The door of the car clicked shut, Cherry's keys jingled on their ring as she pushed the key into the ignition, sitting back in the driver's seat of the used, red, '99 Pontiac Grand Am GT, without starting it.
"Alright, we're in the car. I'm listening."
Hutch took a moment, preoccupied by the gaudy red accents on the otherwise black interior, and the fuzzy, pink dice dangling from the rearview mirror.
"Where would you like me to begin?" he asked, leaning forward to tap his fingers upon the dashboard.
"Why are you acting like you've never been in a car before?"
"Oh, sorry. It's not that I don't remember, it's just been a long time for me," he replied, sitting back, and turning to look at her. "Twenty years or there abouts, to be more precise."
"Seriously? Grow up, Hutch. I don't have time for this, and frankly, I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."
"It's not bullshit. I am being serious, even if I don't expect you to believe me. However, I do expect you to listen, even if it makes no sense to you. I'm not the same person I was last time I saw you. I don't even remember what we were arguing about, but I know I left, and I remember walking into the woods behind our home. The next thing I remember is waking up in the back of a wagon covered over in straw. The sun was shining and there were three moons visible during the day. Two were twice the size of the one here. At night, three more would appear and move across the sky. And there were enough stars in that night sky to create a ribbon of near solid light from one horizon to the other." He paused and stared down at his hands, finding it difficult to speak about the world he'd been removed from. "The people I was with called it Euvhalon, the cradle of life, and believed that each of the moons was the remains of a god who had died and was waiting to be reborn. Illimev, was the name of the one we lived on. It was the word for home in some ancient language. I grew up there with a man, Ghan'dono, who became my father and his daughter, Kahlala, who became my xalgar. Their sort of equivalent to a wife. Yesterday, we attacked the city of Qor'ropi to stop the countries leader. He was a merciless tyrant, responsible for the eradication of entire tribes." He paused once more, pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to stymy the tears threatening to seep out, sucking up his emotions before continuing, "I thought I had stopped him. I thought there was nothing left for him to do. I was wrong. He broke the amulet he was wearing. It cast some sort of magic and I woke up back here in a body twenty years to young, a week or so older than I last remember with no idea if this is even real or some monstrous illusion meant to torment me. He's an extremely powerful warrior and mage, after all. There really was no way of telling what he could do in a moment of desperation. Anyways, it's not that I don't understand how mad all of this sounds. As I said, I don't expect you to believe any of this, but in those moments when you see me behaving different, now you know the reason why. I can't prove to you it was real, but for me, it absolutely was."
"Put your seat belt on," Cherry said before starting the car, and leaving the parking lot of the hospital without another word.
She remained silent as she drove them back to their home, a 48 ft doublewide trailer built sometime back in the 1980's, in one of the poorest trailer parks in the city. Little about the park had been maintained over the decades. The lots were narrow, and roads were a mix of gravel and dirt. The lawns were green and often left to overgrow, while the trees grew wild, infringing on driveways in exchange for the illusion of privacy.
Hutch had forgotten how rundown the trailer looked from the outside. Even though it was far from the worst in that particular park. Located at the back of the park, it backed onto a conservation area, where a decrepit wire fence was the only indication of the boundary between the two. Even when it was built, Hutch had difficulty imagining the white exterior with the salmon striping ever appearing as a deluxe alternative to apartment living, but now the colors were a faded ivory and sun-bleached, barely peach. The entire thing was stained with dirt, while some form of green moss had taken up residence on the chronically shaded parts. The small porch was half rotten, the railings untrustworthy, the stairs questionable, and the entire thing required a fresh coat of stain a year after it was built, and still had not yet receive one. The hinges on the doors squeaked with rust, the glass in the storm door had been cracked the entirety of the time they had lived there, the screen hosting too many holes to keep anything bug-sized out. Rust and pits marred the letter box and plated numbers, and any visible screw was nothing but rust. Caulking was dried and pulling away from seams, and how the roof had no leaks was nothing short of miraculous.
The interior was hardly any better either as they entered the living room with the compressed, high-pile, golden-harvest carpet with brown accents, and the beige couch with the floral cottage fabric, cushions beyond worn out, and matching dual ottoman with chunky wooden table combination, the finish marked by years of stains and cup rings. At some point, someone had attempted to paint over the wood paneling, leaving the interior baby blue with white trim, made only more horrifying by the paper thin, orange drapes that covered the sliding patio door, although they appeared near white from the exterior.
To their immediate right was Hutch's room. A disastrously filthy pigpen featuring a doorless closet, unmade twin bed, and a dresser missing three of its drawers, although it was difficult to see beneath the pile of dirty laundry. The curtains were leftovers from when he was a boy, covered in cartoonish rockets and astronauts, and barely helped to keep the sun out. It was dark and depressing, and seeing how he had lived by choice, turned his stomach. He was appalled with himself and glad that Kahlala had never witnessed this for herself.
To their right was the kitchen where the rug was divided from the tile print linoleum flooring by a gold transition piece barely clinging to its purpose by the few remaining nails. The dishwasher and fridge matched the harvest gold color of the carpet and the stove, now white, had been replaced at some point, although it was rarely used. The microwave was located on the high-top counter, a color coordinated monstrosity of speckled blue and white linoleum, featuring, stains, gouges, chips, and burns from years of abuse and neglect. The dishwasher had never worked from what Hutch could recall and the few mismatched bits of cutlery, pots and utensils were piled in and around the sink as a result.
Beyond the kitchen was the bathroom to the left and laundry to the right, concealed behind bi-fold doors that had to be leaned into place having been broken from the hinge's years prior, and Cherry's bedroom was hidden away behind a hollow-core door with holes punched through the surface, a knotted scarf, the affordable replacement for the missing knob. The entire home smelt of old cigarettes, masked by Febreze and the cheapest air fresheners available, and ashtrays, piled high with ashes and snuffed out butts, could be found anywhere one could sit to smoke. Every corner was filled with dust, every surface stained by one thing or another. Bits of debris littered the floor and cobwebs lived in the corners of the ceiling and along the chain-links that held the lamps up.
Hutch was hit by the reality that he had rarely lifted a finger to help his mom, expecting her to cook, clean, shop, and work as many jobs as she could to make ends meet.
"Might still make it to work on time if I leave now. I'll take you to the thrift tomorrow afternoon to get some shoes, if you can't find yours. But please, put on some flips or slippers and go look. We've got a hundred in the account until next Friday and the electric bill's due on Thursday. Still hoping tips will be enough to cover it, but it's been slow the past three weeks. Only got this extra shift because Melanie quit out of the blue. Don't forget to eat and I'll be back around eight-thirty to change before I head to the gas station for my night shift. We can talk about that other stuff tomorrow. I just can't deal with it right now."
"I'll look for my shoes and we can talk whenever you're ready. Be safe at work, Mom."
"Yeah," she replied, her body language closed and awkward. "I do love you, Jules. You know that right?"
She was uncomfortable, disturbed, and he knew it was his fault.
"I didn't see it before, but I do now. I will do better. Things are going to change, for both of us."
Grabbing a near empty pack of cigarettes from the counter, Cherry turned around and left without saying another word.