This is my first story here, I hope you like it! Reviews are most welcome and enjoy!
The music plays just the way I like it – loud. I spin, dance, do moves I learned from old music videos, all in my frumpy pyjamas, pretending to be a famous actress turn singer who models in her spare time and who everyone loves. Hey, if you’re going to have a fantasy, you had better go all-out, right? Starting to sing along with the music, I don’t notice as my brother steps inside my door, quiet as a mouse. I’m too busy dancing and singing until I take one too many steps back and knock both of us onto the polished mahogany floor. I realise who I’m sitting on and jump off him, backing away until I trip over an ottoman and land on the floor myself – again. I get up, my cheeks in competition with lava, smooth out my hair and begin to speak.
“Hey Tom. Look, I’m just about to have a shower, so…?” I motion towards the door. Any excuse to get him to leave.
“No such luck. You go have your shower, I’ll make pancakes,” Tom replies.
“I haven’t got the ingredients,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll make cereal.”
I bite my lip. Tom knows me too well to not know that I always have at least seven boxes of cereal at all times.
“Fine. You can stay. But not for too long.”
“Yeah, yeah. You go have your shower.”
I don’t actually want a shower. I had already had one. I turn the tap in the bathroom on, silently apologizing to the planet, and change into a top and jeans. Just for fun, I slip on a black waistcoat, even though it’s just asking for trouble. Hoping that it had been on enough to make it seem like I’d had a shower, I wet my hair and hands, wipe my hands on my face and then half-wipe it with a towel. Then I slip on my new sandals and walk into the kitchen, where my brother has succeeded in mixing all ten types of cereal I had this morning in one bowl.
“This is pretty good,” he says; his mouth full.
“Tom, you are disgusting.”
“What?”
“You forgot milk.”
I make myself a similar bowl, fill both of our bowls with milk and sit down to eat. I finish in two minutes; Tom finds it more interesting to balance Cheerios on his spoon.
“Come on, Tom. I have to leave in twenty minutes. I’m not leaving you here.”
“Need I remind you that I am the older sibling here?” He replies, struggling to get his tongue out of a B-ring.
“Then act like it. Just eat the stupid cereal.”
“Okay, okay! I’m eating, I’m eating.”
Annoyed at having to babysit my older brother, I trudge into my bedroom and check my email. There is a whole bunch of work I should be doing. Good, nothing important. When I return the cereal bowl is half empty. Tom sees me and shovels the rest into his mouth. He stands up and salutes. I pull a face and wash the bowls. Tom sits on the chair and watches TV, blaring away to the tune of some cartoon theme.
“Turn that thing down!” I say.
“No way!” He calls back, scraping earwax from his right ear. I cringe.
I storm over and turn it down myself.
“Do you know how loud your CD was when I came in?” Tom asks. He flicks his wax onto my newly polished floor.
“Don’t know, don’t care. This is my place, my rules,” I turn my back on him, bending over the sink. Tom responds in his usual elegant manner. A grunt.
After I had finally finished the dishes and shoved Tom out the door, I lean against it and breathe a sigh of relief. Usually Tom isn’t that easy to get rid of. I glance at the clock. Two minutes. I dash to my bedroom, pick a handbag (an oversized silver one), give my hair a quick brush, decide it’s too flat, tease it, shove my house and car keys into my bag and race down to the car park.
On the road, most of the stress is gone. The closer I get to the airport, the more excited I get. Butterflies start up in my stomach. Then they get bigger. Pretty soon I’m wondering if they’re actually butterflies. A couple of minutes before the turnoff to the airport I’m convinced they’re bullfrogs – and big ones at that. I switch the radio on and off, needing company, then hating the song selection. Finally the big blue sign comes into view: “AIRPORT – NEXT LEFT”. Turning smoothly, finding a pay booth, swearing at the price, forking it over and searching for what seems like hours. Finally finding a spot, right in the sun, but not caring. Checking my phone and running into the terminal. There's only a small crowd at the bag pickup, and he's waiting there.
I stop running. Just seeing Luke again melts me. He’s looking around, arms folded, obviously annoyed at waiting so long. He looks straight at me and his arms drop to his sides. I run to him and we embrace. He kisses the top of my head, my forehead, my nose, my lips. It feels so right to be with him again. After eighteen months overseas Luke is back. I am whole again.
“Come on, we have to get home,” he says and lets go. I do the same.
We find the car, get burned inside the baked piece of metal and make our way home. I don’t stop smiling.
.
