Home is Too Far Away

The rhythmic beat of the wipers added to the din of the heavy rain pounding the surfaces of the car. Visibility was poor. The view an intermittent blur of shiny black reflections. Foams of ground spray from the other vehicles violently assaulted them. The wind buffeted them, rocking the older car on its road-weary suspension. The wind becoming visible as sheets of heavy rain whipped before the back lighting of halogen streetlamps.

"I think it's letting up." Audrey said, squinting through the windshield. The humid atmosphere in the car fogged the windscreen as she swiped at it with a wad of McDonald napkins.

Another gust of wind rocked the car. "Yeah, right." The slouching passenger replied. "You want any help putting the top down?"

Audrey threw the wet napkins at her younger brother. He deftly deflected them with his forearm. "You're such a dick!" she said in frustration.

"I'm just sick of the rain." he replied, defeat softening his response, causing him to sink deeper into his slouch.

It had been raining for two days, now. Ever since they had gotten the call from their father . . . telling them about the accident . . . and Mom. It was all so stupid! Nobody died that way; slipping on a wet spot in the mall and snapping your neck on a decorative planter. What a stupid way to die.

So Audrey and Rick, two years apart at the same college, threw their stuff into the back of the family's old Wrangler and headed for home. Headed for the funeral. And to see Dad.

Dad wasn't around much after the divorce. Not that he was before, either, but afterwards . . . he just dropped out. He had his job, and that apartment, and that was about it. The last few times Rick or Audrey went to visit him he was drunk and the apartment had been a mess; take out bags and containers and empties were everywhere. They weren't even sure he was still working. But he would be comic-opera polite, ignoring the mess and his own disheveled appearance, acting as if they had been invited to high tea.

When Aud got the call, Dad's voice sounded kind of rough. Like he had been crying or maybe like someone else had just roused him from a binge. She wasn't sure. She thought back to earlier memories of her father . . . and of her mother -- when they were still good. Tears began trickling down her cheeks again. Blurring her vision even further.

She knew nothing ever stayed the same. That people get old and change. But why'd it all have to turn to shit? When Mom left Dad for That Guy, the affair only lasted six months. The damage was lasting a lifetime. And now this.