Independence Day

The gentle vibration from her phone rattled her from her liquor induced coma. It was her mom. The “you disappoint me” look staring at her from the caller ID, demanding she meet her high expectations. Reminding her of what she didn’t miss. Jordyn pressed END, sending mom to voicemail, something she should be used to. Didn’t she know that drinks were half price last night? She returned her seat to an upright position as her eyes adjusted to the 8 AM sun.

Thump, thump, thump. Her head whipped toward where the noise came from. She smiled, uneasy. Her head felt like something was pressing against her forehead, trying to crack bone and break free. She wished that her lemon air freshener would hurry up and kick in stronger to cover up any incriminating scents.

“Good morning” Jordyn said, her voice not yet tuned and ready for human interaction.

“Hello ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to move your car” the officer said.

“Sure. I was just leaving. The storm last night was crazy. I figured that my best bet was to pull over and wait it out. I happened to fall asleep though.” All she saw was his torso. She didn’t make an effort to look up, and he didn’t make an effort to lean down. The cop sighed and she took that as a sign that he could care less about her story. His job was to get the roadways clear so that the ice salt could be spread out and that traffic could go back to normal. With a thank you, she revved her engine, the signature two times to get it started, and proceeded to merge onto the early morning roads. As always, she sang along to the same 10 songs in rotation on the radio. She could feel the rawness of the liquor after taste in her throat. Speeding home, she checked her phone for messages other than her mother’s. Her mom had text her. “When you get a chance” it said.

Exit 31 A came a lot sooner than she had expected. She got over two lanes to her right, ignoring speeding limits and turning signals that the law required. Her phone, codename tracking device, rang again.

“We need to talk” her sister Taylor said. Straight to business.

“Go ahead. I’m just heading home now.” Jordyn winced, immediately wishing she could take that statement back.

“Would it kill you to come home?” Jordyn parked the car and turned the rumbling engine off. Oil change, she thought ignoring her sister altogether. “Great. So I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“A little bit? You want me to come over now?” She slammed the car door accidentally and looked apologetically at it before hitting the lock button 3 times.

“It’s important. You’re not doing anything anyway. You just said you were going home” Taylor nagged. Her voice was echoing; she was in the bathroom with the phone on speaker.

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.” But Taylor had already hung up.

Jordyn walked up her apartment’s wobbly staircase. Four flights to her floor. The life of an unknown artist. Her purse loosely hung onto her shoulder, long enough to make a crash landing in the middle of her hallway: a five step divide between her living room and her bedroom. She went into the bathroom and for the first time, saw the monstrosity that had become her appearance. The cover up had smudged, clashing with the lip color and the mascara crumbles. She was a blotchy clown. The blended shades, now a layer, or two, of waxy mush, the color of 10 crayons scribbled together in her wash cloth. Staring, she broke down her reflection into shapes and lines, shadows and negative space. Mental note 2: fix lightbulb. By the time she would remember, the dim one glowing now would be flickering. With one more onceover she dashed to her room to look for yesterday’s jeans. When she found them, strewn in her closet, she spritzed it with perfume, ignoring the dark mystery spot on the front of her left thigh. Still no urgency in her preparation, she brushed her teeth, made a strawberry and peanut butter sandwich, and grabbed her easel, pencils, oil pastels and charcoal. Just an outline. She just wanted to capture herself enough so that when she got back from her family reunion she could come back to the look, the feeling.

Once back in the bathroom, she positioned the easel slightly passed the sink so that she could see both her reflection and paper, allowing the mirror to guide her hand. Her mediums sat in the sink in a pile, almost to the rim. Mixed media. Who said that one piece had to be only charcoal or only pencil. Life is not one anything. She picked up the 3B graphite pencil, tilted her head the way that she wanted it pictured and after motioning a few circles that are proportionate to her head, made her first mark. The first blemish on clean paper was critical, it set the tone for her process. If it wasn’t right, she’d scrap the whole thing; Jordyn was superstitious that way.

The last time she drew was her annual portrait of her dad that she made last week. Every year since she was 18, she would draw him as she suspected he would look from year to year. Her annual distortions of how he would age. Gray hair. A little weight. Fresh haircut. Scruffy. Smile. No smile. Blackened lips from years of smoking. He didn’t know that she knew, but she always smelled it on him. It drove mom crazy. Everything about him did but she loved him then. Once he left she would never compromise getting her way again. The soft pencil Jordyn was using was worn down over halfway by the time she had finished her stencil. Looking into her sink, she grabbed her charcoal sticks, took one and covered the whole outline in a coat of gray. She was not the focus; the beauty was in the mess of her makeup, the collage of color.

She’d drawn her mom once. It took three days just to get a good foundation. Her hands never settled and every draft looked different. Jordyn looked in the mirror. Her hand paused. She looked at the picture so far. It was changing, she had to stop thinking about her mom. Stepping out of her hotbox of creativity, she went to find music. Music would suppress the thoughts. Her phone was blinking in false panic. I’m late, I know.

When she finally felt that she was in a good place to walk away, Jordyn returned her purse to her shoulder and left for her former home. A two bedroom, two bathroom house. Muddy red colored bricks. Two floors, surrounded by trees. That’s how Jordyn described her home, like a realtor not pressed to make a sale. If the trees covered the front yard too, people would surely think that the house was hiding from something. It was still a bit icy outside. She always hated that about her house. They were on the side of the street that never got the best exposure to the sun. So while snow days were great for school cancelations, their house still looked like an igloo, while the Robertson’s house across the street, looked like the perfect spring solution to cabin fever. Jordyn parked along the side of the street, with no intention to stay long. She gave a warning knock and then let herself in with her key. The inside was always kept cold because her mom “had her own thermometer” as they always used to joke. Mom never seemed to mind Menopause though. They just had to constantly suffer the air conditioning.

Her sister came downstairs in a long t-shirt the minute she heard the door move. “One hour, huh?” Taylor took position in the standoff as Jordyn locked the door. “Are those my pants?” Taylor added.

Jordyn shrugged. Her eyes jumped around to take in all the details in her range. They both anticipated who would break the silence first.

“I graduate this year. So when are you going to move back into the house?”

Jordyn fidgeted, shifting her weight to her right hip.

“You promised Jordyn! I’ve taken care of mama since you’ve been in school. Even since daddy left. You never played your part.” She was standing now, pacing as she ranted. Jordyn’s body was facing away from her.

“Look. I know what I said, but I’m in no position to take care of her. I don’t live the way mama lives or how she would want me to live. She’d drive me nuts. It’s why I left in the first place. And when would I have time to work?”

“Finger painting? Or do you mean a real job?”

Jordyn chuckled; her mom had being throwing art under the bus since she declared her major. It didn’t hurt anymore. Their eyes connected for the first time. Taylor never believed in art as a career. Not like Computer Technology, which she planned to major in. She’d been everything their mother wanted her to be, while Jordyn screwed up and made mom take out thousands of dollars in loans because she just had to go to Emerson College in Boston. Taylor never understood why their mom never pushed Jordyn as hard as she pushed her. Maybe she gave up on her.

“Remember when you came home plastered after prom? You broke mama’s favorite painting of the lady playing violin.”

Jordyn rolled her eyes. “That was like 5 years ago.”

“I covered for you. You can paint anywhere. She doesn’t need to be hovered over. Just make sure she takes her meds and keep an eye on her. You would think that you had to change her diaper or something.”

“Stop yelling. Where’s mom?” Jordan said.

“She went to the store.”

“No she didn’t. The car’s still in the driveway.” As Taylor went to verify that her sister wasn’t lying, Jordyn pulled out her phone and saw three new calls from her mom. That would make seven calls that she missed since she woke up this morning. Her mother usually didn’t call more than three times. Jordyn had just figured that Taylor and her mom were teaming up on her to get her home faster. She called her voicemail, typed her password and listened: Static. Some words that she couldn’t make out. Her name in her mother’s voice then nothing. She instinctively played it again.

Taylor was shuffling upstairs calling out to her mom. “Mama? Mom?”

“She called me” Jordyn said, in a tone that her sister couldn’t hear.

“She said she was going to the store” Taylor called, coming back down the stairs. “Maybe she went for a walk? I was in the shower—maybe I heard wrong.” She took a peek out of the front door window. Taylor crossed her arms, staring at her sister who was holding up her phone to her ear. “Some feedback would be helpful, Jordyn.”

“Shut. Up. Taylor.” Jordyn looked up from her phone. “Please” she pleaded. The static from the receiver broke the silence when she put her phone on speaker.

“Well, that doesn’t tell us anything. We should check the neighborhood.”

Jordyn shushed her and played it one more time. “Listen.”

“It’s just static. Did you even try calling her back?”

Her sister chuckled, shook her head and put her phone to her ear. It rings. Then it goes to voicemail. “Hey mom. Sorry I missed your calls. We’re playing phone tag. But I’m at the house. Where are you? See you soon. Love you.” She hung up.

Taylor had grabbed her phone and was getting the same ring to voicemail. She hung up with a huff. “I still say that we check the neighborhood.”

“Are you worried?” Jordyn called from the kitchen.

“Aren’t you?”

Jordyn shrugged as her sister rounded the corner and met her eyes. “Her phone is on. We’re not getting ransom notes. This is her neighborhood; I doubt that she needs rescuing.” She offered her sister a coconut water, holding it above the open refrigerator door.

Taylor positioned to catch it and did just before the refrigerator door closed. She looked down at her phone and then back at her sister. She called her mom’s phone again, with the same outcome.

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”