The Bayou and the Clutter, Part I

You could see the whole bayou from the rocking chair on the porch. The blue sky was tinged gold by the setting sun, the narrow waterways rippling in the soft breeze. This was the best time to sit on the porch. No sun to beat you down, and the breeze washing away the remaining heat. It was comfortably warm, and it was beautiful. It’s the only thing she missed when she left. Sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, watching the bayou pull the cover of night up to its chin.

That’s what she liked to remember.

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The shadows shifted in the car as the streetlights blurred past. With windows down and radio turned up, hair flying in the wind, Iliana lit a cigarette. Her hotel was up ahead. She turned into the parking lot and turned the car off. After sitting in silence for a few minutes, she walked up to her room; she shoved clothes and other necessities into her suitcase. Lighting another cigarette, she walked to the front desk and calmly handed the key to the clerk. Iliana could see her breath as she put her suitcase in the trunk.

The sun was rising as she crossed the state border into Virginia. By noon she was in the mountains of North Carolina, searching for a blank slate. She landed in Crumpton, a small town in a valley. There was one bed and breakfast run out of a quaint house. Iliana thought it had a certain charm, so she decided to stay there for the night. She got out of the car and went to check for vacancies.

The building almost disappeared in the backdrop. It was a log cabin with two stories and a screened in porch. There were two rocking chairs within the screen, one on either side of the front door. The steps creaked so much as Iliana walked up them she was afraid they might break under the pressure, and she had to force the door open even though it was unlocked; the weather had made the door swell in the frame. It opened to a hallway. There was a staircase on the right, and one doorway beside it, and another doorway to the left. At the end of the hall were two more doors, which were closed. Iliana turned first to the open door on the left to see if anyone was there who might assist her. Inside were two tattered recliners, a sofa, and a coffee table facing a lit fireplace. No one in sight. In the room to the right, there was an upright piano pressed against the wall, along with a faded writing desk tucked neatly beneath a window. In the center of that room stood a round mahogany table with papers scattered across the top. The sun cast everything in a dull autumn light.

“Hello?” Iliana called. She waited a moment, and heard footsteps on the floor above. A muffled voice responded, but Iliana couldn’t tell what the person had said. After a minute or two of waiting, the footsteps came towards the stairs and descended to the first floor. A woman in her late forties greeted Iliana. She had grey-blonde hair and hazel eyes. As she passed into the room on the right to get her guest checked in, Iliana noticed the woman’s impressive stature; she must’ve been almost six feet tall.

“My name is Sharon Downes, sweetie. Call me Mrs. Downes. What’s yours?”

“Iliana Peters.”

“Well, that’s a lovely name. How long will you be staying with us, Ms. Iliana?” Mrs. Downes asked, pen poised in her hand.

“Just for the night. I’m heading back home from Maryland.”

“Where are you from?”

“Charleston, South Carolina. I haven’t been back in a while, but I was getting a little homesick.”

“Charleston is a wonderful city. Now, let me show you to your room.” Mrs. Downes walked to the staircase and led Iliana to the second floor. At the top of the stairs there was a small hallway with two rooms on either side. Iliana’s was on the left. Once Mrs. Downes left her there to settle in, she looked around the room. In the center was a four-poster bed, standard white sheets and comforter. Across from the bed there was a bulky television with antennae on top. Opposite the door there was a large window with linen curtains pulled aside to let in what little sun was left. In the corner to the left of the window was a cheval glass. Iliana walked over to it and gazed at herself. There were her amber eyes, gazing right back. Her long, curly hair shining orange-red in the light. Her face was pale from spending so much time indoors and in darkness. She looked at the outfit she had worn today, a black leather jacket, an olive green t-shirt, ratty jeans, and old leather boots. Iliana was only five feet and four inches tall, and she liked to wear leather because it made her feel a little less vulnerable to the world. She wasn’t exactly athletic, so she had to find other ways of making herself appear intimidating. A young woman on her own finds these ways very quickly. She turned away from the mirror and began to unpack.

Iliana changed into her pajamas early and turned on the TV. There weren’t many channels, so she settled on a cheesy comedy and crawled into bed. It always took her a long time to get to sleep in new places, and this was no exception. She spent no less than two and a half hours tossing and turning and memorizing the details of the ceiling. But eventually, sleep came to her, though it was fitful and restless. This was normal for Iliana (those dark circles were under her eyes for a reason).

The next day, a little after noon, Iliana awoke and put the few things she had unpacked back into her suitcase. She checked out with Mrs Downes and then hit the road again. She was going home today. Nervousness twisted her stomach. It had been years since she had been home. The only reason she was returning now was because her father was on his deathbed. She only hoped she could make it home in time to say goodbye.

In the car, Iliana kept the windows down even though it was chilly out. She liked the fresh air. On the radio, she played her favorite mix CDs, made specifically for driving. This was her element, her true home. Coming through the mountains was peaceful. There wasn’t much traffic, the sun was shining through the leaves, Iliana even kept her music low so she could hear the wildlife as she passed through. The winding roads were her favorite type to drive on. The scenery calmed her nerves, and by that evening she reached Charleston.

The moon shone down as Iliana pulled into her family’s driveway. In front of her loomed the plantation-style home she grew up in, windows aglow with warm light, shadows cast in stark contrast. She took a moment to look out at the water behind the house before walking inside. There was a slight breeze making ripples on the water’s surface, and the crickets were singing along with the cicadas. It was just like she remembered. At least outside it was calm. From inside the house, she could hear raised voices. Just like she remembered. Even on his deathbed, her father had a temper. Someone must have said something wrong to him. She sighed and walked to the front door with her suitcase in hand. She took her time fiddling with her keys, as she didn’t want to walk into an argument. Hopefully it would end soon. After a minute or two, she unlocked the door and stepped inside her childhood home for the first time since she walked out four years ago. She crept up the stairs toward the voices on the second floor. The voices got louder as she neared her father’s bedroom. In between the arguing, he had fits of coughing. Iliana winced. She slowly pushed open the door to the room and saw her parents and her sister sitting beside the bed. They turned to see her and immediately stopped yelling, as if nothing had happened. Her sister and mother got up to hug her, and she walked over to her father and hugged him as well.

“Welcome home, sweetie,” he said.