat she simply ushers me though the door and motions to a duffle bag lying on the floor.

âGrab that bag, and start packing Iâll find a crate to put this little monster in,â she orders.

Hobbling past her, I make sure she catches a glimpse of my pronounced eye roll. But then it hits me, how will I be able to fit all of my belongings into my duffle? âHey Claire?â âHmmm.â

âHow are we going to get all my junk to Detroit?â She stills, her whole body growing rigid. âIts like you just said, all of its junk, it will stay here at the house. Just throw your clothes in the bag and put any other items of sediment value in your carry on.â

For an instant time seems to come to a stand still and Iâm weightless suspended in space, but all to soon reality comes rushing back to me.

âI. Will. Not. Abandon. Both. The. House. And. My. Belongings,â I grunt through gritted teach trying to keep a rein on the temper, that threatens to consume me. Claire mealy whips out her work Blackberry and begins to type away fervently.

âHold your tongue, Iâve had enough of this nonsense for one evening.â

My Aunt mutters coolly.

I turn to flee, but one can never make that speedy of a getaway while on crutches. My door whooshes shut behind me, creating a formidable bang that rattles the hose down to its foundation. I drop down onto my bed and let the shouldering sobs overtake me. My whole body quakes as I struggle for breath between my hiccupping cries. I squeeze my eyes tight hoping to block my tears, but to no avail.

 I cry for the lose of my parents, every tear paying tribute to their memory. I hold a picture of my mother in my mind and clutch my hand to my heart. She had been beautiful all white blond hair and alabaster skin. She and I used to look nearly identical, me having inherited her soft slightly curled locks, her pale skin that refused to darken and her full Spanish lips.

From my father I had inherited less desirable traits, such as my fuller frame, that while some referred to as voluptuous I just called plain old chubby and my total lack of balance. A hysterical giggle bubbles out past my lips, as I recall the time I had witnessed my father literally tumble down the face of a mountain one winter on a ski trip. My heart ached in remembrance of his crooked smile and love of classical music.

My parents had been home to me, every smile that had passed between us; every squabble my mom and I had gotten into had only strengthened our bonds. My Aunt can force me to leave my house, but she will not take my home from me. I will not leave the memory of my parents behind. Sealed with a new resolve I rise up to my unimpressive height of 5â3 and begin to dismantle all of our family photos and slip the pictures between the pages of some tattered old novel. 

The creek of the old floorboards follows a rap on the door as my Aunt treads the well word floors.

âYour doctor and I talked and we both decided that the sooner we cut ties with this old place the better. Were going to do it nice and fast like peeling of a band aide. So youâre going to need to go faster than that if you want to take anything with you, I booked us the redeye for eleven tonight. But were going to need to be at the airport by nine so chop chop,â my Aunt directs.

My heart sinks at the notion of leaving my childhood home, but even I have to admit that sheâs right, I could never come back here, even the thought of spending a night in our dilapidated house has my limbs growing heavy. The onslaught of painful memories is never-ending. I have too much history here to ever be able to truly heal.

âClose the door on your way out please,â is my only reply, Iâm not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she for once made a decision that not only benefits herself but me as well. The click of the lock sends a formidable shiver through my bones. Shaking the feeing, I proceed to fill the duffle with the necessities I would need to begin my new life in Detroit.