32 33 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW flew my plane down to Vancouver, which I then bought. Laurence’s racecar made it to Toronto. Dad rollerbladed straight into income tax. Mom’s burger sped to Ottawa. It was a fierce game, but slowly and surely, Dad bought properties and built hotels until all three of us went bankrupt. “I won! Da-da can never be beaten!” Dad exclaimed gleefully. Laurence and I pouted, but his teasing was infectious. Mom warned against the dangers of pride, but smiled at her husband. For the first time since 3 AM, I checked the time on our analog clock. It was almost time for bed. The irony of the difference in the situation struck me. The last time I had looked at that very clock, I had been surrounded by deafening wind, peculiar light, and tortured trees. The time did not go unnoticed by my parents. My mom snuffed out the candles. “In the wake of my smashing victory, it is time for bed!” my dad said. Laurence and I giggled in protest as he scooped us up and paraded down the hallway to my room, where he threw me on the bed. He then dragged Laurence, kicking and screeching with gaiety, to the other side of the house and deposited him in his room. I mindlessly did my nighttime routine, absentmindedly showering and methodically brushing my teeth until the toothpaste stung my gums and tongue. I fiercely swished fluoride around my mouth (I was terrified of cavities). I frantically killed a daddy-long-leg in the corner, holding it as far away from my body as possible between toilet paper and flushing it away. It had become a weekly routine in an old house such as ours. Finally, I flicked out the lights and slid under my smooth, cool sheets. The house was quiet. The lights were out. I was alone for the first time all day. I’m alone for the first time all day. My heart began to throb anxiously. My sheets had been unmoved from their messy state since the night before. I thought of when the Angel of Death had passed by our house, rattled our fences askew, and lit up the windy night with an extraterrestrial glow. I thought of the gargantuan oak tree next door, torn asunder by a rainless fury. I thought of the grounded planes at LAX, who longed to soar and yet could not. I thought of the presence above my house last night, Santa Ana, who pondered clawing our roof from our walls. How she came, how she could not be stopped, and how she showed no mercy. And how she might return once more. In the darkness, I waited for her arrival. THUMP.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTM4ODY=