Home in Texas

Scarlett maneuvers through the busy airport, weaving in between people, and retrieves her suitcase. She holds rental car keys in her softened hand, and makes her way to another car, this time a Camaro. A smile forms on her pleased face; admiring the car like it’s an attractive man. A sigh escapes her lungs. Exiting the rental car parking lot with ease, she guides the dark blue Camaro down a busy road. Scarlett finds a spot to capture the city skyline and bridges. The blue lights remind her where she is. A place of seldom visits, a Texas city, nonetheless. One of the largest featuring McMansions, large buildings, and shopping centers galore.

The first time Scarlett recalls ice skating, she remembers the pink sweatpants with white snowflakes, the elastic band wrapping around the sole of her foot to keep them tucked in to her ice skates. She mistakenly grazes her finger along the blade, not realizing how sharp it was. Blood drips out, like a paper cut. “Mom, I cut myself.” Scarlett turns to her mother, Margaret. “Darling, you weren’t supposed to touch that.” Margaret quickly cleans Scarlett’s finger with a tissue from the black fanny pack around her waist. The cold air from the rink rises, and surrounds Scarlett, she stands, zipping her jacket then looks at her siblings. They begin skating. The metal blades cut through the ice leaving a trail of thin scrapes. Scarlett glances up, the cathedral style mall ceiling, blue glass, sparkles in the sun like a prism. The smell of cookies and pizza drift her way, she breathes in the aroma, evoking hunger.

Scarlett refocuses by the exterior of the mall, snapping out of childhood nostalgia-smiles at the memory. She reviews the maps on her phone, aware of toll roads and numerous highways. Scarlett glances at her open notebook, reading the written words-places to see while in Dallas area. Sunday and Monday, favorite lakes, kayaking, barbeque. Flight on Monday evening.

Just a summary of what to do.

Sunday

Sailboats, and kayaks rest on white rock lake’s dark blue surface. A cool breeze in the warm Texas sun, brings Scarlett relief. A stream of grey smoke trails from barbeque pits in the green space surrounding the lake. The pleasant aroma of barbeque fills her nose. Scarlett sits in the kayak, watching the sun shimmer on the lake, drips of water trickle back to the lake as the oars raise up. A medium sized pink wet dry bag beholds her camera in between shots of the lake scene. The day passes on while the woman marvels and soaks up the sun.

Day turns to evening, the sun has set, leaving a hint of golden light, dark clouds with green painted skies. Scarlett realizes, a storm is rolling through. She planned this without weather considerations months ago. An alert of her phone, chimes. A tornado watch appears for several areas in Dallas. She examines the storm zones and quickly propels herself to her rental car. She types in the hotel address near Frisco, in her GPS. Along the way, clouds menace, a circular clouds forms, the storm has moved her way. Scarlett driving along a rural road, the plains surround her, it’s dark, she can’t see well beyond the paved drive illuminated by her headlights. Lighting strikes, barely showing the fields surrounding the road. She glances to each side, looking for signs of a tornado forming. Her GPS has derailed her route, placing her on a back road, abandoned by others, passing cars are scarce. Then she hears it, the sound of a loud whining wind tunnel, almost like a train, behind her to the right. She accelerates the gas pedal, hands gripping the steering, knuckles white, her heart begins to race, gusts of winds increase, staying a ninety degree angle from the noise she can’t see. A treacherous drive ends after turning down a road. Population. Businesses. She finds her hotel taking cover away from the windows. She blinks tears of stress away, feeling safer, she can rest now.

Monday

The storm has passed, a warm sunny day resumes. Sitting on a grassy mound near a drooping willow tree with a book and journal. The willow tree is rooted beside the salty lake shore. The sandy lakes are the best if one cannot be at the sea. The salt air, sand, waves come and go. In the distance, children’s laughter is heard. More Barbeque. Kayakers and paddle boarders sit above the water, tubers are floating as well. The barbeque aroma strikes again, awakening hunger for meat smothered in sweet tangy barbeque sauce. It’s settled I will eat some barbeque chicken.

Evening approaches, the sun sets as rosy pink and tangerine fill the sky, reflecting on the water, glistening. Departing the lake at Little Elm, Scarlett obeys the twenty-five mph sign as she searches with her blue sapphire mixed with emerald green eyes, softened yet focused. Barbeque restaurants are popular in Texas. It’s a Texas thing.

She messages her mother, letting her know she will return to the San Antonio area in a few hours. “Mom, I think I drove by a tornado. I was terrified. My GPS took me down a back road, away from civilization, nothing but open fields, plains, the wind picked up and a loud whining, a distinct unlike anything I’ve heard appeared to my right, just behind me. I quickly exited away fortunately.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you are ok! We will see you soon dear. We love you.” Margaret replies to her daughter.

Scarlett relaxes, as the memory brought stress to her mind, feeling her stomach drop, heart throb in her throat, a shakiness appears in her hands. She quickly solidifies her nerves, eradicating the stress resuming a calm demeanor. Resiliency.

A dark blue lifted super duty truck with grippy tires, in spot twenty-eight. Scarlett’s truck awaits her presence. It’s only been a week, but feels like another life occurred without. She climbs in, starting the engine, it rumbles to life. An hours drive, winding hilly roads outside San Antonio from the airport. Her truck tires roll over the gravel dirt road, a bumpy rough ride.

Dust smothers her truck, back in the Texas hill country at her RV. A half occupied grassy and dusty parking lot, beholding RV’s hooked up to power boxes and septic lines.

Her feet, one by one, step on the outstretched metal stairs leading to her home on wheels. She opens the door, bracing her black leather tote over her shoulder, and suitcase in her hand. Scarlett gently releases her belongings, races to freshen up then plops down on her bed. Her own bed, not a hotel bed shared by others, with luxurious sheets, freshly placed, but her bed encompassing a shabby chic look.