"Should I try to go? Will I be able to arrive on time?" I check the time on a nearby wall clock. It is a 4-hour drive to the event center and the baking seminar airs at 7:00 AM. I would need to leave the house by 3:00 AM at the latest to arrive on time.
I leave the kitchen and walk towards the living room. I pick up the crumbled flyer off the green couch and read it over once more. I realize it is a glorified ad for a sale at the Golden Harvest grocery outlet, but it was hidden in the small print. I eye the date on the flyer, it reads as the 25th but there is no month to accompany the day. I set my suspicions aside and put away the banana bread. Turning to place the dirtied butterknife and plate in the sink I am met with an unexpected dilemma.
"I forgot to wash the dishes, really?"
Instead of addressing the situation I place the dish and butterknife on top of the plates that have piled up inside the sink. Leaving the kitchen I walk along the unlit hallway. The walls stretch endlessly, devoid of any life and light. I memorized the sound each sound the floorboards made; keen to avoid the clutter piled against the walls.
It is a tight squeeze throughout the house. I would need a stunt double to maneuver through the amount of furniture, clothing, and knickknacks lying around. That is all it is: stuff. Stuff from my grandmother, mother, and father, my siblings as well. They need a place to put all their stuff. When they acquire too much baggage, too much of a load they drop it off here. They trust me to look over their things.
The textured plaster wall runs underneath my fingertips as I trace the wall to my bedroom. When my hand touches the wood frame of the doorway to my room, I know I arrived. The lacquer that sealed the finish of the doorframe is yellowing and peeling off in large clumps, much like dandruff coming off a person's scalp. Turning on the light switch, the ceiling lamp flickers to a start before it engulfs the room in a constant ray of light. I grab some clothes out of my drawer and follow my nightly routine.
I lay in my bed with only my mantra of thoughts to accompany me to sleep. The house curses at me as I lay there, it attempts to trick me with eery noises and its ominous presence. Why does this house hate me after I have been here for so long? For a moment I think I hear the distant sound of a leaky faucet. The next moment I hear the creaking of floorboards as if something stood upon them. I drift to sleep in the presence of the house and its inhabitants to bid me a "good night."
Beep Beep Beep
The high-pitched ringtone of my alarm clock awakes me in my blackened room. The disheveled bed sheets and blankets pile high around me as I slowly sit up in my bed. I walk along the cold wooden floor to my drawer and pick out some presentable clothes, although none of my outfits are without some form of pilling. I leave my room and pull out a pack of granola bars from a kitchen cabinet and stuff it in my bag to eat along the way to the event center. I prepare to depart from my house as I grab my truck keys from a woven basket on my shoe shelf. I stop before the door and glance at my refrigerator. Should I ask for their opinions?
I open the refrigerator and spot the lemon blueberry muffins. Condensation has collected at the top of the saran wrap and formed a slick surface over the muffins. I cannot present this to another baker. I sigh and quickly grab the plate then slam the refrigerator door closed and walk to the entrance of the house. I stand before the door, the sun still having yet to rise. I glance at my refrigerator, the notes plastered all over it as well as my wall, ink smudges, and more paper. My hands are calloused and rough from kneading, mixing, and farmwork; I do not have the hands of a lady nor are my baking skills up to par. I stand alone before the door. It is tall and my house is dim. I stand before my door with a plate in hand. This plate, my plate, holds my dream. But I cannot open the door.
With a hesitant breath, I push open the door with a turn of the nob. The crisp air is immediately met with my face and nips at my skin. My breath blooms into a cloud of condensation and quickly disappears into the air. I stand outside of my house. The door swings from its hinges and crashes into the doorframe repeatedly. It is angry I left. The house tries to coax me back in with intimidation but I have already taken a step away, then another. Soon enough snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk along a stone and dirt pathway that is partially covered in patches of snow. A sudden cold snap in September brought with it the early snowfall and chilly air.
I stop in front of my frost-bitten truck; the nighttime air and its slick water vapor dowsed my truck in a sheer coating of frost. I scraped the ice off with the back of my sleeve since I forgot to bring an ice scraper before I left the house. After a few moments of scraping, I grab ahold of the rusted door handle and pry the truck door open. The frost acted as a form of glue preserving the Mater-like quality of my vehicle. I insert the key in the ignition and sit back in my cold and hardened seat. My presence fogs up the inside of the truck as I watch the steam from my breath appear and dissipate. The truck buffers and lets out a low rumble as I start the engine.
I drive down the flattened dirt road that leads to my property and then merge onto the highway. The sun is still well away from rising as the moon remains high in the sky. Traffic seems to be nill as I make my way along the highway. However, as I drive over the hill that divides the outskirts of town from the junction I am met with Red lights. Multiple red lights.
"Why is there traffic? There is never never traffic- what the crap is this?!"
As I come to a complete halt behind the long line of cars a vein ticks at my jaw in frustration.
"You have to be absolutely kidding me."
I roll down my passenger window with my manual lever and peer my head out of the window. Unused farmland lies past the ditch on both sides of the road. I scan around and notice state patrol and the local traffic police are not minding the traffic. A withdrawn exhale leaves my nose as I grip the steering wheel and make a hard left. The plate of muffins and my bag that are resting on the passenger seat is now sliding around. The mini disco ball that I had tied to my driving mirror is flailing around and hitting the windshield. Nothing to worry myself about, I have four-wheel drive.
The front end of my truck goes straight into the ditch but with a slight bit of encouragement from the gas pedal the engine reeves and pulls out of the ditch and onto the farmland. I drive over the prairie-like field and along the road. People honk at me and some roll down their windows to yell at me, the dramatic ones step out of their cars to yell at me but anything is fair game at this hour.
"What a lot of out-of-town junkies. Why the sudden surge in this old town?"
I pull up, back onto the main road, cutting in front of the line of cars when I hear a loud pop! A grinding sound follows after and the back half of the truck suddenly saddens as if ridden with with a load.
"No! No! No-"
The truck slows to a complete stop conveniently in front of the Golden Harvest. I lean back into my seat, my hands sliding down the steering wheel and laying limp in my lap. I can feel the way my skin plums around my eyes as I scrunch my eyes shut. A long whine hums around in my throat as I scorn my predicament. I turn on my hazards and place my hand on the worn gear shift and put the truck in neutral. Stepping out of the driver's seat, I walk behind the truck to see the back tire rim obscured in a deflated tire and its shreds. The city folk held up behind me begin honking once more and yelling obscenities. I struggle to push the truck over the curb and into the Golden Harvest parking lot but do so with some effort.
The dim parking lot light of the Golden Harvest flickered on and off. Moths and insects alike swarmed around the lightbulb. The bugs relied on the artificial sun upon the frigid night. They danced in the air, flying around in sporadic patterns while some occasionally flew too close and hit the bulb. I listened to the light buzzing of the dancing insects and humming electricity. The pings of insects bumping into the light are accompanied by a sizzling sound.
45 minutes since I left my house and I only made it 20 minutes down the road.
I walk around to the backside of the Golden Harvest and climb up the fire escape. Perching myself on the balcony I knock on the second-story window. A young woman with hair rollers clinging to her scalp and an under eyemask opens the window.
"Wha' in the hell?"
"I need to borrow your car."
"N' wha' happened to tha' nic ol' truck of yours?"
"Popped a tire- but that is not important right now. Some foreign junkies are flooding the town right now."
"[Y/n], it's three n' the something righ' now. I ain't awake enough for any of this. But that meteor shower is happening today n' all so that migh' be why. Didn't you see 'at flyer I made?"
"You made the flyer?"
"Yuh, I know it's a work of art n' all."
"Ling Mei you idiot!"
"Wha' did I do?!"
"Why did you only write the day the meteor shower was happening and not the month?!"
"Well 'at's because everyone who ain't living under a rock knows 'at meteor shower be happening this month! Plus, I only made 'at flyer a week in advance. 'Em city lights block out the night sky so 'em city folk drive out here to look at 'em stars."
"Alright, alright. I'm still going to need your car."
"The bug is out in the back."
"The bug?"
"Wha' else do you think I drive? Here, take 'em keys."
"Thank you."
"Hey! Where you going at this hour anyway?"
"There is a baking seminar outside of this rural Tennesse. I wanted to get a professional opinion on my pastries."
"Oh, I see. Well, you a great baker so don't let 'em big fancy city bakers talk down on ya, kay'?"
"I won't. thanks again, Register Girl!"
" I thought I told you to quit it with 'at nickname!"
I climb down the fire escape and find Ling Mei's bug parked behind the Golden Harvest. The car is wedged between the alleyway wall and the garbage container. I grab my bag and muffins out of the passenger seat of my truck then slide them into the trunk of the bug.
My cheeks resemble that of a who as I hold my breath and squint my eyes and thrust the key into the ignition. I let out a sigh of relief as the bug came to life with a buzz. I pull out of the parking lot but when I attempt to switch lanes the car stalls and kills the engine.
"Ling Mei! your car is sh-"