10 years, Cheyanne thought for the millionth time since boarding the plane in L.A. 10 years since she had stepped foot in her little Podunk town.
The shop fronts passed by her window as her eyes darted around, trying to absorb all that had changed and those things that had not.
The old hardware store still had the same sign outside it, "Mi ha l's Ha dwar ," letters missing to finish the words that had been there when she left town, Michael's Hardware.
She pictured old Mr. Michaels standing behind the counter waiting for customers, the man had been around 75 when she was here last, and it made her wonder if he was still standing there. His long grey beard swaying as he walked around the store straightening things that didn't need to be straightened. His cheeks that glowed red when as talked about a new product or whatever shenanigans his grandchildren had gotten into that week.
She smiled as she remembered his booming voice filling that small space that always smelt of ant killer and horse feed.
The little clothing boutique that she had never shopped at was closed now, a big foreclosed sign slashed across the door, letting everyone know the money problems Miss Janice must have run into. So many dull colored building whizzed by her as the cab moved toward her home.
Just as they stopped she turned, her eyes settling on the old picket fence that was missing pieces, the gate swinging in the slight wind. The weeds around the fence were tall enough to make Cheyanne assume it the lawn had been unattended for some time now.
"You can do this," she whispered as she reached for the door handle, it had been her mantra from the moment she stepped out of her apartment.
Gravel crunched under her stilettos as she swung out of the cab to face her childhood home. The house was the same as the day she left. White paint, peeling away to leave the brown wood underneath exposed. The blue shutters faded and ravaged by the weather barely hung on and that damn green door, only slightly hidden by the screen door that desperately needed to be replaced.
Slamming the taxi door behind her she thought, yep still the same old house.
The stairs creaked and groaned under her weight as she made her way to the door, they'd always protested her size.
The screen door screeched as she pulled it open and she knew that the green door would stick just enough that she had to use her shoulder to get it open.
She took another deep breath before stepping over the threshold, the smell of laundry and grass filled her head and she almost choked as she stood just inside the door, debating with herself to stay or go.
Her suitcase thudded to the ground; the sound echoing throughout the house as the memories came flooding back all at once. A dark stain graced the wood floor no more than two feet from where she stood, Clint had dropped an entire gallon of brown paint there when they were twelve, she smiled at the remembrance of her brother's worried face.
"Momma's gonna kill me," he had cried.
"No she will not," Chey had argued, while scrubbing up the paint hoping that maybe her mother would not even notice.
"Yes she is Chey," he paced as she scrubbed and she had thought to tell him to help if he was so concerned.
"What were you doing with the paint anyway?" she asked instead of demanding his help.
"I wanted to paint," he shrugged his shoulders as he continued his pacing.
"Paint what?" she asked, hoping the he would calm down by the time their mother got home from work.
"Well you know that big spot on the hall wall?" he looked down at her, his pacing forgotten.
"The one where that old mirror had been?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Yea," he smiled down at her and she could not help but smile back. "Mom is always saying that it is such an eye sore," which was true, "so I was going to paint over it."
"The wall in the hallway is tan," she reminded him, settling back into her task, the brown almost all gone.
"I know that," he chided, "I was going to paint something over the spot," he said, sounding exasperated, which was better than panicked.
"What were you going to paint?" she asked, just as the door knob turned.
"It was going to be a surprise," he said sadly as the door opened.
"What was going to be a surprise?" their mother had asked, looking down at Cheyanne scrubbing the floor and Clint had immediately started his pacing again, tears running down his face.
She shook off the memory as the staircase where she had posed for her prom pictures loomed just in beyond that stain taunting her.
Oh you went all that way just to come back home, they snickered at her.
"Stupid stairs," she muttered under her breath, turning her gaze elsewhere. The living room still housed the same old overstuffed red couch her mother bought second hand. Running her hand over the back of it she made her way to the dining room.
Pictures were strewn over the top of the ancient oak table that once held her bustling family together. Her brother's smiling face beamed at her from the picture under her fingers; Clint seemed to be every where in this house, tears burned to be spilled, but she fought them back. He was sitting in an inner tube on the ground, no where near a body of water. His dark shades covering his eyes as he lounged in his swim suit. A laugh escaped her lips when she remembered what he had answered when asked what he was doing.
"Waitin for flood," he had smiled and then gone back to basking in the sun, his blonde hair shining. Never mind that they lived in south Texas and it was more likely to snow than to rain in the middle of the hot summer, but he sat out there just about every day that summer waiting for the rain.
"Waitin for a flood," a soft voice said behind her, causing her to drop the picture back among the others.
She turned around and was greeted by the heartbreaking smile of her mother.
"Momma," she gasped, moving towards the woman's open arms.
"I missed you baby girl," her mother said against her hair as Cheyanne held on for dear life.
"I missed you too momma," she laughed at the sound of her voice. Less than twenty minutes in this house and she already felt like a teenager again.
"Let me look at ya," her mother's deep southern drawl demanded, holding her back at arm's length.
It was her mother's eyes that looked up at her, but the woman that owned the eyes looked to old to be Bess. Her mother's beautiful face had been as ravaged by time as the house she lived in, deep wrinkles cut across her features. An old woman stood in front of her where a once vivacious middle aged woman had been. Her smile was weak, her skin deathly pale, so much so that Cheyanne started to think that Aunt Bea had understated her condition. Her mother's hair was swept away from her face, framing her frail figure in a grey cloud. Tears threatened to spill as she towered over the tiny woman she had once believed to be larger than life.
Her mother took a ragged breath before looking back into her daughter's eyes, tears pooling as pride brimmed those dark brown orbs.
"My little Cheyanne, still the prettiest girl in all the land," she said, her familiar smile cutting across the wrinkles, bringing back the mother she knew as she held her daughter's face.
"Oh momma," she let out a laugh and hugged her again.
Prettiest girl in all the land. That was what her mother had always called her and it was a beautiful and loving lie, but it was just that; a lie.
Cheyanne had always been taller than the other girls in her class, towering over them like a giant that did not belong.. Her dirty blonde hair had always been in disarray, hiding her blue eyes and chubby face from her judgmental peers, but nothing had hidden her body from them. Baggy clothes only made her full figure more noticeable, tight clothes created more rolls making her look like a sausage in rubber bands. Shorts had revealed her thick thighs and made her all the more aware of her size jeans were always just a bit too short, she could never win, but her mother had always said she was beautiful with a straight face.
She was grateful for the lie; it had helped her survive the ridicule she had gotten at school. Her mother's love was the one thing that kept her going all those years as she fought to finish school.
Cheyanne had changed little since high school. She was a few inches taller, but still thick enough to be called fat or full figured as Ben liked to put it.
"How are you momma?" she asked, finally pulling back from the little woman.
"I'm great sweetheart," she smiled, turning back towards the kitchen.
"Really momma," Cheyanne sighed, following her.
"I'm fine Chey," she said, with a sigh of her own. "I certainly don't need a keeper," she turned to point a frail finger at her daughter, "if that's what you're thinking."
"Of course not momma," she lied, "I just wanted to come down for a visit," she smiled as the lies fell from her lips. Her mother had to know better, Cheyanne hadn't been home since the day she left for college ten years ago.
"Well I'm glad you are here," her mother smiled before turning back to the stove, where she was burning something.
"What are you making momma," Chey asked, moving to lean against the counter at her mother's side.
"Well I was attempting to make breakfast," she turned to dump the black eggs into the sink, "but I am afraid I am out of practice.
"I'm really not hungry momma," she said honestly, not mentioning the fact that is was well past noon.
"Okay sweetheart," the water splashed over the sides of the now ruined pan. "Do you want to rest for awhile?" she turned back to Chey.
"I think that is a good idea," Chey smiled gently, the flight had been exhausting. "I'm just gonna go up to my room," her mother nodded and turned away.
"Ben I don't think I will be coming home anytime soon," she whispered into the phone, sinking to the foot of the twin sized bed.
"Why?" he asked, his voice whiny. "Stage four clinger," Emma had warned her six moths ago before they started dating. Chey had disregarded her friends comments all because his eyes.
His light brown eyes were speckled with gold flecks just as Brandon's had been when they were in high school. He was the one person she had missed when she left home all those years ago and for that reason alone she had agreed to go out with Ben. After one date it had been impossible to get rid of him, but Chey had been flattered by his attention so she let his clingy tendencies slide, even when he had her grinding her teeth in frustration.
"My mother is sick," she stated with a sigh. They had gone over all of this before she left the airport. He had wanted to come with her and while at first she thought it was sweet, she soon realized he just didn't want to be alone.
"I know that," he said, suddenly testy. "Why can't you just bring her back here?" Again something they had already discussed.
"My mother hates the city," she reminded him, "plus smog filled LA is not exactly the best place for a woman battling lung cancer." It was like the man did not listen to her at all.
"Lot's of people live here with lung cancer," he argued and she rolled her eyes at the phone.
"I am not having this conversation right now," she said tiredly, throwing herself back on the small bed. "I just wanted to call and tell you that I made it here safely," she closed her eyes against the sight of her blue ceiling. "I will call you with any updates," she said with every intention of ending the conversation by hanging up.
"Okay sweetheart," he said his voice sweet again. "I will call you tomorrow," she rolled her eyes again. "I love you," he said and she mouthed stage four clinger.
"Talk to you soon," she said and then hung up before he could ask why she had not returned the sentiment.
Chey kicked off her shoes as she typed out a text, Just wanted to let you know that I am officially back in Hell, Texas safe and sound.
She laid the phone on the little nightstand next to her frilly bed; it still held the picture of her brother and her on their first day of school. Clint had thought it was appropriate to dress as a ninja for their first day of kinder. She stood next to him, arm slung over his shoulder in her prim skirt and shirt that even then had fit a little to snugly.
Good to hear. Your little puppy dog has been wandering looking lost. She let out a laugh as the image of Ben on all fours walking around the office popped in her head. Work sucks without you. Was the reply she received from Emma, her best friend since the very first law and reason class she had walked into.
It's better than Texas, was what she sent back before shimmying out of her black pencil skirt and working on the buttons of her purple blouse.
Doubtful, :( I can't even remember the last time I breathed clean air in, Emma returned and Chey laughed. As a fellow small town girl now living in the big city, she understood the want for clean air.
It is wonderful to take a big gulp of fresh air, she admitted before looking down at the little bed she had once slept in.
How in the hell had she managed this for 18 years, she wondered as she stared up at the ceiling. Her feet were sticking off the end of the bed by about 4 inches.
Her phone beeped and she cautiously reached over to grab it. Stop trying to make me jealous, it's working.
Haha. How's Frances today? She asked, knowing full well that Emma hated Frances. The intern came to work every day with to much makeup, clothes that were to tight and revealing, and she flirted with ever male lawyer at the firm, including the man Emma had been in love with since the first day she saw him, Jeffery.
She is currently leaning over Jeffery's desk...do you think she knows that you can see the top of her thong?
I'm sure she does, Chey rolled her eyes.
Have I mentioned that I hate her?
Not in the last 10 minutes. Chey chuckled to herself. If Emma would just man up and tell Jeffery how she felt things would be a lot easier for her, but Emma refused to be rejected by yet another man, not that Chey could blame her.
Well I hate her.
I know you do. Look either go tell Jeffery how you feel or just beat the crap out of Frances, but please let me nap!
Chey let out a lusty yawn before carefully turning on her side and snuggling back under the blanket her mother had made her. She took a deep lungful of the blanket, smiling to herself; it still smelt the same as the day she had left it here, like her mother and the rain.
Fine you sleep, but when you get back be ready to defend me in court for assault charges.
Already got the insanity plea typed out and ready to go, she replied. Love you girl. Was how she ended the short message and even though she knew there would be a reply she shut off the phone and buried her head in the pillow, trying to remind herself why she had left this place.