━ 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗮
𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀 rollercoaster. First, I'd dreamed of a beautiful island on the boat ride there. Then, I hopped off the Ferry at the smelly port, got yelled at, and faced far too many angry people who gave me nothing but weird looks. After that, I met Caroline— her pickup truck was loud and old, and smelled of old books, but it got the job done, driving us through those rich streets. Finally, we kept following that dirty brown van full of teenagers across a bridge until the beach houses were no where to be seen.
Eventually the brown van had split from us and drove down a different street. Most of the ride we were driving on a dirt-road, big trees on either side. We passed a few signs, but Caroline started driving so fast that I couldn't read them. The window stayed open, because I loved the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair, and the fresh scent of nature that I'd never smelled before.
We passed a few houses as well. I knew it was rude to judge the area so quickly, so I kept my lips tucked the whole ride until the rusty Toyota pickup pulled into the driveway of a small home. I didn't know if I could even call it a driveway— it was simly a makeshift parking spot on the lawn, the green grass engraved with dark brown marks from the truck tires. The house was white and seemed to only have one floor, the creamy-coloured paint chipping around the windows.
But, when I finally looked to my left side, away from Caroline's home, I saw the water. Then everything else didn't matter.
Behind the house that I'd be staying in for the next year, was a wide space of the sea. There was a long walkway, made up from wood planks and pieces, going all the way out to reach a small boat— the boat was white and seemed well-kept from where Id been standing, and I secretly hoped that I would learn how to drive it one day.
It felt as though my lips wouldn't move to speak as I stared out at the water glimmering beneath the sunlight, which had finally broke through the clouds.
"You like the water?" Caroline's voice spoke out. She hopped out of the driver's side and walked to the back of the truck. She had noticed my interest as I kept staring, unresponsive for a moment.
"Yeah," I replied, smiling to myself. I swallowed, "I've just never seen anything like it in person," I aimed to speak causally.
"What you mean you've never seen anything like it," Caroline asked, more as a statement. She began to unload my suitcases and bags from the cargo bed, placing them one of top of the others on the grass.
"Would you like any help, Caroline?" I asked her kindly, as I pushed open the truck door and slid off the seat. I stepped around the car to see that she was already closing the back of the truck, my stuff piled beside her.
"No, no," she wave her hand in the air as if swatting away a fly. A soft smile lay over her lips. "I'll get Daryl to do it, he'll be home in a minute. How about you go check out the house, huh," she stepped closer to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, casually guiding me towards the front door of her small home.
I had never known my grandma, or simply how to act around one in general, but I was guessing that it was normal for them to make you feel warm inside. I couldn't help but smile, as she let go of me and gently pushed me forwards. I looked back at her as she was turned away, newly doing something in the car. Letting out a quiet huff of air, I climbed up the brown front steps to the porch, the paint slighly chipped.
From behind the barely ripped grey screen door, I could see the inside of the house and some of it's furniture. The old-wooden floorboards creaked when my shoes landed on them with each step, and a cozy scent of fresh flowers filled my nose, a few vases placed along the window sills. It was much smaller than what I had been used to in the apartment in New York, or course, but I found myself enjoying the way it made me feel comfortable and secure.
The paintings on the walls of oceans, flowers, and landscapes caught my eyes, and reminded me of the artwork my parents used to have on our walls back in the apartment. There was a short antique brown cabinet right at the centre of the first wall, a few small hand-made pots and vases of flowers on it's surface. To my left there was a wall lined with many open windows covered with thin and used blinds, a deep red futon sofa, and a few mixed-matched coloured armchairs around an old coffee table.
The kitchen, was an open space. The counters seemed worn out and quite used, and the wooden cupboards were placed high above them, some open and some shut closed. A small round table sat against the wall next to the door, with a few lonely newspapers, magazines, and empty cups laying on top of it's sleek off-white tablecloth. Three matching chairs sat empty around the table, small coloured cushions on them.
I found myself smiling as I looked around at the surroundings. Everything around portrayed such a new and different feeling than the usual black-and-white, squeaky clean, perfectly modern New York apartment. I liked it, a lot, even though Mother would probably scream her lungs out if she saw me eating at a stained dinner table filled with newspapers.
"Home sweet home," Caroline announced, as she entered the house behind me. Her hand landed on my shoulder, and I already knew she was grinning. "Your bedroom is down that hall, on the right," she tapped my shoulder.
I bent down and slid off my shoes, picking them up to place them next to each other perfectly, beside the front door. I heard Caroline let out a small laugh.
Then, I couldn't refrain from skipping towards the hallway. I didn't care if it didn't look like my perfect room back in New York, had a walk-in closet or a city view, I just wanted to be able to see the water. And that's exactly what it was.
Right when I opened the door, the first thing I saw was the wide window, looking straight out at the water and the boat. There were thin blinds pulled up halfway.
It was small, but I suddenly didn't mind. The bed was a double, and had a few, seemingly new, quilted blankets on the end. There was an old wooden desk in the far corner, and a used pin board on the wall in front of it with old pictures and papers attached with colored thumbtacks. A chair identical to the three in the kitchen was in front of the desk, a plush yellow cushion on the seat of it.
To the left there was a sliding door, already half-open to reveal a small closet. There were two sweaters hanging up inside on silver hangers, and an empty cardboard box on the carpet floor beneath a shoe-rack. The walls of the room seemed to be newly painted with a fresh pale-yellow colour, my favorite, which made me smile from ear-to-ear.
A glistening full length mirror was pinned up on the wall next to the window. I looked at my clothes in the reflection, and suddenly realized they didn't quite match everything else. I barely noticed that I'd been sweating in the skinny jeans I was wearing.
A long, content sigh fell past my lips when I moved and sat down on the bed. It was decorated with yellow and pink throw pillows, and the quilted blankets. It was much different from my white bed back home, contrasting in size and range of colour.
"This was your dad's old room," Caroline appeared in the doorway, leaning on it. She looked around the space with an expression of gratitude, and a slight sadness.
"He had pastel yellow walls and pink pillows?" I laughed, delicately.
"No, no," Caroline smiled to me. "Daryl and I painted this last week. Your mom's assistant lady, forget her name, uh told us you liked yellow," she said, looking to the walls. "It used to be navy blue, but we fixed it up. Also made those quilts for you."
"You guys painted it for me?" I asked, rubbing my hand along the soft material of the quilt.
"Well of course!" Caroline exclaimed, laughing. "We didn't want to ruin our first impression to our only granddaughter," she smiled widely, the small wrinkles beside her lips creasing.
I smiled back.
"Oh, and by the way, you don't have to call us 'grandma' or 'grandpa' or anything," she said, looking at me as she leant her head against the doorframe. "I know that might be weird for ya."
"Carol?" A old, manly voice, sounded though the home, causing me to look up at her.
"Speak of the devil," she rolled her eyes in a joking way, standing up straight. "Come and meet your grandfather— or if you want to just call him Daryl," she motioned for me to follow her.
I stood up and we walked back into the main room. There was a very tall, older man with short grey hair hidden underneath a red baseball cap, wearing a plaid t-shirt and blue jeans. He looked up to Caroline and me standing in the doorframe of the hallway. He widened his eyes.
"I thought she was coming tomorrow, Carol!" He exclaimed, looking to his wife.
"Don't be so rude! Say hello to your granddaughter, will you," Caroline glared at him, then smiled at me.
"Charlotte," he hummed, as he stepped towards me and engulfed me in a tight hug. "It's very nice to finally meet you," he mused, squeezing me very hard.
"Jesus, Daryl, don't overwhelm her you big beast!" Caroline scolded, as she pulled him away.
"I'm just saying hello," he bickered. "You can call me grandpa." He said, looking at me with a cheeky smile.
"We talked about this, Daryl," Caroline hit the side of his arm with her hand. "She'll call you what she wants."
I stood silent, listening to them bickering against each other. It was weird seeing two old people arguing right in front of me, about me.
"How do you like the house?" Daryl questioned me.
"It's very nice," I smiled at both of them, trying to sound as kind as i felt.
"Oh my," his eyes relaxed. "She looks just like her dad."
Caroline moved to stand beside him, and nudged his arm with her elbow.
"You wanna go for a boat ride? We could go on a boat ride right now—" he started, but Caroline cut him off.
"Let her get used to the place, idiot," she hit his wide stomach. I tried not to laugh.
"What's better than going on a boat ride to get used to the island?" He fought back, annoyed.
"You're so inconsiderate, you know that?" Caroline rolled her eyes. She was a lot like me.
"Well I'm sorry," Daryl bickered like a child, and it was hard to tell they were grown people, let alone my grandparents.
I looked away, and out to the living room window that faced the water. Assuming they wouldn't notice, and they didn't, I stepped over to it, and looked out. There was a beautiful red bicycle with a brown basket leaning against the tree in the front yard, beside a hammock I hadn't seen coming in.
"Caroline— or, grandma," I spoke, loud enough for the two old people to hear me. It felt weird saying the word 'grandma' to someone else. "Is that your bike in the yard?"
She raised her eyebrows slightly, in surprise. "Yes," she nodded her head, stepping away from Daryl. "I don't use it anymore though," she told me. "Would you like it?"
A smile washed over my lips. "You'd let me?"
"Of course, sweetheart," she responded, her voice soft. "It's all yours." She laughed, patting my back. I felt a warm feeling stir inside my stomach.
"Why don't you go on a bike ride?" Daryl suggested, stopping beside his wife. "Before we eat dinner."
"I have no idea where anything is," I said, growing a bit worried.
"Nah, don't worry about it," Daryl reached out and patted my shoulder. "Just turn at the end of this street and you'll find yourself a nice corner store, here's some change," he reached into his pocket and let a few dollars fall into my palm.
"Just ask anyone if you get lost, tell em' you're looking for Caroline and Daryl's house." Caroline smiled a warm smile at me.
Most of the bike ride, I was trying to look at the beautiful water as I drove past it. The wind in my hair was so relaxing that I almost closed my eyes. Eventually, I turned at the end of the street and there was the corner store that was mentioned.
But when I looked in front of the old building, I immediately recognized the brown van that I'd seen the four teenagers hop into, back in the rich neighbourhood. It was parked outside the run-down store, a few cars behind it.
There were a few men loading crates of beer into their cars on the other side of the road. I tried not to make eye contact with them as I quietly drove my bike over to a bike rack on the road, near the van.
It felt weird to be on the streets and not smell something close to drugs, cigarettes, or garbage every second. There also wasn't too many people, which I wasn't used to. I stepped up on the curb and walked into the corner store, pulling the change out of the back pocket of my jeans. There was barely anyone inside, which was very much different from New York City. I didn't have to bustle through a crowd to get to the vending machine.
It was the first thing I saw— the vending machine, it's fluorescent colors catching my eye. Every drink was unrecognizable to me. So, I searched for the most common thing I knew. Sliding in my money, a thud came from the bottom of the machine and I bent down to grip my hand around the cold can. Turning around, I looked at a rack of magazines.
"Hey," a voice called out, causing me to lift my head up. "Uh, Cherry Cola,"
It was a teenage boy, about my age, with wavy brown hair, bright hazel eyes, wearing swim shorts and a cream button-down shirt that showed some of his chest. A worn out, pink SnapBack hat covered some of his hair. He looked oddly familiar.
I assumed he was speaking to me when I looked down at the can in my hand, which read "Cherry Cola" on the front.
"Shit," I mumbled to myself, noticing that I'd picked the wrong drink.
"Your bike is in front of my car." he said, standing in front of the exit door.
I breathed out a breath of air, realizing that it was going to be my first encounter with a local on this island. "I'm sorry," was all I said, standing still.
"Well you wanna move it?" He said, with an attitude. He narrowed his dark eyebrows at me.
"Yeah, okay," I tried to sound kind, though I couldn't help but let hints of annoyance slip through.
"Now?" he ordered, as if I didn't hear him.
"Jeez, I'm going," I side-eyed him as I brushed past his body and left the corner store, my drink in hand. I didn't hold the door open for him, and I completely forgot about making a good first impression, as I proceeded to walk straight for Caroline's bike. I saw him stepping up towards his van from the corner of my eye.
I placed my un-opened can on the curb next to the bike rack, and gripped the bicycle handles harshly. I pulled, but the bike didn't move. It was somehow stuck in the rack, and I was making a fool of myself in front of this boy, quickly trying to get it out.
"Look, Cherry Cola," he said, leaning a hand on the side of his dirty van, "I don't know who you are, but I've got places to be."
"My bike is stuck." I claimed, glancing to him with hard eyes. I was embarrassed that the first person I met— other than my grandparents —was witnessing me being a complete idiot. "It's not my fault." I groaned out.
"Well, maybe you should've parked your bike somewhere else." He clapped back, his tone of voice annoyed and sarcastic.
With a strong jerk upwards, the bike finally came loose. I let it fall against the rack as I picked up my drink and stepped towards him, grimacing. "Well maybe you shouldn't have parked your stupid van behind a damn bike rack." I shoved the can of Cherry Cola into his chest and turned away.
As I hopped on Caroline's bike and started pedalling away in a fit of rage, he called out from behind me.
"Hey! What's your name!" He shouted, his voice no longer annoyed, rather humorous. When I didn't reply, he continued, "Or should I just call you Cherry Cola?"
I didn't look back as I turned the corner.
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