Burning Muses

by J. R. Rogue

  Adam graduated and moved away. We parted on good terms. Our stories had grown stale. I needed a new muse. It did not hurt much to see him go.

  My cheeks reddened in the mirror in front of me at the thought of my past, the beginning of all of this madness. If I didn’t have tons of expensive makeup expertly painted on my face, I would have splashed the cool water below me on my cheeks. I was going to pull it together, go back to my seat, and watch this movie like a damn adult. The door behind me whooshed open, the sound of footsteps closed in on me. Jesus, that was a heavy-footed woman. I looked up into the mirror; Tristan’s face stared back at me.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yelped. My heart was in my throat. Holy hell. “What are you doing in here?” I croaked.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “This is the women’s restroom. Why didn’t you just text me? Creeper.”

  “Good point,” he blushed. He was so close to me. I felt his fingertips on my forearm. I stared into his green eyes in the mirror. “You okay to go back out there?”

  “Yeah, yeah I guess.” I looked back down at my white knuckles gripping porcelain.

  “We don’t have to. We can stay in here,” he offered. His breath was on my neck. My own came in a hiss. We missed the rest of the movie.

  After my shower, and a long night’s unrest, I got myself out of Vegas and flew back to New York. I booked a flight for the next week as well. For Missouri. I would be going home. I couldn’t write in the City. I couldn’t write anywhere. The last possible option was to go home. I had escaped years ago, and I did not want to go, but I was needed. Kat needed me. I called my friend the day after her vague text. I was wrong, there was no baby on the way, but there was a divorce in the works.

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to comfort her. Words were my life and I had none for her. I decided the best thing I could do was go home. To be there for her. To be her best friend again. She could face her future while I confronted my past.

  Besides, I couldn’t stay in the City. Tristan was there filming. With her. The last thing I needed was the paparazzi catching a photo of me with anything but a smile on my face. Oh, how I loved their clever captions. I was no longer the ‘girlfriend of a celebrity’ and done with the scrutiny that came along with the title.

  I spent the next week preparing my apartment to be unoccupied for an undetermined amount of time. I ripped my closet apart, donated half of my wardrobe to goodwill, and then purchased every cute outfit I could find online, shipping it to my old home in the Midwest. Shopping made me happy. I figured I could hold onto at least one of my vices.

  I walked off the jet ramp with my carry-on and made my way through the tiny Springfield airport. The smallness of the building closed in on me immediately. I sauntered towards the exit, spotting my mother right away among the few people waiting for arrivals.

  She was wearing a navy knee length dress covered by a lavender cardigan, and cute Oxfords. She always looked like a teacher, even when she wasn’t in her classroom. Her shoulder length raven hair framed her beautiful, familiar face. A smile spread ear-to-ear when she caught sight of me. Her prodigal daughter had finally returned.

  I choked down my guilt and closed the distance, wrapping my arms tightly around her delicate frame. “I’m so happy to have you back home, Dear,” she whispered into my ear.

  “Thanks, Mom. Me too.” I wasn’t sure if I meant those words just yet, but I was happy to see her.

  “Let’s get out of here.” She linked her arm with mine and we set off. March’s crisp Missouri morning air whipped my long jet hair around as we made it outside. I pulled my sleeves down from my elbows, one by one, covering the ink on my arms.

  “I’ve made up the spare room for you. It looks really nice. Redecorated it just last month.”

  “Mom. I told you. I want to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s old house. I’ll need plenty of quiet time to write. This isn’t a vacation.” The only one in the City who knew about my past was my therapist.

  I was an avoider. She reminded me of this, every session. She did not treat me with ‘kid’s gloves’. I distracted myself with men and liquor. With casual phone conversations with my mother, always avoiding the truth of my dark heart. During my last therapy session, she reminded me of my strengths. I felt like she was talking about a stranger when she listed them. She believed going home would be helpful. I wasn’t sure if I agreed, but I was here, none the less.

  “Well I was just thinking it’d be nice to spend time together and have you in the same house,” my mother said, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “We will spend time together. Don’t worry. This isn’t going to be a short trip…”

  “Be sure to make time for other things while you’re here too,” she baited. “Maybe you can find a nice guy to settle down with.”

  I tripped over the sidewalk curb and aimed an annoyed set of eyes at her. “I seriously doubt there is anyone in Missouri I would like to date. I just got out of a relationship. And mom, this isn’t the fifties. There is no certain age I need to be married by. That’s the way small little towns like this are, but not where I live. Too many people settle here. They settle for about anyone who will have them. It’s sad. I’m not doing that crap. There is a whole big world out there with millions of people from which to choose. I don’t need anyone to take care of me so I’ll get married when I want.” My voice was a little loud, and a lot defensive.

  “You know I don’t believe women need to marry young. I didn’t. I’m just saying though, I’d like to see you as happy as I am.”

  “No men right now.” It was a reminder for her as well as myself.

  “Well anyways. I hope you end up staying through summer. I miss you so much. Everyone does.”

  “How are you feeling about this school year coming to an end? No more teaching.” I still couldn’t believe she was retiring. I had always assumed she would continue until she was white haired and arch-backed.

  “I’m ready. I’m emotional, too. It’s hard.” She waived her hand in the air absently. I knew the sign. She was more upset than she let on. “Now why did I see only one small suitcase in your hand? Are you going to wear the same outfit over and over?”

  “Look who you’re talking to. C’mon, Mom, seriously. No, I plan to go shopping as soon as possible. It was easier than lugging a bunch of my stuff down here. I’ll hit the mall as soon as I get settled. And I did some online shopping before I left. A bunch of boxes should be arriving soon. You know me and retail therapy.”

  “Oh yes, Dear, you’ve never grown out of that one. And about Grandma and Grandpa’s, I need to tell you something. We have someone living there.”

  “Who?” I stopped at the back of my mother’s car.

  “Andrew’s friend, Chace. They have been attached at the hip ever since they were kids. Remember the one I told you lived with us his senior year? You’ve heard me talk about him. The one who was living with us for quite a while.” I stared back with a blank face, not knowing who she meant. “Anyways, I told you the house needed work. And the landscaping is downright scary. He is taking care of all of that, on top of his job and schoolwork. I promise you will have quiet time out there. He is going to school to be a teacher.”

  “Oh, you must love him then,” I laughed, making my way for the passenger door.

  “He is a fine young man,” my mother replied as she got behind the wheel. “I wish Andrew would take after him more.”

  My stepbrother, Andrew, was not exactly on the ‘right track’ in life. After flunking out of his freshman year of college at USC, he moved back home, quickly getting a job at one of the local furniture factories. Six months later, he was fired from that job and spent the next four months unemployed. From what I heard, he was now doing construction for a father of one of his high school friends. Growing up didn’t seem to be a priority of his. I loved him dearly though. Despite our seven-year age difference, I still considered him as close as any blood relative I had.

&
nbsp; “That would be nice,” I replied, not wanting to dwell too much on the subject. He would figure it out. I hoped.

  “If you need Chace to help you with anything around the house I know he would be more than happy to. He is just a good kid. He went to Lowe’s with me last week and helped pick out all the flowers for the front of the house. I believe they are actually delivering all of those today.”

  “I bet Paul is glad to get out of that duty.” My stepfather never got in the way of my mother’s projects but he tried to get out of helping at all costs.

  “Oh, yes. You know he never much cared for decorating or any of the house stuff.”

  “Well, I’m already loving seeing all of this wide open space. And the woods. I can’t wait to see our woods again.”

  “Be careful out there, Hun.”

  “Mom, I’m almost 30. You let me run all over that property when I was a kid! And I’ve been living in a city for years now. I think if anything was to happen to me it would have happened there.”

  “True.”

  “It’s been too long though honestly. I might get a bit freaked out. I think I’ve watched too many horror movies.”

  “You and those dang movies. I’ll never understand why you like to scare the dickens out of yourself.”

  “Fear is one of the purest emotions. I love it. Maybe if you had let me watch them more growing up, I would have grown out of them. Now I have to make up for lost time.” She laughed loudly in response. I missed my mother’s laugh. The long drive flew by.

  After an hour and a half drive on the interstate we found the exit to my hometown. It was smaller, and dirtier, than I remembered. We passed through the lone stoplight and out of town. My stomach started to ache as we passed the city limit sign.

  My grandparent’s home was located just five miles from town, but it felt like another world. When we turned to make our way down the mile long driveway I felt my heart twitch. Maybe this was a bad idea.

  The three-story farmhouse was located on 80 acres, only 12 of those free of woods. On that land, you could find two creeks, three ponds, and hundreds of places for a child to run wild. Without a brother or sister to play with, I was often left to my own devices, with nothing more than my imagination to keep me entertained. Luckily that was something I had in abundance.

  My mother always encouraged regular reading, but like any young kid, I would get restless and crave the outdoors. I would spend my weekends outside all day long, only briefly coming inside to eat my meals, shoveling down my food just to rush back into my own world. I was warned to always stay close enough so that someone could yell for me to come inside, although this was a rule I didn’t always adhere to.

  I always carried a notebook with me, something else my mother encouraged. I would write plays and act them out for the squirrels jumping from tree to tree. I fancied that they enjoyed my shows from their screaming, although now I know they only wanted me to get out from under their tree.

  I would climb trees and write stories about a group of survivors living in the treetops in a world overrun by zombies (the inspiration for this came from secretly watching Night of the Living Dead.)

  In the winter, I would cross the frozen ponds (something I was later forbidden to do) and write about a woman joining hundreds of men braving the elements in the time of the Alaskan gold rush. As a child, I couldn’t travel the world for my stories, but I could bring any place I dreamed to life on my grandparent’s land. When I was young, my journals and stories were always shared with my grandparents and my mother. Well, almost all of my journals.

  On Friday nights the four of us would gather in the living room after dinner to read. Although we owned a television, it was not our primary source of entertainment. I would read aloud a new story most weeks. I was never shy about sharing my words with a room full of teachers. My mom was my thesaurus, often taking notes and suggesting new words for me to use when I was done, never pressuring me to change anything.

  All of those pleasant memories came back to me as the large house came into view, pushing down my dread, momentarily.

  In the beginning of my career as a writer, my mother found it very hard to let me buy her anything. She was stubborn as an ox. She reminded me constantly that I was the kid and she was the parent. If there was anything she was ever passionate about, besides teaching, it was the house we grew up in. Interior decorating was a talent of hers. I can recall countless Saturdays begrudgingly accompanying her to antique malls and swap meets. Our three-story home was once an old farmhouse and she wanted to keep that look.

  For many years, she fantasized about turning it into a Bed and Breakfast, eventually deciding something inside the city limits would be more suited for the project. After over a year of pleading and explaining to her that it would be an investment for me, she let me buy our old home from her, which freed her up to buy another home perfect for the B&B. I wanted to own that house. I wanted to be in control of its future. I wanted to have the power to burn it to the ground if I saw fit. My mother finally gave in so that her parent’s home would stay in the family forever, something she had always hoped.

  I could see now that it needed some work. Time and weather had left their marks. Leaving an older house uninhabited would change it. For years, I fantasized about having it leveled with a bulldozer, but the happy memories I had there, swayed me.

  There was a black jeep with a small trailer parked by the side of the house. Large plastic bags and plants were loaded on it. My new roommate, Chace, stood on the trailer with a bag over his shoulder. He turned at the sound of gravel crunching. He threw the bag down and stepped off, walking towards our idle vehicle. There was something strange in his step. “What’s he like?” I tossed the question to my mother as I opened the door.

  She turned to me and smiled, opening hers. “They don’t make them any better.”

  Chace was upon us as soon as I made my way to the front of the car. He was dressed in a grey shirt, old jeans, and worn black converse. He was covered in soil and sweat. His smile was small as he glanced at me, wider when it rested on my mother. A large husky trailed behind him

  “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted. His voice did not fit his appearance. He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders and solid arms. He had a gym membership no doubt. His voice was soft, not feminine, but comforting. “How was your flight? I’m Chace.” He stepped forward and offered his hand after wiping it on his jeans.

  I stepped closer and took it. It was large, and a bit warm and sweaty still. “Sera. The daughter. Hi. Flight was good. Thanks.”

  “You look like you have had a productive morning already,” my mom cut in. “Did you charge that to the Lowe’s account I set up?”

  “Yep. I figured I should pick up some of the stuff I needed before class today. Do you have any idea what you want me to do here?” He began walking towards the front of the house, we followed.

  “No, I trust whatever you do. Or you can ask Sera here. It’s technically her house.”

  Thanks mom. I owned the house but I knew nothing about landscaping and had no desire to learn anything about flowers, shrubbery, or saplings. It wasn’t something a New Yorker had to worry oneself with.

  “I don’t care what you do, either. I guess just make it look pretty.” Just no fucking tulips. He smiled lightly at me in response, and focused on my mother.

  “Okay, that’s settled then,” my mother decided. “Sera, I’m going to head home. Let’s get together this weekend? Sunday lunch out at the house with us?”

  “Yes, that works. I’ll get my suitcase.”

  I walked wide-eyed into my mother’s old room and was instantly comforted by how little had changed inside this particular space. Her king sized bed still sat against the far wall, one large window to the right of it, the glass door leading to the balcony on the left. I had long been envious of the balcony. On warm summer nights, my mother would let me put our small pop-up tent out there to sleep. She felt it was safer than having me out in the ya
rd alone.

  I remember sitting cross-legged on the deck with a candle in front of me, telling ghost stories to her. Many nights I would end up inside sleeping next to her after having spooked myself. She always encouraged me to write these tales down, bragging that I could be the next Stephen King, but it never appealed to me. I was more interested in writing fantasy and poetry.

  I wheeled my carry-on next to the bathroom door and started for the bed. I was exhausted. Traveling absolutely killed me. I could easily stay in bed the rest of the day, and it wasn’t even noon yet. I was getting old.

  I pulled out my phone and shot Kat a text message, confirming lunch was at 1 o’clock. She was planning to come out to get me, since I did not have a vehicle yet. I had ordered one badass car, though. One thing I would enjoy about being in the Ozarks would be the beautiful long drives.

  My phone dinged just as I heard a knock on the door to my new room. I rolled over to see Chace standing in my open door. His frame dominated the small opening. “I’m going through town on my way to class. Do you need a ride anywhere? I noticed you don’t have a car. I’d hate for you to be stranded the rest of the day. There isn’t much to eat in the fridge; I normally get groceries on Fridays.”

  “Actually, yes, that would be great. I was planning to see my friend today. This way she doesn’t have to drive all the way out here on her lunch. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’m leaving in about ten.”

  “Okay, I’ll be down.” He turned and I made my way over to my suitcase and threw it on its side, looking for a hair tie. I noticed earlier that the top was off his jeep. My long hair would be a complete rat’s nest by the time we made it into town. After finding one and securing my locks I grabbed my phone, again, to text Kat.