River of Dreams

River of Dreams: Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"We are the Dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields."--John McCrae

His neighborhood was nothing like mine. The houses were monstrous, magnificent. They stretched for the sky and casted long shadows over the street, shrouding us in darkness. Low cut lawns were splayed in front of each and every house, and they were so green that despite the lack of sunlight, they still gleamed like millions of tiny emeralds embedded in the Earth. Tall, London style street lights illuminated the streets as Jason's car carried us to our final destination.

I was a billion and three percent sure that nothing like this was ever here a few months ago. During the summer, this whole suburb was just . . . dirt. Dirt and port-a-potties. 

When did this get here in the first place? I made a mental note to hunt down the answer later.

"I have to tell you something," Jason said, sheepishly. His voice sliced through the still air like a knife through soft butter. Again, I flicked my attention to a new subject: Jason. He was blushing! It actually makes him look kind of human. Without the color, he has the skin tone of a vampire.

I shuddered. Vampire. A word that once made me think about excessively long teen romances filled with emotional, sparkly blood suckers now made me want to run and hide. I scowled; media really does over fictionalize the truth just to make a quick buck.

Whenever they come out with crap about werewolves, I'll do my research just to make sure.

"Aren't you going to tell me whatever you were going to tell me?" I said, snapping out of my own little world. 

He hesitated before saying, "My mom is kind of--"

"Weird? That's okay, my mom is too."

"No, she's kind of  . . . well, you know, she's kind of . . ." He sighed, gathering his train of thought. "You know how when a woman's pregnant, she's happy one second and about to rip your throat out the next? Her body's flooded with hormones so it messes with her psyche. It's almost like she's bipolar . . . or at least, that's how my mom is."

I stared blankly at him. Could he tell that what he said flew straight over my head like Air Force One? I didn't know anything about pregnant women. I always magically had a dentist appointment whenever we were supposed to endure that awkward class session about "reproduction".

"You have no clue what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked.

"Nope," I admitted.

"Basically, my mom is prone to sudden mood changes . . ."

"Oh."

Awkward silences . . . don't you love them?

"We're here," he added, pulling into the driveway of one of the bigger homes on the block. His voice was practically drowning in relief and I was struggling not to too conspicuously let out a relieved sigh as well. The discomfort tumbled out of the car like a big, heavy boulder as we pushed our doors open, stepping out into the drizzle. Jason led me onto a rock path that weaved to the front door. 

With quick fingers, he stuck his key in the door and cautiously turned it, bright light spilling from the room. The inside was warm and the scent of vanilla tickled my nose. My eyes hungrily flicked across the room, taking in ever single precious detail. Leather sofas. Flat screen TVs. Cool looking beaded plant things. Hard wood floors and huge, dangling chandeliers. It was utterly amazing, just like one of those homes they'd spotlight on HGTV . . . but something was off. Three black swivel chairs were in the middle of the room in perfect alignment. I shot Jason a "What the heck?" look but his attention was glued to the middle seat, dread creasing his brow.