long. She is perfection and I’m extremely well photoshopped perfection. Nobody’s going to recognize me from this ad – not when my hair’s in a greasy braid and I’ve worn the same American Eagle sweatshirt for three days. Selena sits up and looks at the page and whistles.
“Wow, they’re really pretty. That blonde one has gorgeous bone structure. I guess that’s why they’re models and not us, huh?”
“You’re really pretty, though,” I insist. Selena laughs and runs her fingers through her hair.
“Not as hot as them.”
For once, I’m like Selena. In that page, I’m just as pretty, if not prettier than her. She said it herself. I’m not the boring girl who studies too much and never goes to parties in that page – I’m someone new, someone beautiful and interesting. The kind of girl Lee would like. I look like a glamorous girl he’d sleep with. I ask Selena if I can tear out the page and she says yes. I fold it and put it in my wallet under my driver’s license.
That weekend, Mom asks me to come up and help clear out Grandpa’s house. And I agree.
It’s time to visit the creek.
~~~
Grandpa’s farmhouse is the same as ever – the whitewash peeling and the veranda crammed with dilapidated chairs and tables. The grass is tall and yellow, the garden shriveled. Grandpa would be disgusted by the way it looks. To him, the garden was like a third grandchild. The sunflower field is dead and cold, the stalks brown and broken, but the outline of the rows can be seen as they spread all the way to the gulch, where the creek is.
Mom and Dad’s van is parked crooked. I park and get out – following the telltale sounds of boxes being dropped and Riley’s high-pitched voice whining to the garage. It’s open, junk spilling out; an old kayak, a tablesaw, boxes of tools and books and old clothes, a molding dollhouse, and hundreds of musty-smelling Christmas decorations. And that’s just a fraction of what’s in the basement. Riley moans about a pulled muscle as he hefts a box onto a pyramid of them and mouths at me; ‘ run while you can ’. I wave hi to Mom sorting through the clothes. Dad inches a coatrack out of the garage and into the dumpster they’ve rented, dusts his hands off, and smiles at me.
“Hey, kid. How was traffic?”
“Not bad.” I zip my jacket up against the cold. “Can I help?”
“Sure. I was just about to go up and make us some cocoa – nothing fancy, just the instant kind. Could you do that?”
“But I want to lift with the boys!” I tease.
“Oh, you’ll lift whether you like it or not.” He chuckles, and wipes dust off his forehead. “But if Riley doesn’t get a pick-me-up of sugar in the next five minutes, I think he might start screaming.”
I salute and run up to the porch. The house is quiet, the dark hardwood floors and colorful throw rugs seem dull and faded in comparison to when I was a kid. The same dog-pee smelling couch sits in front of the widescreen TV, and the cracked oak dining table is piled high with candles, paper plates, photo albums, and other odds and ends. I slip into the kitchen and am greeted by a familiar face, salt-and-pepper hair shining slickly in the light.
“Farlon?”
Farlon turns, eyes narrowing and a smile forcing its way onto his face. He’s leafing through a photo album with a tanned hand.
“Ah, Rose. I presume you’re here to help your family with the garage?”
“Yeah. And you?” I try to sound polite.
“Brett insisted I come here and claim some of the things James left for my father should he have died first. He didn’t, but the objects are willed to our family all the same.” Farlon’s smile grows. “Lee is not coming, if that was a concern of yours.”
“No, it’s not.” I shake my head and pull out mugs, filling them with milk and piling them in the microwave. I watch Farlon out of the corner of my eye.
“You need not be so suspicious of me,” Farlon laughs. “I apologize for my earlier
“Wow, they’re really pretty. That blonde one has gorgeous bone structure. I guess that’s why they’re models and not us, huh?”
“You’re really pretty, though,” I insist. Selena laughs and runs her fingers through her hair.
“Not as hot as them.”
For once, I’m like Selena. In that page, I’m just as pretty, if not prettier than her. She said it herself. I’m not the boring girl who studies too much and never goes to parties in that page – I’m someone new, someone beautiful and interesting. The kind of girl Lee would like. I look like a glamorous girl he’d sleep with. I ask Selena if I can tear out the page and she says yes. I fold it and put it in my wallet under my driver’s license.
That weekend, Mom asks me to come up and help clear out Grandpa’s house. And I agree.
It’s time to visit the creek.
~~~
Grandpa’s farmhouse is the same as ever – the whitewash peeling and the veranda crammed with dilapidated chairs and tables. The grass is tall and yellow, the garden shriveled. Grandpa would be disgusted by the way it looks. To him, the garden was like a third grandchild. The sunflower field is dead and cold, the stalks brown and broken, but the outline of the rows can be seen as they spread all the way to the gulch, where the creek is.
Mom and Dad’s van is parked crooked. I park and get out – following the telltale sounds of boxes being dropped and Riley’s high-pitched voice whining to the garage. It’s open, junk spilling out; an old kayak, a tablesaw, boxes of tools and books and old clothes, a molding dollhouse, and hundreds of musty-smelling Christmas decorations. And that’s just a fraction of what’s in the basement. Riley moans about a pulled muscle as he hefts a box onto a pyramid of them and mouths at me; ‘ run while you can ’. I wave hi to Mom sorting through the clothes. Dad inches a coatrack out of the garage and into the dumpster they’ve rented, dusts his hands off, and smiles at me.
“Hey, kid. How was traffic?”
“Not bad.” I zip my jacket up against the cold. “Can I help?”
“Sure. I was just about to go up and make us some cocoa – nothing fancy, just the instant kind. Could you do that?”
“But I want to lift with the boys!” I tease.
“Oh, you’ll lift whether you like it or not.” He chuckles, and wipes dust off his forehead. “But if Riley doesn’t get a pick-me-up of sugar in the next five minutes, I think he might start screaming.”
I salute and run up to the porch. The house is quiet, the dark hardwood floors and colorful throw rugs seem dull and faded in comparison to when I was a kid. The same dog-pee smelling couch sits in front of the widescreen TV, and the cracked oak dining table is piled high with candles, paper plates, photo albums, and other odds and ends. I slip into the kitchen and am greeted by a familiar face, salt-and-pepper hair shining slickly in the light.
“Farlon?”
Farlon turns, eyes narrowing and a smile forcing its way onto his face. He’s leafing through a photo album with a tanned hand.
“Ah, Rose. I presume you’re here to help your family with the garage?”
“Yeah. And you?” I try to sound polite.
“Brett insisted I come here and claim some of the things James left for my father should he have died first. He didn’t, but the objects are willed to our family all the same.” Farlon’s smile grows. “Lee is not coming, if that was a concern of yours.”
“No, it’s not.” I shake my head and pull out mugs, filling them with milk and piling them in the microwave. I watch Farlon out of the corner of my eye.
“You need not be so suspicious of me,” Farlon laughs. “I apologize for my earlier
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