The Excursion of Samantha Yorke

As the sun began to peek over the Nebraska horizon like a child playing peek-a-boo, the sound of yelling broke through the thin walls of the farm house, causing unrest in the chicken coop. The angry squawk of hens, constant and rising in volume, caused the horses to wake in their stalls, and the cows in their pastures. The commotion coming from the farm was an ordinary on the Yorke estate at dawn. The same events had happened every morning since the teenage years of Samantha Yorke began.

Inside the house, Mr. Yorke stood, leaning against the counter with his arms over his chest, a cup of coffee in his hand, the quietest of them all. He stood and watched as his wife and daughter stabbed at each other with insults and accusations, occasionally budging in with a statement meant to resolve the situation, but only making it worse. On mornings, he was the first to wake, and he always prepared the coffee before the ladies of the house made their way to the kitchen to argue. The topic this late summer morning was which university Samantha would attend. The community college thirty minutes from the house was a popular choice for graduates at Samantha's high school. Mrs. Yorke had told Samantha that is where she would be attending. Samantha found the idea of living thirty minutes from home absurd and had planned on going to school at New York Central College.

Mrs. Yorke, who was usually a calm and collected person, shouting only when she needed to, had let it all out that morning. Her usual perfect hair was sticking out at odd angles around her face, the bun nearly falling out completely. Her face, which had been made up with make up early that morning, was dark red from screaming, all traces of foundation wiped away, mascara running down her cheeks.

Samantha Yorke, generally the loudest of the three, was no exception on that morning. Different from her mother though, she looked perfectly put together. Besides her yelling, the only give away to her anger was the furious red color on her cheeks. She threw up her arms, "It's my life, I'm eighteen! I can choose for myself where I'm going to college! This has absolutely nothing to do with you! I don't want to live in Nebraska anymore, I want to live in the city in a dorm room with hardly any room to live. I don't want to be trapped in your grip my whole life!"

Mrs. Yorke seemed slightly stunned, but yelled back, "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be the woman that you are! I am your mother and this is my choice, I shall not have you disrespecting me in my house! You will go to community college, and you will live here, and your father will drive you to campus every morning, it is not a choice!"

"I am an adult, and if I want to, I can leave whenever I want and go wherever I want. I am the one who chooses where I go to school. Besides, if you're so proud of the woman that I am, then you would let me make my own decision without fighting!"

"Both your father and I went to college at community. We met there. I just want you to live on the legacy." Her voice had quieted down. It was serene, soothing almost.

"I don't want to continue your legacy! I'm not you, I don't want to be you, I don't want to have anything to do with you! I hate you!" With the effect of a slap in the face, or a door, slammed so hard it fell off of its hinges, Samantha stomped up the stairs to her room. Her mother stared after her without speaking, without moving. After several moments, her lip trembled, and she whimpered, sinking slowly to the floor in defeat. Her silent sobs racked throughout her whole body as Mr. Yorke sat on the cold tile floor and gently stroked her back. The whole estate was quiet once again, but for the whimpers of Mrs. Yorke on the floor.

***

Samantha tromped up the stairs to her room, quietly closing the door behind her. She was too mad to even think about slamming the door. Her room, spotless in all aspects, was the solitude that she needed to think about what had happened. She hadn't meant to say what she had said, but all the emotions that she had tried to bottle up her whole life had finally come pouring out of her at just the wrong moment, in just the wrong way. Samantha laid down on her bed and wept, silently, and without tears. The kind of weeping one might expect when they had cried so long that all of the tears were gone.