Home in Texas

Scarlett maneuvers through the busy Dallas airport, weaving between the crowds of travelers, and retrieves her suitcase from the carousel. The keys to her rental car rest in her softened hand, cool metal against her palm, and she makes her way toward the vehicle—a sleek Camaro waiting for her in the garage. A smile forms on her face. She admires the car like its an attractive man. A sigh escapes her lungs, equal parts relief and anticipation; the exhaustion of travel finally giving way to something lighter. She exits the rental car lot with practiced ease, guiding the Camaro down a busy road that hums with the rhythm of a city she barely knows.

Before long, Scarlett finds a spot to capture the skyline and bridges stretching across the water. Their silhouettes cut sharp lines against the evening sky. The blue lights scattering across the horizon remind her exactly where she is—not home, but familiar, something close enough to feel like a sense of comfort. A place of seldom visits, this Texas city, nonetheless, greets her with a quiet grandeur. One of the largest, featuring sprawling McMansions, towering buildings, and shopping centers galore, all glittering under the fading light as if putting on a show just for her. She lingers a moment longer, letting the familiar skyline settle into her memory.

Scarlett parks the Camaro, gazing at the mega mall while the air conditioning blows full blast. Her auburn curls lifting slightly in the cool current of air that brushes her cheeks. For a moment, she simply lets herself breathe. She studies the exterior of the mall, its familiar facade sparking a wave of childhood nostalgia. A smile lingers on her lips, unbidden, as fragments of memory surface—her mother's hand wraps around hers.

Scarlett's first memory of ice skating begins with the pink sweatpants she wore, dotted with white snowflakes, an elastic band wrapping around the sole of her foot to keep the fabric tucked into her ice skates. She fidgets with the laces, impatient to get onto the ice, when her finger accidentally grazes the blade. She hadn't realized how sharp it was. Blood drips out, like a paper cut and a sharp sting follows.

“Mom, I cut myself,” Scarlett says, turning to her mother, Margaret, her voice wavering between shock and calm.

“Darling, you weren't supposed to touch that,” Margaret replies. She kneels down wiping Scarlett's finger with a tissue pulled from the fanny pack around her waist. Her hands move with practiced calm, the kind only a mother of three could manage, and she presses a small kiss to the top of Scarlett's head before standing again.

The cold air from the rink rises and surrounds Scarlett, prickling against her cheeks. She stands, zipping her jacket up to her chin, and glances at her siblings, already lacing up their skates. A flicker of determination replaces her earlier fear, and she steps toward the ice, wobbling but resolute.

The metal blades cut through the surface, leaving behind a trail of thin, silvery scrapes, and the rhythmic scratch of skates fills the air. Scarlett glances up at the ceiling; a cathedral-style. It’s sapphire glass sparkling in the sun like a prism, scattering fractured light across the ice below. She feels small beneath it, in the best way, like she's skating inside a snow globe. The mingled scent of cookies and pizza drifts her way, and she breathes in the aroma, feeling hunger stir. Though she doesn't want to leave the ice. Not yet.

Taking a breath, she pulls herself back to the present, a faint smile remains while focusing on her surroundings. There's so much to do, and not enough time. She opens the maps app on her phone, tracing the toll roads and tangled highways that stretch across the city in a chaotic web of lines. The scale of it all makes her pause—so many routes, so little time, and somewhere in that sprawl, the answers she needs.

She flips open her notebook next, scanning the list of places she's jotted down for her time in the Dallas area. Sunday and Monday are the days she has here. She's has circled her favorites: the lakes she's been yearning to visit, kayaking in the early morning light, and of course, real Texas barbeque before she leaves. Her flight departs Monday evening. She feels a flicker of excitement. There's something thrilling about packing so much life into so few days.

Just a summary of what to do.

Sunday’s morning begins with sailboats and kayaks resting on the rippling surface of White Rock Lake. A cool breeze cuts through the warmth of the Texas sun. Scarlett finds relief from the heat that has clung to her skin since morning. Grey smoke trails from barbecue pits scattered across the green space surrounding the lake. The pleasant aroma fills her nose, mixing with the earthy scent of the water. She rests in her kayak, watching the sunlight paint golden shimmers across the lake's surface. Drips of water trickling back down as she raises the oars. A wet-dry bag holds her camera between shots of the glistening scene. She reaches for it often, chasing the perfect angle of light on water. The day passes slowly as she marvels at her surroundings, soaking up the sun and the quiet, letting her thoughts drift with the gentle rocking of the kayak.

Day turns to evening. The sun sets, leaving behind a hint of golden light beneath dark clouds and skies painted an eerie green. Scarlett's stomach tightens as she realizes a storm is rolling through. A storm she had not accounted for when she planned this trip. Months earlier, back when the forecast had seemed a distant, abstract thing. Her phone chimes with an alert: a tornado watch for several areas in Dallas. Her pulse quickens as she scans the message. She examines the storm zones on the map before propelling herself toward her rental car. Her calm evaporating into a low hum of anxiety. She types the address of her hotel near Frisco into her GPS, hands trembling. Along the way, the clouds grow menacing, and snarling. The storm has moved directly into her path, and she feels the first flicker of real fear settle into her chest.

Driving along a rural road, Scarlett finds herself surrounded by dark plains, the night pressing in close. She can't see far beyond the paved drive illuminated by her headlights, and the isolation makes her chest tighten further. Lightning strikes, briefly revealing the fields around her before plunging everything back into blackness. She glances from side to side, searching for signs of a forming tornado, her breath shallow and quick. Her GPS has led her astray, routing her onto a back road abandoned by other travelers; passing cars grow scarce, then disappear altogether, leaving her alone. Then she hears it: a loud, whining wind tunnel, and almost like a train, rumbling somewhere behind her to the right. Panic surges through her. She presses harder on the gas pedal, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her heart races as gusts of wind batter the car, and she fights to hold a ninety-degree angle away from the sound she cannot see, praying silently that the distance is enough. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, she disregards them forcing herself to focus on the road ahead.

The treacherous drive finally ends as she turns down a road lined with signs of civilization: a population marker, scattered businesses and the comforting glow of streetlights. Relief floods through her, so sudden and overwhelming it nearly steals her breath. She finds her hotel and hurries inside, taking cover away from the windows, her legs shaking as she sinks into a chair. She blinks away tears of stress, the adrenaline slowly draining from her body, and for the first time in what feels like hours, she allows herself to breathe deeply. Feeling safer at last, she closes her eyes, grateful simply to rest.