Glass Houses || [Noah Sebastian]

01. Cover your ears and shut your eyes

    It doesn't take long before her White House with bright red shutters is in sight, causing my heart rate to increase even more. I swallow harshly as the taxi driver stops diagonally at the end of her short driveway.

"Is this the right place?" He asks pointedly, his voice low and gruff almost as if he has a handful of gravel stuck in his throat.
I blink a few times, the question taking a moment too long to process.

   "Uh yeah" I say as I blink a few times to snap myself together. I quickly fling off my seat belt, and grab my small purse and duffle bag from beside me. I reach into my bag to grab two 20s for the middle aged man, and hand it to him as I mutter a quick "keep the change" before existing through the back passenger side door.

As the taxi pulls off I'm left standing there, bewildered. My chest tight as I stare at the old oak door that sits perfectly in the middle of the home. My legs shaking as I will myself to take a few steps forward.

      So many thoughts cloud my eager mind as I stand there and stare at the once all too familiar house. Vague memories of birthdays shared with me and my old best friend. The awkward growing pains we both experienced together. The sad look on his face when I told him I was moving away to go to school. How he begged me to come to LA with him and his band. How we fought for days about it, and finally agreed to call and text each other everyday. A deal we kept up with for a few months, until I met Jasper.

     I push the memories back as I feel a warm tear slide down my face, I wipe it away gently trying not to smear the layers of foundation that paints my face thickly.I force my legs to move slowly up the 10 foot long driveway, I can't stand out here forever and take a one way ticket down memory lane.
I take the two steps up that lead me to the small concrete porch that sits attached to the home. The small covering that shields the patio has a few small holes in it, allowing some warm sunlight to bleed through. To the left sits the same old porch swing from my youth. The amount of splinters I used to get in my ass from that thing almost embarrassing, the thought bringing a small smile to my face.
      
      Slowly I step forward in front of the door. The darkly painted oak slightly peeling from the years of ware. I bring my left hand up in a small fist, and give the door a light knock. I can hear light shuffling from the opposite end, the commotion making my already pounding heart beat faster. Anticipation hugs the atmosphere around me like a thick hot blanket as I wait to see one of two all too familiar faces. I don't know who is going to open the door. Last I knew of anything Missy was living mostly alone while Noah did his thing most of the months out of the year.
I hear the old wood moan as it quickly swings open in one motion.

"Oh my beautiful little Butterfly is finally home" missy coos as her voice cracks ever so slightly.
She looks exactly as I remember, aside from her once chine length curly blonde hair now falling to mid back. Her sweet green eyes encased in a light dusting of black mascara. Her white teeth still perfect and on full display as her lips twitch into a large smile. Her arms are thrown up in the air, as she brings me in for a tight embrace. I let out a sigh of relief, feeling content for the first time in what feels like forever as I lap up her affection.

"It's so good to see you Missy" I say just above a whisper as she lets go of me and steps back.

"You too, Doll. Now come on in! Don't be a stranger now" she teases as she moves over slightly to open up a path for me to walk through.
I offer her a small smile as I take a step in, my two bags In tote. I hear her quietly shut the door behind me, as I take the small hallway to the kitchen that's attached at the end of it. Everything is still set up just as I remember. Her small kitchen is decorated very minimally. A few painted pictures of large flower fields hanging on the olive green walls. Small cookie jars in the shape of different domesticated animals sit neatly on her white countertop. A few old family photos are placed perfectly on her venerable hutch. Pictures of her with her grandkids and late husband decorate the small space, causing a smile to tug at my lips as I scan over them. My eyes stop on one picture in particular, I swallow harshly at the sight.