Lesson 2 Story Assignment

Nothing like coming home to a place you've never been before, Willow thought, craning her neck out the open window trying in vain to decifer the faded numbers on the mailboxes. She found the right one hidden behind some screw shaped topiaries. Her eyes followed the little sidewalk on the other side of an iron gate and then rested upon an old brick mansion with the front porch circling to a covered side drive way. "No way he could afford this." She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud when she heard her father's voice.

"Gee thanks, kiddo. Welcome home."

"Oh, sorry Dad, I didn't see you there." She accepted his awkward hug through the window, her car door still shut. "You live here? I mean, we live here now?"

"Uh, no, see that little building behind the house. Its called a carriage apartment. That's mine. Well, yours too if you'll stay."

"Oh. Its not like I have a choice, Dad. I mean, its here or South America, right?" Willow was still a little sore about the divorce, not that most of her friends hadn't already dealt with this much earlier than she had to. The thing was, none of her friends had a mother that just up and went to South America in their forties to save the world from Malaria and other disgusting diseases.

"You could always join her down in ... where was it, Bolivia or something, but I was hoping you'd give my little shack a chance. C'mon, leave this stuff and follow me. I'll give you a tour."

"Dad, I think we ought to go ahead and take a load. It'll get done faster that way. Not to mention I could really use a shower."

"Okie dokie, artichokie. Grab that basket and I'll get the suitcase." Before he reached the suitcase, he did his obligatory tug on her ponytail. "Getting long. You turning hippie on me?"

"Just need a haircut, dad. Sorry to disappoint."

"Willowfly, you never disappoint me. Look at you. College girl, independent, smart kid, what couldn't I be proud of?" He was such a mush sometimes. But at least he didn't expect too much. From anyone.

"Okay, lets get this over with. Who lives in the big house?" She had images in her head of Dorian Gray or those Baldwin sisters on the Waltons reruns she used to watch with her father. She had always pictured her dad as the writer, John Boy. But he did everything else too. Just thought something up and did it. No thought to stability. At least, that's what her mother would say about him when he disappointed her, which he did regularly. Then again, so did Willow.

Willow had to turn sideways up the stairs above the garage to get the laundry basket to her new home. When she left, there was a pool and a five bedroom house in the suburbs. So much can change after one year in college.

"Welcome to my humble commode, my darling daughter." Her father had the cheesiest grin and waved his hand out to present his midlife crisis. The living room was divided by the old couch they had on the third floor, the one that she and her father used to sit on to watch television when her mother was studying or working late. It was the messy room, the one he felt most comfortable in.

"This the only furniture she let you have, Dad? Geez, not like she's using it." Looking around, she recognized a few other things. Mostly from the top floor again. She thought some of it was her father's before he met her mother. The bookshelves were the cheap pressboard ones her mother banished to the attic when she upgraded to the cherry, custom built ones in their study.

"Nope, we're trying to sell the house. I left the fancy stuff. Thought it'd help sell the place. Your mother said I could have the third floor furniture, nice of her since most of it was mine before I met her. Anyway, remember that couch. Hot chocolate and Waltons episodes. Still have the stains."

"God, you are so sentimental, Dad. Too bad you can't put the stains in a scrapbook. Where's the actual commode, dad. Does it have a shower in there too or are we roughing it up here. Please don't tell me we have to go to the big house for a shower."

"Ye of little faith. I did make sure the place had a full bathroom up here, and a washer and dryer. Go look at your room. I think you'll like it."

Willow swung her suitcase on her bed, her very own bed. Not the latest one but the twin daybed she had as a child. It was squeezed in a much smaller room but it was there. She walked around the room, dragging her hand on the surface of the little white matching dresser. On the top was a photo of the three of them, back when there were three. Her mom, of European Jewish-German descent, with light brown hair and a subtly promient nose she always complained about. She got none of the heritage of her Jewish ancestors but all the nose. Really, it wasn't that bad. But every woman has her body issues. Willow hated her feet. They were huge. Her dad's feet, her mother would say when they couldn't find a shoe long enough but still narrow enough to fit her. She looked at the picture again, her hair short and behind her ears, her mother's shoulder length and straight. And Willow, about sixteen in the picture, holding her arms around both parents' shoulders. At sixteen, she was proud she was almost as tall as both her parents. Now, though, she was growing tired of being taller than her boyfriends, not that they were lining up at the door.

Her father walked up, lingering at the door with a grin. "You like? I'll get your new furniture in here when the house sells. Is that okay?"

"Why don't we just stay at the house? Mom's gone and there's no need to pay the extra rent here. Its cool and everything but Dad, why here?"

"Because I'm a slob, sweetie, and Mom had a point. I would not be up to spit shining the entire house everytime someone decided to show it. You guys know me so well. Anyway, this was my writing studio. I'd already been renting it pretty cheap before the split. The old lady, Ms. Maude, she needed someone around to call if she needed a lightbulb changed. No, just to make her feel better having someone here to check on her once in a while. She's a funny lady. I'll have to introduce you to her later. Dinner is at six."

"We're eating with her? Tonight?" She was hoping to have a quick bite and look around the town. It was over an hour away from their house, or what used to be, and she didn't know much about the town.

"No, not that I know of. But she keeps to her routine. You'll see. She'll be driving up any minute. She might invite us, just to meet you. She's curious about what you look like. I've tried to describe you to her but she'll just have to meet you in the flesh.

"Oh yeah? Been talking about me, huh? Cool. What did you tell her. Did you tell her I have your feet?"

"I told her just enough to pique her curiosity, and she doesn't need much. I left it to her imagination. But I know she wants to meet you."