SPFC: No Place Like Home

KAT

“Whatever you choose, however many roads you travel, I hope that you choose not to be a lady. I hope you will find some way to break the rules and make a little trouble out there." - Nora Ephron

The pilot announced the plane’s descent and I swore against a new wave of panic. The utterly charming elderly lady beside me jolted as the filthy words fell from my mouth. Ignoring her completely, I peered around her to peek at Tennessee. It’s green space and gravel roads looked so harmless. Little houses and neighbourhoods scattered the ground below. It looked pleasant from all the way up here. There’s no place like home. At least that’s what Dorothy said and it had gotten her out of the madhouse city of Oz. I wondered if it was true because it would be a good thing if there was no place like home. Closing my eyes, I tried it. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. I didn’t click my heels together because that would have been ridiculous. Cracking open one eye, I was still in the air bound for home.

“Fuckity fuck,” I said with a groan. The octogenarian next to me mumbled something like Sweet Jesus and leaned away like my language might be contagious. I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t have gotten to the age she was without hearing some colourful language. But maybe I was overreacting. Maybe the time away had twisted my memories. And maybe pigs could fly. A man a row over noticed me and I saw the recognition in his eyes as he nudged his wife’s arm on their shared armrest. I saw the murmur and wondered how I’d be described. Look, honey, it’s the pharmacist’s daughter. That would be the best case scenario. From the way her head whipped around to see me, the description was something darker but equally accurate like, Isn’t she the spitting image of that murderous biker’s daughter? When they continued to stare, I raised my eyebrows at them and it sent their gazes scurrying away. I tried to reign in the despair before the old lady or my new friends reported me to the prim and proper flight attendants.

I should never have answered Repo’s calls. I should have said no like a normal adult with healthy boundaries. What was he gonna do? Come and get me? A laugh threatened to bubble out as I realized he would have done just that. I smothered it, knowing I’d seem even crazier if I laughed now. It was a well-earned nickname, he was the club’s repo man. There I was in New York, minding my own business when I got the phone call from Repo. Good old Uncle Repo. Turns out my mom was in a car accident. She’s fine, I’m not a monster, but she’s a bit banged up. He thought it would be a good idea if I came home to see her. There was no suggestion of a timeline but I figured it would be a week tops. He would bargain for longer, I’d say I could only spare three days off college. We would settle on a week… I hoped.

The wheels touching down jostled me out of my musings. I pulled my backpack from under the seat ahead of mine and set it on my lap, ready to go. As soon as the seatbelt sign dinged off, I was up and waiting in the aisle. Normally I despised those eager people, up before the plane’s doors were even open. I didn’t even want to get off the plane but the sooner I did, the sooner I could see my mom and leave town.

Ten stop-and-go minutes later, I had dodged the slow walkers and weaved between luggages to get to the exit, sunlight streaming through the glass. It was near blinding walking out into the sunshine and for all the complaining I did about this place, the air was warm and it made me smile. At least it’s a beautiful day. I scanned the line of idling cars for anything familiar but came up empty. I wasn’t sure if my mom’s car was damaged, but it was possible so she could be here in a friend’s car.I left at least four messages on the house’s machine, there was no way my mom hadn’t gotten them. I’d mentioned all the flight information. I was about to give up and head back inside to phone when I saw him.

At the far end of the pick up zone, stood a man beside his car. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt, nothing special but his brown beard tied it all together into a mountain man feel that did a little something-something for my rural Tennessee roots. The leather vest that sported the club’s patch upped the ante and quickly suppressed any instinctual longing I had for a mountain man. I’d expected my mother or at least Repo. The thought of dealing with other bikers made me frown. I started towards my welcome party but slowed as I realized there were benefits to this not being Repo. I looked towards the taxis briefly, debating what to do. Just as I looked back to make sure he hadn’t seen me yet, the mountain man looked around to check the arrival doors and we locked eyes across the pavement. Oh God, not Jethro Winston.

I can’t explain what happened but I panicked. Full on freaking panicked. A couple walked between us and I ducked down. A rational part of my brain told me I could stand back up and recover from this moment of insanity, I could pretend I was tying my shoe. But I didn’t want to deal with him, with the motorcycle club, with this stupid town. I moved in what can only be described as a crouching crawly walk (definitely a thing) along the side of a waiting minivan, ignoring any strange looks I was getting. My elderly seat-mate walked past and said something that sounded like Good Heavens. If only, lady. I didn’t know Jethro. He’d existed on the periphery of my life for the last few years. Dear to my father and Repo, he was often mentioned in conversation and I imagined him as a loveable Golden Retriever who occasionally stole cars and did bad things.

Popping up a few cars down, I startled a taxi driver by jumping into his backseat. I gave him my address and practically squirmed as he took his sweet time pulling away from the curb. I forced myself not to look, not wanting to risk another second of eye contact. Unable to not know if I’d made a clean getaway, I whipped my head around to see Jethro pulling onto the road behind us. The taxi man was unconcerned with this development. To my dismay, he did not break out into evasive driving manoeuvres to ensure my getaway. Any notion I had about avoiding the club vanished as Jethro caught up to us. Looking out the back window, I cursed the bearded man following us. Jethro waved at me and I couldn’t help it, I gave him the finger. His laugh through the glass was big and lost in the distance between us. I almost smiled, just from the contagious nature of laughter, but remembered who we were and what we were doing.

I thought he might be happy to just follow the taxi home but my heart sank when we caught a red light a few minutes later. Jethro did not stay behind the taxi and instead pulled up beside it and exited his car. The taxi man finally showed some concern as he spied the motorcycle gang patch on Jethro’s leather vest. He shook his head at Jethro and yelled,

“I don’t want any trouble, kid!” Jethro held up his hands like trouble was the last thing on his mind. He gave an easy grin that helped him get out of all sorts of trouble and said,

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I just need to talk to the lady.” The taxi man nodded like this was acceptable. Stepping up to my window, Jethro gestured for me to roll it down. I pretended to try and then shrugged at him when the window didn’t descend. He shook his head at me and put his hands on his hips, but the easy smile was still in place. “I came all this way to give you a ride, Kitten. Let’s stop messing around with the taxi.” I frowned and touched my ear, mouthing the next words soundlessly,

“I can’t hear you.” He laughed and it was crystal clear through the glass.

“I know you can hear me and I know you saw me at the airport.” I pursed my lips together and said nothing. “We made eye contact.” Tired of my games, Jethro reached for the door handle but I pushed the lock button. Widening his eyes at me, at my blatant refusal now, I wondered if he’d turn mean. I could justify being difficult if he proved me right about bikers. He didn’t though. Instead Jethro titled his head and doubled down on his inviting grin, “Come on, Kitten.” Had they sent him on purpose? Because of his abilities to charm taxi men and disgruntled young women?

I shook my head at him as the light turned green and horns honked at the idling taxi. The taxi driver pulled through the intersection as I heard Jethro yell,

“She’s not at home!”

“What?” I responded to the Jethro-less taxi. Tapping the driver’s shoulder, I said, “Sir, please pull over.” He rolled his eyes at me but did as I asked. Opening the door, I looked back to where Jethro stood casually by his car and I yelled across the intersection, “My mom’s not at home?!” He shook his head no. “Where is she then?” He squinted at me and cupped his hand around his ear and shouted,

“I can’t hear you.” I sighed and groaned in defeat. It mixed together into a sad little growl. I held up one finger again, my index this time in a one second gesture before I turned my attention to the cabbie.

“How much do I owe you?” He told me the price and I fished a few bills out of my wallet. He held onto my hand when I passed him the money,

“Honey, this relationship does not seem healthy.” Sure, now he tries to be helpful.

“We’re not…” I started, referring to Jethro and me, but trailed off, acknowledging my relationship with the motorcycle club, “Yeah, I know.” He patted my hand and took the cash. I grabbed my backpack and exited my getaway car.

The crosswalk flashed a red hand and I stopped at the end of the sidewalk as if it was the edge of the world. I was actually a Master of Jaywalking. Not to brag but if it was an Olympic event, I’d be up on that podium teary-eyed while they played the anthem for my gold medal. It was one of the things I’d excelled most at living in a bigger city. The road was completely clear but waiting here served as a final moment to myself. Jethro made a point of looking at his watch. I pointed at the Don’t Walk symbol and shrugged at him. Rules are rules.