Jenks thrust his hand out, I peered at it in dismay. Placing the blanket in his hand instead of a warm palm he probably was wishing in return. When I pulled my hand back to my side of the front seat, the chipped glitter nail polish caught light and I didn’t want the task of covering up Winter’s work of art.
“I don’t think it’s trust you need, Jenks.” The heat turns up. Peering out the windshield onto the busy road. Insults aimed at a welcoming entrance, along with the man who stood behind it. I ached to know that affection, wanted to reach out and wrap myself in the comfort he offered. My thoughts go back to one thing; would he be worth losing? Shake those images out of my head; today I can’t weigh the cost of bargaining.
“GPS huh? We both know my father didn’t make any attempts to search and rescue if my name was on the ballot, for reasons I try to understand.” I hesitate in my words, keep the distance from the line of worrying about my father’s ideas of me.
“I remember some of the stories you used to tell in middle school about Winter and you. There was always one I heard most overall; the summer cottage by the lake.” His eyes playing mismatch with mine, uncomfortable with cataloguing my memories with his own.
“After I heard about the accident…accidents, weren’t they? They must have been, right?” Laughs a cold cough, trying to make sense of the situation as best as we can with the clues we are given. I shifted my shoulders up and down, shrugging away from the thought of purposeful fate.
“I went looking for you. Everywhere I could possibly think of, anywhere you would want to be left alone, searching wracking my brain for any possible hints.” Placing his hand on top of mine, it feels unfamiliar, possessive. I’ve held boy's hands before. The heat pressing into my soft skin, I do remember his hands holding mine in a past circumstance. All I recall is that I don’t want to remember anymore, even the good visions of his skin brushing mine, hearts rising and the heat of our bodies turning to each other.
He pulls to a slow, my house in the clearing. Catering to the whimsical, romantic feeling I never did get about that old Victorian house. It wasn’t a home if you invited me to observe, not even a little bit. There were blue and red lights flickering through the cracks and crevasses; who wouldn’t feel at home? Making it come alive in a whole new scheme of things. I relax in seconds of calmness and certainty.
“AJ, you’re home.” Jenkins spoke softly into my eardrum. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you, AJ.” He held me tightly next to his chest; the rain subsided quietly as it had come. My father in view, his voice in range.
“ Autumn Jazmine, how gracious of you to present yourself to the situation. Put her down, Mister Thurgood, she is neither sick nor lame; requiring your assistance any further is discouraged. Thank you for your effort to rescue her, but you have wasted your time on the wrong daughter.” My father looks at me in disgust, my clothing draped around me like a wet curtain from the wreckage of past hurricanes.
“Sir.” Jenkins places me down beside him, whispering to me if I am alright. There is stiffness in his posture and a world of rage as he glares down at the grass. I shake my head in a shiver. The wind prevails tonight, may it survive the eternities, because I won’t.
“Thank you for the ride, have a good night.” I placed the unused towel in his hand, the hand I held. His position wavers only slightly.
“No problem. Call if you need anything.” He gave me a stare that was promising.
My father huffed. “She won’t need the likes of you young man, guaranteed.” Saying with a snarl as he fixed the wrinkle in his collared shirt. Persuading me away from Jenkins and into the billowing storm that would demolish every good thing in our lives.
Locks click into place as the grand door slams behind him. Head lowered in utter shame, he begins to speak in my direction.
"Where have you been, out with that kid?” Again with the nervous tick of fixing his cufflinks, quotations making marks upon marks. Rolling the tentative eyes if I were allowed to express such rebellion.
"Does it matter?” Footsteps stomp toward me with his evil daring eyes.
"Do you think you could be a little less conceited at a time like this, with the passing of your sister?" Demands, nearly spitting the accusation in my face, as he always did. Never mentioning Chatt; he didn’t give a thought or a careful damn about the parents who lost their son along with his daughter.
I keep my eyes steady, hesitating on what exactly I should remark, unblinking tears making me seem vulnerable or weak.
"Do you have any idea what it feels like having to worry about you? You! On top of hearing about Winter dying from something as reckless and stupid as bridge jumping! What the hell was she thinking? Her boyfriend made her careless, and it cost them their lives!" He slammed his hand against the marble table; the matching chairs rippled with the slap.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what that is like; sounds pretty rough. First time at this parental caring trick?" Sarcasm filters through my teeth with words. He is so engulfed into his ranting he doesn't hear my retort; thank goodness for my sake. For the love of Jesus, I swear I almost snort. I must be delirious on sadness because I know what is coming and I would never have spoken this way out loud.
"I knew the match of them was never a grand ideal; I perceived it so!" He paced around the foyer, stomping as he went.
"She isn't stupid, Dad. They had a love for one another, one that no one can deny." I trailed off saying something along the lines of, "You wouldn't know anything about that, though, now would you?" My mistake, hit too close to home? Too soon after your wife left you 10 years ago?
"What did you say to me, young lady?" His face was angry, his movements intentional.
"Well…" I began to say. His hand stopped my words before I could. Too soon to make a joke indeed.
Slap!
"How dare you disrespect me!"
Slap!
Grabbing his hand right before another hit to the other side of my broken face.
"Don't touch me again," I calmly state in thick concrete.
“Just go to your room,” he stated, like I had made the mistake. Like I was the one who had plenty of friends clamoring at my door wishing to partake in the knowledge I could give to them.
In one swift movement, I transformed from the sideline daughter to the one and only daughter. Family and close friends positioning their prized soul mate six feet below the crust of the earth’s surface. Making no interpretation of whether or not they might survive. How well did they even know my beloved sister?
I rolled my young eyes, no sympathy from me to them. She had clearly been a notable figure in others’ eyes; in mine, she was the light in my murky world. Without that light I’m blinded by obscurity, traveling through my own visions of skepticism.
The increments following made us aware we were alone. The house hung hollow and the creaks sang true to the relevancy that we would never hear the sweet melodies Winter chose to share with us. The cold had set in and before long we would be engulfed in frostbite. Our warmth taken away like a blanket in a blizzard. We awoke chattering our teeth. Our shoulders shaking in disbelief, and yet, we will survive. Although we believe the hypothermia has begun to set in, it is our mindset that lets us know we still are roaring heat from within. Reminding us we have time to breathe. We have time to live before it is our time to take that leap that brings us to the Reaper’s door.
Crying out to our God why this had happened, we had no choice but to answer that interrogation for ourselves. Someone to listen to our purpose, someone to calm our agony and remove it from our beautiful minds.