My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. Real shame, I love watching clouds. I saw one that looked like one of the dwarves from Sleeping Beauty, once. Dizzy, or whatever his name was. My carry on item was my favorite hoodie, the one with an image of my #1 favorite plant on the front – I love that thing. I left my bong in the suitcase – you can't trust airport people, they steal shit.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington, the state, not the president's house, a small town named Forks exists. Forks are pretty boss as far as utensils go, so it makes senses that they'd name a town after them. Personally though, I've always been more of a spoon kinda gal. Mom and I'd skipped town when I was still in the pupa stage – diapers, drool, and all that –
but I spent a month of every summer there until I was fourteen. That was the year of the Chocolate Lobster Incident.
This was going to be my first time back in Forks. Hopefully everybody would have forgotten all about it.
“Bella,” my mom said to me – much like a senile kung-fu master – before I got on the plane.
“Don't forget to put up the dream-catcher.”
My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines and different coloured eyes and a slightly wider chin. Actually, we don't look much alike at all. Sometimes I wonder if I was adopted or switched at birth or the result of secret genetic experiments by the
government.
“Don't worry about it, dude. It's going up the minute we're on the tarmac. If I could travel through time, it'd be up, like, before we even took off.”
“Tell Charlie I said hi.”
“No problem, dude. I'll give Chuck the ole how d'ya do.”
“I'll see you soon,” she insisted.
“Don't worry about it, dude.” I lifted a hand and squeezed her shoulder, like a good bro
should. “It's cool. You just chill and have a good time with the new honey, Jim or whatever.”
“His name's Paul.”
“Whatever, man.”
It's a four hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, then an hour to Port Angeles; I spent the
trip with my feet all up on the seat ahead of mine, listening to my boys, Insane Clown Posse.
How do magnets fucking work?
...
...
...
The stewardess kept looking at me, but I wasn't going to share my cheetos for nothin'.
Chuck had really been fairly kinda sorta nice about the whole thing. He seemed pumped that
I was coming to live with him. He'd already hooked me up with his peeps at the High School and was talking about getting me a sweet ride.
I like Chuck. He's pretty chill. That motherfucker's like a cross between a normal dude and a
refrigerator. Nothing gets in his grill, nothing. Get the hotdogs ready and never mind the cleaner, that grill's got nothin' in it.
When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I don't really like rain, 'cause it reminds me of that song. You know, the one about the old man who bumps his head. He can't get up in the morning. Don't tell anybody else, but I think it's because he's dead. That shit's just creepy. Why do they teach kids songs like that?
My main man Chuck was waiting for me with the cruiser. Chuck's totes the police boss of
Forks. The big cheese. The head honcho. Numero uno. Fucker still won't let me play with the siren.
Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I got off the plane. I went for a fist bump, but
he wasn't buying what my trendy boutique was selling.
My boutique was selling fist bumps, just so you know.
“It's good to see you, Bells,” he said. “How's Renée?”
“Who?”
“...Your Mom.”
“Oh, yeah. She's great. S'good to see ya too, Chuck.”
“Don't call me that, Bella.”
I only had a few bags. You have to pack light when you venture into the wild unknown. You gotta
be ready to move and to think on your feet. So I brought one bag of clothes, one bag of essentials, like my bong, and one bag full of original flavor beef jerky. “I found a good car for you, really cheap.”
“Shit, man. Really?” I always knew Chuck was a good guy. “What kinda car?”
“It's a truck, actually, a chevy.”
“Is it a pimp ride? S'all I need to know.”
“Well, a lot of work's been done on the engine-”
I know when a bro's avoiding my questions. I gave him my patented don't-fuck-with-me-bro
glare®. “Give it to me straight, Chuck. Look me in the eye. Is it, or is it not, a pimp ride?”
“I guess it's pretty... pimp?”
Chuck, man. That guy's got my back. Not gonna lie, I get a little choked up every time I think about that beautiful man and how good he is. “Fuck yeah! Up high, soulbrother!”
“Language, young lady!” Chuck leaves me hangin'. He's just not feelin' the mad bromance.
Forks is a pretty place, my brothers. Green, ya know? The trees just grow as tall as they fuckin' please, like, if you tell 'em to tone it down, they'll be all like, “What do you think I am? Some kind of bonsai or somethin'? I'm a tree, man. I can't be contained! A tree's gotta grow!” Trees are boss that way.
Eventually we made it to Charlie's crib. He's got this snazzy little place with two bedrooms. It's pretty sweet. Up in front sat my new ride, my iron chariot, my noble steed. All dusty red and ready for action. “Shit, Chuck, this is awesome!” I couldn't wait to get some flame decals
on that bitch.
“I'm glad you like it. ...Don't call me that.”
I wanted a piece of that chassis. I flattened myself against the hood and whispered, ever so softly: “Let us be one, lover.” I nuzzled my cheek against the headlamp.
Chuck didn't say anything after that, just wandered off inside or somethin'.
I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. Dream-catcher up like BAM. This has
been my room since I was just a little fucker. It's all cornflower blue and shit, with a kick-ass tower and monitor on the desk. But that's nothing. Nothing when compared to the piece de whatsit: the rocking chair. There's nothing better than a rocking chair when you just need to chill. If they weren't the shit, they wouldn't call 'em “rockin'.”
Chuck didn't hang around much while I unpacked. He knows when a brother needs to get his head on straight. After I unpacked the dream-catcher and a couple sets of clothes, I shoved the bags underneath the bed and had my self a rock in my #1 chair, just to help me calm down before I went to sleep.
Tomorrow would be my first day at Forks' High School. I'd not gotten on that well with anybody
from my old school. I don't quite know why. My mom always said it was because I was a slender, ivory skinned goddess of conventional attractiveness, but that makes no fucking sense. This time, this time maybe it'd work out. You never know, right? Maybe there was a reason the twirling whimsy of fate had thought it good and just to send me on the pronged path to Forks. A brother's gotta catch a break sometime.
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