Loving You Differently

Three

We're both quiet as we sit back and look out of our respective windows. I find myself lost in my thoughts once more, reminiscing on times when mom wasn't an alcoholic.

We were never a tight knit family. We'd never gone on a vacation. We never even sat at the dinner table together. We didn't show affection, didn't talk about feelings. We just didn't acknowledge each other.

Growing up, my childhood was an endless cycle of comforting and distracting Savannah while our parents argued and fought over bills, drugs, and infidelity.

My teenage years involved sneaking out of the house as much as possible; not that my parents would have noticed if I walked right out the front door, but I was determined to escape from the shit happening at home, so I turned to parties, casual hookups, and underage drinking.

And well, look at us now.

My thoughts are once again interrupted when the cab driver pulls into Aunt Dina's driveway. I pay our fare and exit the car, silently taking in Dina's property.

Dina's old doublewide sits dead in the middle of her yard. Her beaten up mailbox is lying on her gravel driveway, and scattered trash litters the overgrown lawn. Two broken down vehicles are parked haphazardly to the side of the trailer, and an old bathtub sits underneath a tall oak tree.

We weave through the tall weeds, dodging hovering mosquitoes and questionable garbage. Savannah peers through one of the windows while I storm up the rickety steps, fling open the screen door, and start pounding on it.

"Dina! It's Aria, open the door!" I stop knocking and wait, listening for the sound of footsteps or paranoid whispers.

When I hear neither, I try the door knob. It's unlocked and the door swings open, but it gets stopped halfway by a chain.

I peek through the tiny crack in the door, but I'm unable to see anyone or anything because it's pitch black inside. I step back and ponder for a moment, unsure of whether or not I should break in and look around.

Against my better judgement, I shoulder the door the rest of the way open, effectively breaking the flimsy chain, and catch it before it can slam back into the wall.

I flick the lights on, but nothing.

"Fuck," I murmer. I pull my phone out and use the flashlight application, shining it around the small, dingy trailer.

It smells awful. Tip-toeing into the kitchen, I see piles of moldy dishes and food in both the sink and overflowing garbage can. Beer bottles are scattered across the cracked linoleum floors and a skillet sits on top of the stove, an unknown substance coating the pan.

"Gross," Savannah mutters, peering over my shoulder.

"I don't think she's here." I say.

Savannah snorts. "I don't think anyone's here—probably haven't been for awhile."

I sigh and start to make my way towards the door, but I abruptly stop when Savannah lets out a strangled gasp behind me.

I spin around quickly, scanning my eyes over her frame, and relax when I see that she's not in danger.

"Jesus, what?" I snap.