Long Days of Free

Chapter 1

Summer at last. A time to escape. A time to ponder. A time to be nothing but you. Summer that brings those special people that only come every so often, and will be gone in a few short months. These sweet months. Summer. A time to be set free.

***

My knees are tucked under my chin as I gaze out the car window. I watch as the green blur goes by. As I get farther away from the city and backstabbers and boys who could care less, I get nearer to a cottage surrounded by wildflowers and seashells and moist earth.

Away from Dad and Samantha, the newlyweds and their disgusting touchy-feely relationship. Away from all that matters. Finally, time for myself. To lose myself in time.

Dad is talking on the phone. To Samantha. Figures. I try not to listen. You’d think that if my father was sending me to my mother for three months, he would maybe want to have a conversation with me. But that’s how it is now. Samantha first and daughter second.

My iPhone beeps. I deliberately forgot the charger. I can’t wait until it dies. I can’t wait until my last connection to life in Boston dies. I turn the brightness on to high and play a game for about ten minutes. Only one bar to go. When it finally dies, I slip it into the cup holder. Dad is off the phone now.

“Don’t forget that, Jasmine. We still need to get a hold of you once in awhile.” He says condescendingly.

“Okay,” I disregard that command. I don’t tell him that I don’t plan to speak to him or Samantha for the whole three months.

“Hopefully your mom’s going to actually come home and spend time with you. It would be such a waste if she spent the whole time in that damn lab.”

He is still bitter about this. Mom’s biology research has never been supported by him. That’s why she’s all alone now in our little house by the Maine seashore, and Dad is married to some homemaker who cooks and does laundry for a pastime. I could care less whether Mom was at the lab the whole summer. These months will be about me. Introvert that I am, I would rather be alone. Mom’s company is very enjoyable, especially since it’s been awhile since we last talked, but I don’t mind if she’s gone most of the time. It won’t ruin my summer.

“I know this’ll be hard on you, Jas, missing Samantha and I, and of course your friends, but trust me, this will be good for you.”

He really doesn’t understand me. I stopped trying when I hit age eleven. He’s constantly trying to decode me but always misunderstands. I don’t know what to say, so I just look out the window again, at the green and brown smear of Maine. So close to my real home. We begin to enter the small town by the cottage. We drive by the harbor. I can smell the sea. We drive past a little tea shop that me and Mom used to go to on my birthday. Past the bookstore that Mom worked at when she first moved here, before she became lab-crazy.

I sit up and swing my legs down to the floor. So close. Dad is ranting now about my attitude and how this summer is good for me and how Mom is not paying enough attention to me. I don’t listen. I can’t! Only a mile away from three sweet and free months. I can taste the sweetness. I can taste Mom’s toast with honey. I can taste her Jasmine tea, from the flower for which I was named.

We turn a bend, and I can see the back of my home. My eyes widen. Mom is standing by the side of the house, with her hand shielding her face from the sun, looking ahead at the car. Her hair is a short pixie cut, so that it doesn’t get in the way in the lab. When the car pulls to a stop in the gravel, sort-of-driveway, I open the door and jump out. The fresh forest scent melts together with the scent of the ocean, a smell that I have been longing for.

“Mom!” I cry as I run to give her a hug. I am at least three inches taller than her, but he stands on her tiptoes so that her arms are on the top. I love that about her hugs.

“Jasmine, my love!” She strokes my hair. Dad is leaning against the hot black car, looking on passively.

Our hug releases, and Mom looks at Dad. She still loves him. I can see it.

“Wolter, how are you doing? How was the wedding?” She wipes her hand on her khakis nervously.

“I am well, Adrienne, thank you.” He avoided the topic of the wedding.

I grab my bags out of the trunk and walk back around to stand next to Mom.

“Well, Jas, honey, have a good summer. Keep in touch with us, please. And don’t annoy your mother.” He says in that paternal voice that I hate.

“She’ll be fine. She’s home now.” Mom understands.

I make a half smile at Dad. He slides back into the driver’s seat. He sends us a small wave, then drives away. Finally. We turn back to go to the back door, which is actually the only door. Mom’s garden shoes are on the porch, as always. As we enter the house, I notice that it is exactly the same as always. Quaint but cozy. Big windows and miscellaneous art. The kitchen runs right into the living room, and the bathroom and Mom’s room are next to that. A jar of wildflowers sit on the wooden island, and the sun shines through the jar to make a design on the wood.

Mom leads me upstairs the the loft, the home of my twin bed with a chenille bedspread. I set my bags down on the bed as Mom opens the window to let the aromatic breeze blow through.

“Home at last,” she paused, “ I know that this summer will be a good one.”

“ It will,” I say as I nod.

“You unpack now, and I’ll go make you some lunch, okay?”

“Okay Mom,” She kisses me on the forehead, then scales back down the ladder.