Neon Afterlife

24

Jason pulled his car into the driveway of a small, brick house. The lawn was overgrown and a "For Sale" sign was planted in the middle of the front yard. He climbed out of the car and began to struggle with the wheelchair while Alex hobbled on her crutches to the front door. Her key still worked and she opened the door and stood for a moment taking in her old home.

Everything was where it had been. The couch, the coffee table, the recliner, but it was also so different. This wasn't her house anymore. She felt like a stranger here. It felt so empty.

She made her way to the recliner where she last saw her father, passed out. She traced her finger tips across the worn leather arm of the chair. "This is where he was the last time I saw him," she said. "When I told him good bye. And I hated him." She turned to the front door where she knew Jason was standing, watching. She turned back and moved further into the house, down the small hallway lined with joyful pictures of her family at various locations on vacations or dance trips.

She entered her room. It was exactly as she'd left it. She looked around at her belongings, her trophies that meant nothing now, her stuffed bear dressed like a ballerina that sat on her bed. Alex went over and picked the bear up, clutching it to her chest. She noticed her mother's old Bible sitting on her nightstand where she'd left it when she ran away. She paged through it, looking at her mother's hand written notes on every page. She'd been devoted. So had Alex, for a time. Then God took everything from her and she ran away.

Jason's voice gently broke the silence, "That yours?"

She shook her head and closed the book. "My mother's."

"You believe in God?"

"I don't know anymore."

He nodded. "I get it."

"Do you?"

He nodded again. "You're not the only one who doubts."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want to follow someone who took my parents from me."

Jason nodded, "I get that."

He ran a finger across her trophy shelf, "You have a lot of trophies," he said. "You must be a pretty good dancer." He grinned at her mischievously.

"There wasn't much competition."

"Yeah, I guess when both of your parents were professional dancers you can get a leg up."

Alex groaned, "My dad was a choreographer."

"He danced first though, right?" Jason asked. "He didn't start out as a choreographer. That happened later."

Alex nodded, "He was never the top of his class or anything, so his dance career was short lived."

"But he was a good choreographer?"

"He was," Alex said. "He could craft the most beautiful moments for me or my mother. That's why I won so many awards, not my dancing."

"Well, you had to be able to do the movements."

"I guess. But, all these trophies, achievements. What are they for?" She asked. "They don't mean anything. None of it means anything."

She plopped down on her bed and stared into space.

After a moment, Jason decided that maybe what Alex needed was some time to think. "Why don't I go get us some food? You get some rest."

Alex nodded and Jason disappeared. After a few seconds she heard the front door close and she was alone, truly alone for the first time since she'd found out about her father's death. She looked to the doorway where Jason had been and her wheelchair peeked around the corner reminding her that this was all real. "Why are you doing this to me?" she cried.