Week 11: Going Home
Your hero used to have a job, but left it behind. What would bring her back?
She had left for a reason. Her dirty blonde hair had turned golden from the sun, her once-pale skin had warmed with the weather, freckles lined her formally spotless nose - but still she was forced to return.
To the cold. To the mountains.
She didn’t think she’d see them again so soon. White snow covered the caps like frosting, glistening in the rare winter sunlight. The temperature was dropping with the star, a current low of 23º.
Her car made the usual squeaking noise as she braked at a stop light, the engine protesting at the constant incline and curve of the mountain road. She glanced to her left and saw the sleepy inhabitants of a local diner, harsh fluorescents beaming down, lighting the room as if it were a stage.
The light turned green and she forced her eyes back on the road, and away from the memories.
She had gotten the call two days prior, right after a day at the beach. Her skin was still warm from the sun, cooking itself, sure to turn to a burn. The ringtone for her father sounded and she answered.
The temperature was dropping faster now as the sun dipped lower than the mountain edges, and she turned her lights on to guide her path. The road was void of passing vehicles so she inched her foot down on the pedal down and flew, her fingers wrapping around the steering wheel as she skidded around corners, keeping pace with the curves and her racing heart. Anything to forget.
He had gotten sick, her mother explained, so she needed to come home to take care of things. Things being, of course, the diner. The lone building that consumed her high school and college years. The smell of grease and bleach penetrated every item of clothing she had owned - she knew every ceiling tile, every fork that was served. She argued at first, claiming they could take care of things without her, but her mother’s silent disapproval turned into deafening guilt, and so she packed up her car and drove away.
It was 632 long miles back home, and it was 632 too many. Every mile she came closer was another mile to remind her of what she was returning to; long days inside away from the sun, forced smiles to customers, serving burger after burger.
As she neared the final turns towards her home, the moon broke through the clouds, the sun long settled on the other side of the planet. Its grey light illuminated the side of the white, unimpressive building, the neon open sign could be seen from blocks away.
She slowed to a stop in front of the building and cranked her car in park, the gear groaning from the effort. Outside of her car the smell of grease was overwhelming, but she found herself surprised at the butterflies that fluttered instead of the expected dread.
She paused, one minute, two, then went inside. A tall man with a grey beard and stained apron glanced up at the entrance, his face splitting in half into the biggest smile she’s seen in 632 miles.
“Welcome home.”