April Flash #18

based on prompts by:

Amygdala: what a bummer this was; how bout happy happy joy joy; maybe next time

Haredawg: There’s flies in the kitchen; she kept records; it just doesn’t get any better than this

I avoided homecomings like the plague, typically. Comes from being raised in a family where dysfunction is too kind a term – we look up to dysfunctional families, aspiring to their levels of normalcy, compared to us.

My plan was to take a cab from the airport to the old homestead, but I was met instead with a thunderstorm, soaking me through to the bone less than a minute after stepping outside. What a bummer this was. Oh well, maybe next time. I shrugged it off, swimming with my luggage to the curb, finding an empty cab and hopping in.

My mom greeted me with her typical tears, my dad with a robust and hearty (and painful) slap on the back. My sister, with the family photo albums scattered here and there all over the floor – she had kept records of these things. No one else did. Why bother? What was there to keep records of anyway? I had my fill of pictures just glancing over in that general direction, and decided to avoid that part of the room like the plague as well. I made my way towards the back of the house, being stopped by poor aunt Louisa, bypassing me on my steady plot towards the back “there’s flies in the kitchen, dear” she said.

I nodded and smiled politely – what else was I supposed to do? There were flies everywhere – that was what life was here. I passed the tv room, cousins strewn about the floor propped up, watching tv reruns – some shit from a cartoon about happy or joy – yeah whatever – how about happy happy joy joy in this craphole. Only a few more hours to go.

I surprised myself really, sitting down at the kitchen table, with a deep gouge in the wood – a marking of something I ought to remember. Vaguely. It looked like initials. My sister had crept in behind me, and I now found her hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my brother standing there as well. It was the initials of all of us – the day I had turned 14 and ran away in the first place. We carved a piece of ourselves on this table so we wouldn’t forget we were always family – always siblings, always something. I found myself crying suddenly, quite unexpected. Tears trickled into the gouge in the wood, and I was smiling too – both at once, complete opposite feelings that I not only understood but welcomed. In that moment, for the first time in possibly my whole life, I felt welcomed home. It just doesn’t get any better than this, soaked clothes, swimming suitcase, a house full of memories I’d prefer to forget and all. Welcome to what I call family.

new prompts: “you’re everything and you’re nothing at all”; trees swaying silent; easter hill