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Chapter 1:
With Love, Honey Bitch
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"Son of a bitch."
The expletives easily fall from my lips as I struggle to haul this heavy-ass cardboard box through this tiny doorway. Whoever thought to make apartments so small you can barely fit any of your furniture and shit inside should get a foot shoved up their ass for being some greedy, inconsiderate bastards.
"Language, Cal," my mom scolds from the kitchen as I finally get the box shoved through the small doorway with a loud, out-of-breath grunt.
I softly huff at my mom's attempts to scold her 24-year-old daughter she hasn't seen in five months. No matter how old I am and how many miles away I live from her, Vivian Reed will always baby her only daughter. I kind of like it still, but don't tell her that.
"You do remember I'm 24, right?" I ask, plopping the big box onto the harlequin tile floor that covers most of the apartment.
"You do remember I pushed you out of my vagina 24 years ago, right?" She mockingly asks the same question in the same tone as me.
I can't help but smile at the sight of her standing there by the counter with her hands resting on her hips, looking just like she did when I was a little kid who had gotten into trouble by writing on the hallway walls with my fruity scented markers.
"Probably a good thing I don't remember that."
She playfully rolls her eyes and fights back a smile. "And I'm not that old like you may think I am," she retorts, moving her shoulders up and down in an awkward, offbeat shimmy. "I can still get down."
"Please do not do or say that ever again," I shake my head.
I push the big box so it's right next to the counter and then kick it lightly with my foot. I sigh and look around the one-bedroom apartment I just signed the lease for last Tuesday.
It was a miracle that I found an apartment so quickly and at an affordable price. To put it simply, or bluntly, as my mouth a lot of the time has a mind of its own, the economy has gone to shit.
The stock market crashed, which caused the housing bubble to go in the tank. Corporate conglomerates filed bankruptcy, unemployment skyrocketed, and the entire United States economy was forced into the worst recession we've experienced since the Great Depression.
Literal shit is now our society. We're all living like we're inside a toilet bowl. There are no houses for sale because the housing market prices are jacked up higher than the fucking Empire State building. The gas prices are now nearing $5 a gallon. And it seems like everyone is either losing their money, their jobs, or their houses. Or maybe all three, like a triple fucking whammy.
Like I just said before, complete and utter shit. We're all just piles of shit until the economy stabilizes again, which could take years if this is anything like the 1930s stock market crash that took years to recuperate after finally tanking during a steady 4-year decline.
We came into this world shitting, and we are still living in our shit now.
Oh, the fucking irony.
A month ago, I was in New York City, living in an Inwood studio apartment that cost me most of my monthly wages, but I was okay with it because I was finally starting to live my lifelong dream of being a journalist. After working my ass off at NYU for four years and then writing for smaller newspapers around the city for two years after I graduated, I had finally gotten accepted as a full-time freelance reporter for the New York Times. I had worked there for seven months until they let me go two weeks ago.
Budget cuts. The economy. You were the most recently hired.
Me and seven other workers for the NYT were let go with only a wish of good luck and a hesitant promise that if more openings become available again, they would call us back.
I'm not holding onto any hope.
Shit happens.
I can feel the warm sweat dripping down the back of my neck, so I take the velvet scrunchie from around my wrist and gather my heat-frizzy curls up in a messy bun. The heat today has been pretty brutal. My curls turned to a frizz ball in the first few minutes I stepped outside. My tank top is sticking to my skin, and the backs of my knees are nearly dripping sweat down my legs.
My mom glances over at Neo sniffing around the floor trim. Neo is my nine-month-old black German Shepherd whose nose always gets her into trouble. She's a curious dog, but she's also loyal and protective of me. I adopted her in New York. She was lonely in the kennel and never had anybody express interest in adopting her. She was a misfit just like me. I fell in love with her the minute I laid eyes on her. Now we are a package deal.
Mom starts to take the tape off one of the boxes sitting on my kitchen counter, her eyes looking around the room. Her eyebrows furrow and the corners of her lips turn down. "Why did you have to get an apartment this small?"
I drop my hands down from my head and give her a pointed look. "Because this was all that I could afford, mom."
She shrugs. "I could have helped you get something nicer, like the Sunnydale condos. Those are nice and aren't too much more expensive."
"You still have Atlas to take care of," I tell her, taking a long sip of my plastic water bottle sitting on the counter in between the multi-layers of boxes. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine. Besides, you can't beat the price of this place, even though it is pretty small."
"You know you're my baby, Cal. I'll always worry about you no matter how old you are," she smiles, cutting open another box with scissors. "It just comes with the job of being a mom."
"I know," I reply.
I reach over to grab her free hand and I squeeze it twice. "I love you."
She squeezes my hand back two times. "I love you too. Even though you're just as stubborn, hard-headed, and independent as your father."
"I learned from the best," I wink, and she playfully smacks me on my shoulder.
I laugh, quickly moving away from her advances and walking towards the front door. "I'm going to get the rest of the boxes from the truck!"
"I'll be here unpacking." I hear her reply as I step out the front door and into the hallway.
All of the hallways here are small and narrow, similar to the layouts of the apartments. The lighting is dim throughout the entire building, except for one light over the main stairwell that keeps buzzing and flickering. As I walk down the stairs, the buzzing sound reminds me of bees.
I fucking hate bees.
My steps echo as I walk down the stairs, the acoustics are strong because there's barely any activity that goes on in this building.
The tiled stairs match the rest of the building's floors covered in black and white harlequin squares. All of the interior walls are a deep red color that creates more of an ominous look than an energetic one you'd probably expect. This building is old, ancient, and riddled with history. It sure shows it on the inside and outside.
This apartment complex, The Red Roof, is one of the oldest apartment buildings downtown that is currently still standing. Dating back to the 1950s, The Red Roof was a large apartment complex with four six-story buildings, each a different color of brick; yellow, tan, brown, and red. There were long arched windows with black aluminum frames, and all of the doors inside and outside were ebony wood. On the street-facing side, black steel balconies and stairs led up to the roof. The roof was colored red, hence the name The Red Roof.
After the grand opening, The Red Roof was a hotspot for young movers to start their new lives. The complex was on the outskirts of downtown, so it was the perfect spot to move in. It was close to the drive-in theatre and the local diners that were packed with malt shake drinkers and cherry pie eaters. The Red Roof was the place to live if you were young and bright-eyed, ready to take on the world.
Eventually, from the wear and tear of city life, The Red Roof started to diminish slowly. As the population increased in the late 80s, more apartments and houses were built outside of downtown, leaving The Red Roof on one of the back burners. At one time, this was the best and most expensive place to live in Cherry Valley. But once industrialization drastically boomed in the 90s, more buildings were built throughout the city. And this complex quickly succumbed to its age.
By 2000, the yellow and tan buildings were demolished, overcome by dry rot and black mold from the new factory air pollution. In 2003, the brown building was barely hanging on and got demolished later that same year. Now the red building is the last of The Red Roof that is still here.
The building shows its age on all scales. Hence why the rent is cheaper than all the other apartments and condominiums around. The city has plans to demolish it in a few years to make more room for the new strip mall down North Elm Avenue. This historic building will become Mandy's Custard and Fun Arcade. I guess Cherry Valley has a bit of a reputation now. Out with the old history and into new, shiny toys that will make everyone scream and consume too much sugar.
First, it's a new arcade and ice-cream shop. Then there will be candy shops on every corner. Pretty soon all the fads will be cherry this and cherry that.
Well, I say fuck cherries. Those little red bastards stain everything they touch. They all can fuck off and burn to a crisp in the desert heat.
Do I sound bitter at all? I don't mean to sound like a bitter cherry instead of a maraschino, but when you've grown up in a place that doesn't look that recognizable to you anymore since you last left, it's hard to wrap your head around everything. Shit isn't the same. Not just in Cherry Valley, but in the world too. Shit sucks.
I haven't always been very good at accepting things for how they are. The journalist in me will not ever let things rest. I'm not a very forgiving person, which is why I will never forgive cherries for what they did to me and what they took away from me.
The humidity and heat sucker punch me in the face right as I step outside the complex. The sun beats down on my shoulders as I make my way to the Uhaul trailer that's attached to my mom's small SUV. She drove up to New York on Monday to help me start packing up my old apartment. It took me two days of actively packing to finally get all of my shit out of there and into a Uhaul. You don't realize how much shit you hoard for years until you have to pack it all up and move away.
We managed to shove everything I wanted to keep into both of our cars. My mom could carry a lot more with her SUV than my Oldsmobile. It's not the most practical car for uprooting your entire life and moving across the country, but it was pretty smooth sailing for most of the way. It was a long-ass two days of constantly driving, besides spending one night at a motel that resembled more of a rest stop than anything with true comfort. Good thing I had my car fully stocked with my tapes, so I never ran out of good music. I never drive without music. It's too silent and boring without it.
I open up the back hatch of the trailer and pick up the last two suitcases full of my clothes. I set them on the dusty ground and jump off the back, turning around to close the hatch door.
I turn back around to face the street and stand for a moment to watch the hustle and bustle of downtown. People are walking down the sidewalks talking and laughing. Kids are running around the small park that's across the street, about 200 feet away from another apartment complex that looks spick and span brand new. It feels out of place, designed as grey modern with clean, precise lines. But I guess that's the current fad for this city, new and pristine. Probably compared to everything else in this city, The Red Roof probably looks to be the one out of place.
The kids in the park are screaming with laughter and playing freeze tag near the swing sets. A few of them hold ice cream cones from the parlor two blocks down next to the old record store. They're just completely oblivious to their surroundings besides their own game of freeze tag. It must be nice to be a kid without any cares in the world besides their own pretend one.
Enjoy your childhood while it lasts, kids. You're going to hate being an adult.
As I look around, I realize that downtown isn't very interesting anymore. Each building used to have its own unique look where everything stood out. Over half of this city looks the exact same now, the same basic colors and designs. There is nothing eye-catching or dazzling, except for the one thing that hasn't changed in all these years.
The huge red-lettered sign still towers over Cherry Valley. Anywhere in the city, you can see some parts of it. It's massive in size, and the red paint on the letters always chip off no matter how many times you repaint. Like Dr. TJ Ecklberg's eyeglasses, this sign is the eyes of the entire city. It sees everything, and I mean everything.
Right below the sign lies a secret place that's never been a secret at all. Everyone in town knows about it. It was never a secret, but it was an under wraps hideout kept from the rest of the world.
The Bluffs.
A cluster of sedimentary rocks that formed a ridge overlooking the city, The Bluffs was one of the most sought out places for every teen who wanted to have sex and be a part of illegal activities. I may or may not have partaken in a few joint smoke sessions on Friday nights and ran butt ass naked along the edge of the cliff completely wasted, nearly falling off and becoming a bloody pancake. But, hey, at least I wasn't the only one who was a teenager with a rebellious streak. Most of the teens in my high school class were rebellious since our city was so prim and proper where everyone did everything by the book and never strayed from it. Now, that's just asking for some rebellion.
Every weekend when I was in high school, I would sneak out of the house to go to The Bluffs with my friends. One time I came home drunk as a fucking skunk. I thought I was quiet when crawling back through my bedroom window, but my mom was already sitting on my bed waiting for me. She sat there with her arms crossed and a glare that sobered me up pretty quickly. While she didn't yell or reprimand me for sneaking out and doing god knows what else, she did express how disappointed she was in me. That felt a lot worse than her yelling.
One of the only times she has ever yelled at me was when I was 16. I got caught coming home smelling like cigarettes. My dumbass accidentally dropped the other unused cigarette I had in my jacket pocket. She picked that cigarette up so fast before I could and quickly smacked her fingers against my mouth. Her face got strawberry red as she yelled at me for being so careless and stupid. Two minutes into her yelling, she started crying, making me feel like a terrible daughter for making my mom cry. I'd never seen my mom cry that much before except when my father died. She was hysterical then, and she was livid that night.
"I already lost one of my lights. I can't handle losing another one."
I saw how much I had hurt her by smoking, so I apologized profusely and made a promise to her that I would never do it again. And I've kept that promise ever since.
Overall, you could say that I have had some very interesting memories from The Bluffs. It's like a tourist attraction, but for the local teenagers only. Any teen who hung out there carved their name into the rocks. The Bluffs are now an ancient staple to those who grew up here. To outsiders, The Bluffs are nothing more than some rocky cliffs. But to us, it's our history.
I grab my suitcases that already have some dust from the pavement on them and bring them inside. The AC is on full blast, so it feels like an ice bath as I walk through the lobby. Cherry Valley's summer heat was always in a category of its own. Since it's located basically in the middle of the Mojave desert, the heat can be scorching for a good eight months out of the year. Growing up in this environment, you get used to it pretty quickly, but when you haven't been here in a few years and are used to the New York City weather, this heat feels unbearable like we're in Satan's asshole.
"Mom!" I exclaim once I kick open my front door that was still cracked open. "What did you do to my apartment?"
"What?" She asks innocently, startled at my loud tone.
She's standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by what looks to be a mess from a tornado. The cardboard boxes and bubble wrap my things were wrapped tightly in are now littered all over the floor where you can barely see any of the checkered tiles. Some of my things are in piles, and some lay across any flat surface.
To top it off, Neo has also chewed up some bubble wrap and scattered the torn pieces around her in the living room. Her brown eyes look up at me playfully as she sits with her long pink tongue out and tail wagging behind her, looking proud of what she's done.
"I told you I was going to unload the boxes."
"Yeah, I know, but I didn't think you'd have all of them done yet," I tell her, setting the suitcases down on the bubble wrap floor. "I was only gone for five minutes. What are you, the Tyson Gay of unpacking?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I am actually," she smiles wide and rolls her hands out in front of her in an uncoordinated Kung fu style. "You see how fast these hands are. There is gold metal material right here."
I roll my eyes at her attempt to joke. "You're not funny," I grumble, walking past her to start picking up some of the bubble wrap pieces.
"It was kind of funny," she states.
I shake my head, trying not to give her the satisfaction of smiling at her lame attempts at being comical.
"No comment."
She lets out a loud belly laugh at my two words, and I finally let out a soft chuckle. My mother is one of a kind. You got to love her.
I gather up most of the bubble wrap from the floor and shove it into one of the big empty cardboard boxes.
"Neo," I draw out, crouching down to get on her eye level. "What did you do?"
She's staring at me and wagging her tail, but now her eyes look guilty. She puts her ears back and drops her head slightly.
"Did you eat bubble wrap?" I ask her in a stern tone, showing her some of the bitten-off pieces I just grabbed near her feet.
She doesn't make eye contact with me and drops her head down further in guilt.
I gently tilt her head back up to my level, but her eyes still don't lock on mine. "Neo, you can't eat bubble wrap," I tell her. "This is a big no-no."
I tap her lightly on the nose. She finally looks at me, her brown eyes making me want to melt. "Bad girl. We don't eat bubble wrap, okay? You can choke on it."
She looks pitifully at me with her deep brown eyes, potentially understanding what I'm saying to her. I drop the bubble wrap and scratch behind her ears.
"I hope you know what I'm saying," I tell her, and she wags her tail again like she's answering me.
I move my face a little closer to hers, and she takes a big lick up the side of my cheek.
"I love you too, you little sucker." I scratch down her back and then give her a few kisses on top of her head.
Once I give her a few extra lovings, I pick up the rest of her bubble wrap murder scene and throw it with the rest of the trash.
"I'll take these boxes out to the dumpsters later," I say to no one in particular.
"Okay," my mom replies. "I need to get Atlas soon. He comes home from camp in about an hour, so I'll pick him up and bring him back here. Do you have dinner plans tonight?"
"No, Juliet said she'd come around by three or four, but we didn't make any other plans yet." I rest my hands in the back pockets of my jean shorts. "Why don't we just get takeout tonight so I can finish sorting things out here."
She smiles and nods. "I'll stop by Happy Wok on our way here."
"Make sure you get extra fortune cookies," I remind her. "Atlas always steals mine."
"You don't even eat the fortune cookie," she points out, grabbing her purse off the kitchen counter.
"That doesn't mean I still can't get a fortune," I tell her and shrug. "Even if they are just written bullshit. I don't want to miss out on that."
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "You have such a potty mouth. You didn't get that from my side."
"So I've been told," I smugly smile, owning the fact that I do have a potty mouth, and I'm not changing it.
"I'm leaving," she shakes her head again, holding back a smile, and starts going towards the front door. "Behave yourself."
"No guarantees," I call out as she walks out and closes the door.
I turn towards the kitchen to look at the time displayed on the microwave. I then look over at Neo, who's still sitting on the floor.
"Okay, Neo girl, are you ready to keep unpacking?" I ask her and place my hands on my hips.
She stares at me, and then a grumble comes from her throat.
"I'm gonna take that as you will lay right there in that spot and 'supervise' while I finish doing everything," I say to her. Her muzzle turns up as she agrees with that plan.
"Lazybones," I mutter.
She lays down with her paws sprawled out in front of her, sighing in content.
I softly scoff at her lack of responsibility and ability to lay down comfortably wherever she pleases. It must be nice to be a dog with no problems or worries. All you do is sleep all day and shit wherever you want.
I walk over to the kitchen counter and turn on the crimson portable 8-track player that I had sat furthest away from everything else. It is my baby, well, one of my babies, I should say. Besides Neo and my car, she is my other prized possession.
I know that the new thing in music now is iPods and stereos, but this 8-track player has been part of my life since I was very young. It's one of the few things I still have left of my father.
He gave me this on my 11th birthday. I had seen it displayed in the record store windows. I begged my dad if I could have it. I loved the bright red color because it reminded me of cherries. Plus, I needed another player to listen to my tapes since my dad had given me his old 1980s player to start my music journey. I wore that one out with how much I listened to music every day. I'm still surprised I hadn't worn out the tapes sooner with how often I played them.
I've always had a close relationship with music. It was what my dad and I bonded over. He taught me everything I know about music and artists.
When I received this red player as one of my birthday gifts, I was ecstatic. I nearly tackled my dad in a bear hug and told him he was the best dad in the entire world. I was so excited for this small 8-track player. It was small and not the large boom boxes that other kids were listening to, but it was everything to me. The first tape I played on it was Blondie's Heart of Glass album. I danced all around the living room while my mom and dad watched me with smiles on their faces.
It is still my favorite gift that I have ever received.
I have taken this player with me to a few places over the years, but I don't bring it out very much. I still get some curious stares on the rare occasion when people see me carrying this around. I know that 8-track players have become obsolete since there's always new technology forming and evolving, but I can't get rid of it. Keeping this 8-track player close by makes me feel like my dad is still here.
I open the small box next to the player and shuffle through my tapes, looking for the exact one I want.
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Greatest Hits.
My dad loved Tom Petty. He was one of my first memories of hearing rock music. My dad would be blasting his albums as he worked on the family cars in the garage. I remember hearing the music up in my bedroom, and I fell in love with rock music then. Tom Petty was always the first artist my dad would play when he listened to music. Whether that was in the car, in the kitchen, or at our neighborhood barbecues, Tom Petty was always first. It was nearly a Ten Commandment.
I turn the player up to full volume and get a crack on rearranging my apartment. I bob my head to the music as I start in the kitchen first. I put my dinnerware in the cabinets and set my few appliances on the counter.
Since the apartment isn't very spacious, it's a good thing I don't have a lot of furniture anyways. I have the bare necessities that you need to survive. That's pretty much all I've been doing the past few years—surviving. Isn't that all we can do in life? Just try to survive until the end?
Once my tiny kitchen is filled, I start on the living room, which will also be known as my bedroom. My mattress and box springs currently lay up against the wall and my futon is sitting in the middle of the room. Neo gets up from her lying position and sits on the kitchen floor, watching me move around the room. My Queen sized mattress will take up a lot of the space, so once I lay it on top of the box springs, I push it towards the wall so it's tucked in the corner by the window. I take out my sheets, blankets, and pillows that were in a large garbage bag and leave them on the bed for now. I'll make it up later.
I sigh and look over at the purple futon sitting there staring at me. I take a few steps closer to it and run my hands over the soft velvet. This purple velvet has seen many days. It is one of the last possessions I have left from my dad. He had purchased this futon after he married mom. They had it in their apartment before they had me, and they still had it when we moved into the house where Atlas was born. It sat in the garage for years, watching my dad fix up cars and anything else he could get his hands on. He used to fall asleep out in the garage from working so late in the night. He would be out there for hours. Sometimes, I would come in to see what he was working on. Rock music was always playing in the background. My dad typically had his head buried in the hood of a car with a flashlight in his mouth. No matter how quiet I was, he always knew when I was in the garage.
"Nolan, can you hand me that wrench, sweetheart?"
He would look over at me and wink playfully. I giggled, and he smiled at the sound. He always had such a big smile on his face. That was what people would always first notice about him.
Mom says I have his smile. Big and full of warmth.
I was always curious about what my dad was working on in the garage, so he would show me the different car parts and tell me what they did. I didn't even care so much about the car parts. I just liked hearing my dad explain things. He was so wise and knowledgeable, the most intelligent person I have ever known. He would also tell me stories about the memories he and mom had together. I ate them up every time. My little innocent mind was fascinated and curious. I had to know everything that I possibly could. I'm still like that now.
Sometimes when I couldn't sleep at night, I'd sneak into the garage. My dad would let me lay on the futon while he worked. I'd watch him poke and prod at car parts and machinery, and I'd end up falling asleep to the sounds of him tinkering.
After my dad died, the futon just became a beacon of washed-up memories. It stayed out in the garage with a white sheet over it. It was never moved or touched for years. My mom didn't even like going into the garage anymore. It was too hard for her. One minute, the garage was filled with rock music and car engines. And in the blink of an eye, it became a silent room. No more rock music or tinkering sounds. Bare. Silence.
One night, when I was in high school, I snuck down to the garage when mom and Atlas were asleep. I was quiet as a mouse as I tiptoed through the house to the garage. I nearly stubbed my toe on the door jam, but I made it to the garage without waking anyone up. I softly shut the door and flicked on the bright fluorescent overhead light. The garage was so bare. Only my mom's car, our deep freezer, and some miscellaneous storage containers were scattered around. In the back corner, the futon still sat with the sheet covering it. I stood still and stared at it for a brief moment like it would grow legs and walk over to me. I sighed softly and walked over to the couch. I slowly grabbed onto the sheet, holding it tightly in my hand, and then I pulled it off, dust releasing and flying into the air.
I swatted some dust particles away, and then reached my hand out to touch the couch, pausing a few inches away. I swallowed a lump forming in my throat and finally placed my clammy hand on the purple cushion. The velvet fabric was soft against my skin. I ran my hand over the entire length of the futon, the velvet bringing back all of the memories of my father. Tears pricked my eyes as I laid down on the cushions that hugged me tightly. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry, and I curled up in the fetal position with tears running down my face. The velvet still smelled like him. It was very faint, but I could pinpoint the places in the fabric where his cologne still resonated. My shoulders shook as I cried into my hands, trying to stay quiet so nobody would hear me.
I missed my dad.
Laying there reminded me of all of the times I fell asleep while listening to him tinkering around with his tools. It was like I could still hear him then, him sitting at his tool bench hunched over a carburetor, 80s rock music playing in the background.
I didn't know I had fallen asleep on the futon until I was gently shaken awake by mom. I rubbed my tired, swollen eyes, and she gave me a sad look. We shared a moment there where we didn't speak. We didn't have to talk at all. She knew why I had gone in there. She understood. She placed a hand on my cheek and then swiped a few curls away from my face. Her eyes were misty, but no tears fell. She pressed a kiss to my forehead and then walked out of the garage, leaving me to put the sheet back over the couch.
I didn't lay on the couch again after that night. It made me too sad, so it continued to stay in the corner underneath the sheet for years.
When I was packing up to start my freshman year at NYU, I asked mom if I could take the futon with me. I was hesitant to ask her, but she told me I could have it. She wanted me to have it because she knew that it'd get used again.
"Put more memories on it," she told me, and I obliged.
I did put my own memories on it. It was in my first apartment where I studied long hours and took impromptu naps in between classes. It was the first spot I went to when I got home late from a party feeling a little intoxicated. It held me when I was missing my family, and it absorbed my tears the first time I got my feelings hurt by some asshole who tried to get me into bed with him when I was drunk. It brought me comfort on the anniversary of my dad's death. And it was there when I moved on from college and onto my adult life.
Now it's here for a new chapter in my life.
A new beginning.
I push the futon to the opposite wall across from my bed. I grab the giraffe plushie I've had for years and place it on one end. A silk black decorative pillow sits at the other end. I fold my crochet blanket over the back, and then the futon is done.
I get the rest of my living area set up to my liking. My box tv sits on a shelf near one of the windows. My coffee table is right in front of the futon, and I lay the black shag rug near my bed. Once it is on the floor, Neo comes over to lay down on it. That's her favorite thing to lay on. She takes it hostage most days, sleeping soundly with no other care in the world.
I bob my head to the strumming of Free Fallin' as I tape my large US map on the wall. I always like to have a map with me. I can see statistical patterns and evidence when I'm covering a larger story. I also tape up a world map right next to it, so both maps cover up a good portion of the wall.
I set out my other decorations, consisting of old records, books, and a few pictures frames of my family and friends.
The one thing that sucked about living in New York City is how minimal I got to see my friends. We used to be nearly attached to the hip because we saw each other every day during school and after school. After high school, we called each other often, but we didn't see each other in person much besides the holidays when we were off from college.
Times have certainly changed. The adolescent teenage years are long gone. Now we're adults who barely see each other. It's a sad reality.
I take a break from working for a few minutes and lay on the futon, resting my head back and shutting my eyes. Mary Jane's Last Dance flows throughout the apartment and comforts me like a warm hug. This was my dad's favorite song and one of my first recollections ever of rock music. He played this song on repeat, never getting tired of hearing the guitar riffs and harmonica.
Neo jumps onto the couch with me and lays her head on my stomach. I smile and scratch behind her ears, letting the music consume me for the rest of the song.
A sharp knock on the door snaps me out of my daze. I realize the song is over and Something In The Air is now playing. I quickly get up from the couch, Neo taking over my spot and stretching her limbs out. I turn the volume down on the music and go to the front door, looking through the peephole to make sure it's who I think it is.
"I don't accept any soliciting!" I shout as I open the door.
"Shut the fuck up bitch, and let me in."
I smile widely as my best friend comes into view.
"Hey, baby," I wink.
She laughs and winks back at me. "Long time no see, honey."
I quickly pull her in for a hug, and we rock side to side. "It's so good to see you, Ju. How are you?"
We pull back from our hug, smiling at each other. I step back, inviting her to go inside the apartment first.
"I'm good!" She exclaims, walking through the doorway. "Excited that you're finally back home."
"Not necessarily by choice," I remark and shut the door behind us.
She rolls her eyes playfully and shakes her head. "You know what I mean. It's been forever since we've been back here together."
"It has," I agree and look down at the dark purple bodycon dress and black heels she's wearing. Her braids are wrapped in a bun on top of her head and her makeup is subtle, but beautiful. Juliet has always been fantastic at makeup, not that she ever needed to wear any since her skin is flawless. "Aw, did you get dressed up for me? That's so sweet."
She chuckles and sets her purse on the kitchen counter. "I had a work meeting that lasted an hour later than it was supposed to, so I didn't bother with changing yet."
Neo stands up from the couch once she sees Juliet in the kitchen. She lets out an alarming bark like a guard dog. I quickly shush her and say sternly, "Fuss." Neo instantly heels and looks at me, her tail slightly wagging behind her. "Hier," I command with my hand out in front of me. She comes over to where I'm standing and I bend down, rubbing between her ears.
"Braver hund," I say to her.
"When did you learn German?" Juliet asks and crouches down next to me to pet Neo.
"When I got her," I say and then add. "We just do some basic commands. I've been training her in English and German. She's a very fast learner."
"She's gorgeous."
Neo sniffs Juliet's face and gives her a lick on the cheek. "It's nice to meet you Neo," Juliet smiles. "Your mommy has told me a lot about you."
I stand up and go into the kitchen, letting Juliet and Neo get more acquainted with each other. Neo hasn't met any of my friends before. Honestly, I'm not the best at making friends. In New York, I only had a few acquaintances from work that I sometimes got a drink with.
I'm not one to be friends with a lot of people. It's never been my style. I like to keep to myself and focus on my work. I'm pretty picky now about who I spend my time with and if someone can't handle that, they can stay the fuck away from me.
"How is it working in the courthouse?" I ask Ju, setting down a small bowl of water for Neo. I grab two glasses from the cabinet and fill them in the kitchen sink. I hand one to her once she gets done petting Neo.
"I like working there so far," she shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip from the glass. "It's just very long hours, so I don't get much time off."
"Sounds like you're already working like a lawyer."
"Feels like it," she smiles.
She always has one of the biggest smiles. Juliet Thompson. My best friend since the fifth grade. We were in the same class and our desks were right next to each other. It was during the first day of school and I had told her that I liked her braids. She then complimented me on my purple tennis shoes. And that was the start of our friendship.
Her family had recently moved to Cherry Valley for her dad's job, which was at the same factory that my dad also worked at. She only lived a few houses down from us, so Juliet and I saw each other pretty much every day when we could. We played jump rope and drew on the sidewalks with chalk. We swam in her inground pool and pretended we were mermaids. We spied on the neighbors when we had sleepovers, creating fictitious stories about our neighborhood. We were nearly like two peas in a pod.
She's been in law school for the past two years in California. So we haven't seen each other much since she went to UCLA and I went to NYC. Living on opposite coasts, we barely saw each other, but we still called monthly and had late-night chats about our reckless mistakes and drunken nights out.
She's always been there for me. She's one of my rocks that I know I can always count on keeping me grounded.
"Nice apartment," she comments, looking around the small place starting to feel more like home to me.
"Thanks. It's pretty small, but it'll do."
"Let me guess. Your bed is out here because your bedroom is your darkroom?" She sits down on the futon and sets her glass down on one of the coasters on the coffee table.
"Ding ding ding. 200 points for Juliet Thompson," I joke and go to my track player to put a different tape on.
"My mom and Atlas should be here soon with Chinese if you want some," I tell her as I put John Mellencamp's American Fool in the player and turn up the volume.
"Do you remember when we used to get Chinese and go up to The Bluffs just to throw our fortune cookies off the cliffs?" She chuckles and I laugh at the memory.
"I still think those things are bullshit," I remark and she laughs.
"I don't know. Sometimes they're scarily accurate for me."
"There's enough bullshit in the world already. No need to rely on a piece of paper to tell you how to live your life when it's all just pretense."
"Oh, Nolan, how I've dearly missed your pessimistic and condescending attitude," Juliet states with a smirk.
I flick my middle finger up at her.
"With love," I say, waving my middle finger.
She flicks her middle finger up too and puts it to her lips, kissing it. "With love, honey bitch."
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Here we go! Cherry Valley is starting and the journey will be a thrilling ride. Fasten your seat belts and enjoy the chaos that's about to begin. Chapter two will be up very soon.
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Bek