Drowning

chapter one

The small town with leaf-strewn cobblestone streets, old buildings and homes that ranged from small cottages to large estates, appeared exactly the same as it had two years ago as I got into a taxi and never came back. As autumn begun all the maple, oak and pine trees that stood proudly in the streets slowly painted the town orange and gold. It was easy to forget how simple everything was in a small town; local business were in walking distance, as was the ancient library on the edge of town and the high school where everyone knew everyone.

I had also forgotten how slow time moved here. Darkness was beginning to descend upon the town like a blanket and families begun to sit down at the dinner table to eat dinner. It seemed that the Hampton's were running behind schedule though, as I watched mum take the roast out of the oven through the window of the old church. Hidden behind hundreds of pine trees and various shrubs stood an old church that had been renovated into a house. The painted windows became vibrant and divine under the soft sun at dusk and it was the most beautiful image. A cute, white picket fence had been built around the house because dad joked that the perfect family needed the perfect fence.  

I stand adjacent to the letterbox, which my brother and I painted when we were five. I remember painting yellow sunflowers (my favourite flower) while my brother scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue before painting a football above them.

If I squint my eyes, I could just make out mum wearing the ugly apron that my brother, dad and I had gotten her one Mother's Day. The day she received it an eye roll had been our reply but she always wore it to cook. The cursive letters read: you're looking at the best mum in town. It always made my brother snort. Best mum in town, that's funny he would say in a sarcastic tone. We both shared that sarcasm. In fact we shared almost everything. People often mistook us for twins we were that alike. Our neighbours, the Hayes, always called us 'the Cullens' from Twilight because of our a likeness too vampires with our petite frames and piercing gaze.

Both suitcases groaned in protest as I tugged them along the rocky pathway towards the front door. I counted five deep breaths before raising my hand to knock. Two years had past since I had seen my parents. When I initially moved away daily texts were exchanged, a few painful Skype calls, and an email or two. Over time it faded to one message a month and finally none at all, which is just the way I wanted it. I hadn't called to let them know I was coming home either. I wouldn't be surprised if they slammed the door in my face. It would be another long flight back to London if they did. A small, cowardly part of me hoped they did slam the door in my face so I didn't have to stay and endure the torture that was to come. 

"Just a minute!" My mother's soft, melodic voice echoed through the house and I heard her scurrying around the kitchen.

"Hello..."

As soon as the door opened my mother's face paled. It was like she was seeing a ghost. Which I suppose she was. I gave her half a smile. Mum looked visibly different and she had seemed to age more in the last two years; grey hairs lined her bun and visible wrinkles creased her brow. There was also a heaviness in her eyes that hadn't been there before and guilt gnawed in my stomach.

"Layla." She breathed like a prayer, and with a heartache that I didn't deserve.

"Honey. Who is here at this hour? I swear if it's those people trying to sell cookies-"

Suddenly my father appeared in the hallway and I blinked in surprise. It was strange that he was home, not holed away in his office, although from the looks of it he just finished for the day as he was still wearing his business suit that had become baggy since the last time I had seen him wear it. His mouth hung open at the sight of me. "Layla. It's really you. You're home."

I flinched. I hadn't called this place home in months. Years. Although, I supposed it would always be home, with irreplaceable memories and stories.

I smiled hesitantly.

Dinner was very, very awkward.

No one spoke. Dad took his usual spot at the head of the table, and after mum plated out the roast dinner she took the chair next to him. My brother was noticeably absent.

"How has work been, dad?" I finally dared to ask after no one had dared spoken except for 'may I have the salt please', which was awkward to say the least.

"Oh, um, it's been good. I mean, sales have risen increasingly, which keeps me busy." Dad mumbled before diving back into his meal, barely stopping to breathe. 

Glasses hugged the bridge of his nose as he purposely avoided eye contact. It seemed he was still in shock that I actually came back, he probably never thought that I would, which certainly made two of us. I could tell he was glad to see me again though, from the way his eyes soften as they looked at me from the corner of his eye or how he automatically poured me a glass of milk with dinner, my usual. 

"And how has the grocery store been Mum? Still keeping you busy?" I asked after another lengthly pause.

Mum pushed out a forced smile and brushed invisible dust off her pretty pink dress, "The shop has been good."

Could they say anything other than good? There was not much of a conversation I could continue with good. It was such a mediocre word that could mean anything. Couldn't they see that I was trying here? I had come to a blockage in conversation. I just kept eating my roast chicken. It tasted good.

Once the meal was mercifully over Mum stood up to clear the plates and spoke as she did. "I'll put in sheets on your bed. The ones one there are a bit musky. And I'll call the school tomorrow to see if they can get you in Monday. It's your last year and you can't afford to miss a day... I'm glad you're home Layla."

Once I was tucked into my old bed I pulled out my laptop and wrote to my brother.

Dear Connor,

I came home. I didn't think I would ever see this place again. That I could ever stomach to see this place again. Mom and dad are doing good. Apparently.

It's so strange without you here. It's so much quieter. It's so different without the sound of your guitar singing at night, or you yelling at me to stop playing my sappy indie music, or enduring the legendary arguments between you and dad. I know they miss you... 

Anyway, I'll be starting back at Eastwood High School again tomorrow. Wish me luck. I'm certainly going to need it.

I love and miss you always,
Layla