Something Like Home

[Julie Moon]

It was midday when Julie discovered Banyon Street. She turned left, shielding her eyes from the cresting sun, and eased the old Ford Escort into a steady crawl while she scrutinized house numbers. A crumpled receipt was cradled between her fingers, crude directions scratched into the paper, she clung to it like a lifeline. On the lawn of one of the larger homes, a small army of children gathered around a giant inflatable pool, the pretense of bathing had been long abandonned, and instead they exchanged bulging waterbombs and high-pressured streams of Super Soaker fire. The ringing of laughter faded and an eerie silence descended upon the neighbourhood, the sedan creaked to a halt.

Julie glanced out of her window. One hundred and thirteen Banyon Street. She sunk miserably, the chair exhaled a waft of peaches and cigarettes. While the engine ticked cool, she checked her purse on the passenger seat; first, she removed a couple of ziplock bags full of orange peel, sealed away like articles of evidence from her hateful seven-state roadtrip, and then she checked her cellphone, there was a new message:

We're gonna miss you. Cassie. xx

"Yes, like hell you are," she muttered, and once the message was deleted, the phone was tossed back in her purse.

The car door opened with its usual cacophony of croaks and groans, and Julie was instantly greeted by a hot sticky blast of air that reminded her of cheap restraunt kitchens. It was nothing like New Haven. Here, she drank water and prized the shirt from her back like velcro. She closed the car door behind her with a thud, and how damning it sounded. So this was her new home.

Compared to most other residences on Banyon Street it was a tawdry affair. It was just about two floors worth of house, the second floor looking like a half-hearted attic conversion with a window fit for a hobbit, whereas the broad downstairs window, on the other hand, was almost completely obscured by an obnoxious spindley sycamore that plunged the rest of the house into darkness. And someone, at some point in their lives, chose to paint it all a piss-pale shade of yellow ochre. Sick bastards.

Having seen enough, Julie turned to the car and gave the trunk a guilty once over, she knew full well the horrors that lurked beneath its dark blue chassis and decided to leave them there. Instead, she emptied the backseat of its contents; namely her work, timetables, textbooks, folders, external hard drives, stationary, and lucky rolodex; it was piled high inside a large cardboard box, and with the addition of some last minute paperwork from the university, danced on the dangerous side of overflowing. She clamped the paperwork under her chin and kicked the door shut.

To think, everything that was most precious to her in the world could be squeazed inside a single cardboard box. Fitting, she thought, that it would be her work she was carrying over the threshold first. There was an entirely superfluous path, which she refused to take, that cut a picturesque S-shape in the lawn. Picturesque, that is, were it not for the fact that in patches the lawn reached Julie's knees. Inwardly, she wretched, this was not her home.

Halfway to the chipped terracotta steps, a stiff wind trundled in through the trees, rousing her feeble sycamore into limp-limbed action, and like an unscrupulous thief-in-the-night swept down upon its unsuspecting victim, and stole away with her paperwork, scattering it across the garden.

"Fucking shit it!"

[Jacob Foley]

Jake left Redencíon House in something of an uproar. In a moment of boredom-inspired generosity, he'd offered to take the guys to the new multiplex on the other side of town, and in his folly failed to anticipate the inevitable fallout from his actions. The screen door rattled behind him, drowning out the debate raging in the living room - by the time he returned from the store he quietly hoped the four teens had agreed upon a movie from the listings. Maybe he was being naive.

In the end, it was just another distraction for the youngsters, something to take their minds off the turbulent stormclouds riding in from the east. Somtimes it felt like they were only kidding themselves, as if their flimsy walls could weather another battering, but there were no confessors at home. Instead, they dug deep and huddled close as the hounds began to circle.

On the side of the road he spotted a Ford Escort caked brown from bow to stern. A veil of dirt crusted over the chassis, threatening to encroach upon the windshield, and long tracks of dried mud spattered its flank around the wheels. It was a sad-looking thing, beaten into submission over years of abuse, which somehow made their rickety van seem suddenly heroic. But what interested him most about the car was where it was parked. It looked like some poor soul had moved into the shack at long last.

She came into view, carefully navigating the overgrown lawn, shuffling under the weight of a large box. In a pair of track pants, running shoes, and a clammy t-shirt, she looked like a regular at the local gym as opposed to someone new to the neighbourhood. Gone were the days when people came to Los Angeles with something to prove; there was no need anyway, there was something about arriving at the shack in a clapped-out sedan which announced to the world, in no subtle terms, that you had reached rock bottom. So when an intimidating stack of paper was sent twisting and writhing on the wind, Jake couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the stranger as she cursed her misfortune. He sprung to action, preventing an empty form from escaping down the street.

"Don't worry, I got it."

[Julie Moon]

"No, don't step on it!" she cried, a second too late, "Shit..."

She turned on the spot, taking stock of the damage; there were a dozen pages strewn about the garden, coiled desperately around monstrous weeds, rasping at her misery. Fortunately, the stranger with the tall hair was already bounding across the lawn, snatching them up before she suffered another treacherous breeze. It was time to get indoors and save herself from further humiliation. She was on the winding path after one inelegant lunge and tested the terracotta steps underfoot, one of the tiles gave an ominous wobble. Inside, a young Macaulay Culkin was ready to attack her with a paint tin, she was certain of it. The bequiffed young man appeared with all her lost pages, the top one was marked with a footprint the shape of a cheese wedge - she suddenly had the urge to inspect his shoes.

"Are you some sort of dandy?"

[Jacob Foley]

"What?" asked Jake, somewhat clueless as he glanced down at his boots. He angled his foot so the leather practically gleamed, prompting from him a contented smile. The woman opposite, on the other hand, had a face wrought from steel. He was unphased.

"You know, that's a strange way to say 'Thank you'."

[Julie Moon]

"Yeah, thanks."

Julie thrust the heavy load in her arms across to the stranger. After a beat of confusion, he relieved her of it, replacing the reclaimed papers on top. His compliance was ugly, and predictable, but when she saw the light of admiration in his eyes as he performed a spot of footwear posturing he was cemented in her mind as a Californian stereotype. Sharp only on the outside.

"Pissing keys!" she huffed, as she rummaged through her purse, "You'd think I was a janitor. Look at that!"

She held aloft a thick bunch of keys attached to a trio of interlocking rings, and jangled them for emphasis. Wearily, she cycled through the usual suspects until she arrived at a couple with which she was unfamiliar. The first key was a dud, but at the second one, the door gave a stiff click and sighed open. Soft grey light chased away the gloom within.

"Oh, God," she muttered, "Come in, but watch the step - this is a moment for sharing."

[Jacob Foley]

Jake was dumbfounded. He was either missing some significant social cues or this woman had no manners whatsoever. She was obviously a big city girl. Under the weight of the cardboard box and all its contents, he waddled cautiously up the fragile steps into the house. A sickly sweet smell lodged itself in the back of his throat, he spluttered. The woodwork was damp and made pungent by the pressing summer heat.

"Magical," he managed, wincing, his eyes started to sting, "Where do you want this thing?"

[Julie Moon]

"In the garden?" she suggested, preoccupied with her unfolding nightmare, "We could turn it into a bonfire and watch it go up in flames with the rest of my career. Bring beer, bring friends, we'll make a night of it."

Arms folded, she inspected her new home with distant regard. On one side of the hall a dilapidated staircase climbed into the dark recesses of the semi-second floor above, it was uncarpeted, unvarnished, and splintered. The wood was pale with a thick layer of dust and groaned at the slightest shift in weight. On the other side, the hall opened up onto what Julie assumed was the living room, and here there was something that resembled a carpet, although not the sort one found in civilised households; where it was once blue it was ashen, soiled and stained, and the corners were reduced to threads.

There was an old sofa, wrapped in plastic, it was chocolate brown and flecked orange in places. She traced her finger along the arm until it disappeared inside a large cigarette burn, she laughed softly. It didn't really sound like laughter. The plastic cover rustled in her grip. She straightened up and cleared her throat, then wheeled around on the dandy in her doorway.

"Look, I'm going to be very busy, so can you just piss off, please?"

[Jacob Foley]

Jake felt his face flush through several shades of anger. A venomous broth of words bubbled in his stomach and it took a significant effort to keep those words from bubbling to the surface. Tight-lipped, he planted the box where he stood, and reared up to give the bitch a parting glance full of fire before storming out the front door.

[Julie Moon]

Julie caught a glimpse of him through the window, he stomped the length of the path and disappeared from view, it was a few more seconds until the sound of his clicking boots faded with him. In her stillness, she felt invisible fingers tighten around her throat, threatening to squeeze out what dregs of feeling she had left. No. It was a grim hand she'd been dealt but she would not succumb to it, instead she would play the game, and rise to meet whatever this wretched town had to throw her way.

First, she went about stripping the sofa of its plastic sheets, dust clouds billowed around the room. It was truly grotesque, a relic of the eighties with the battle scars to prove it. But for the next few nights, it was her bed, in her own house - and how long had it been since she'd last been able to say that? There was the silver lining. She sank into the sofa and sighed, if nothing else, it was soft. Sat across from her in the middle of the floor was her box of all sorts, her most prized posessions, the sum of her American life. It had always been a source of comfort to her, of justification. Never before had the sight of it stirred up feelings in her like sadness, or guilt, or regret - until now.

[Jacob Foley]

All the way to the store, Jake replayed the scene in his head, from the moment he started untangling university forms from the weeds right up until he was unceremoniously dismissed. Over and over again, he scrutinised the words he used, the things she said, his body language, her tone of voice, and everytime he arrived at the same conclusion: what a total bitch! He was that incensed by the experience he took the time to retell the tale to Vince, the shop owner, who patiently arranged newspapers while he ranted at length. It took him over a minute to prize a cigarette from the fresh pack.

"So much for the good fuckin' samaritan, eh? See you, Vince."

Outside, he paused, and took a moment to light up. The cigarette trembled between his fingers. He closed his eyes and took a long drag, enjoying the soft hiss of tobacco. There was no point dealing with hyperactive teens in such a mood. How easily things bothered him these days. It was nothing, really. Aidan would've played it off cool. Jake felt like he wanted to break someone's face. He slouched against the shop window and watched the lazy traffic, somewhere someone was playing Justin Bieber.

"Jesus Christ..."

[Julie Moon]

Once the rest of the house was inspected, Julie returned to the living room, and collapsed on the sofa. Already brimming with ideas, she thought about carpets, and colour charts, flat-pack furniture, bed sheets, reading lamps, and wooden coat hangers. Absently, she wondered the legal ramifications of going at the kitchen wall with a sledge hammer. It was a towering challenge, insurmountable almost, casting a long shadow over the coming months. September was the deadline; to make this place fit for a human being, if university lecturers still qualified for that.

"Fixer-upper, my arse."

It was almost one o'clock. If she were a mutant, her gift was the ability to feel the passage of time; every minute, every second, snaking around her life until it vanished. Vino, she thought. Galvanized into action, Julie stepped outside into the afternoon glare and made a beeline through the miniature Amazon in front of the house. When she got to the car she heard a distinctive clicking sound coming from down the road. She promptly popped the trunk, silently cursing its arthritic hinges, and ducked inside. A tightness clenched around her stomach as the click of wedge-shaped shoes neared, then just as quickly, passed. Sweat beads crawled her neck like fire ants. She braced herself against the car, and in an unfathomable display of moral metal, tried for some penance:

"I'm a bitch... I know."

[Jacob Foley]

Strong was the temptation to press on in ignorant bliss, but in the end Jake's bleeding heart won through - after all, second chances were his bread and butter. He slowed to a stop, sure to make it look reluctant, and shrugged himself about face. She looked uncomfortable, frozen in the wake of her sudden confession, fingers fidgeting to reclaim those fugitive words. Jake, cleaning his claws, smiled.

"Nice to meet you, bitch. I'm Jake."

[Julie Moon]

"I deserved that," she aknowledged with a nod.

There was no warmth in his voice, not that she was entitled to any, but alarm bells were ringing in her head. If she had just outed her conscience to a neighbour, that would prove problematic in cementing her reputation as the local battle-axe; it was a mantle she wore well, and without it, she wouldn't be where she was today. That gave her pause for thought. In for a penny...

"I'm quite a professional. Best in my field, frankly. And, between you and me, that roughly translates into 'Unsociable ice queen with a blood-thirsty sense of ambition and statospheric standards,' so naturally, I look at the glorified outhouse over there and I think 'Woman, you're better than this.' And just as I'm reaffirming my own sense of self-worth, along comes a dandy fop with elven shoes and a T-Birds jacket, and he helps me. You see, such kindness cannot go unpunished."

She folded her arms, "I'm Julie. Self-deprecating professional bitch."

[Jacob Foley]

"That was some weird ass apology, Julie."

Dubious, Jake imagined she was afflicted with either a serious case of the crazies or a very peculiar sense of humour. If it was the latter it didn't show in her face. He thought about what she said, it was funny in a dry, thick-skinned kind of way, and also merciless. He squirmed a little in his elven shoes. It would be wise, he decided, to keep the conversation focused on her, and far away from his apparently questionable sense of fashion.

"Okay. So what brings an ambitious professional like yourself to Los Santos?"

[Julie Moon]

"My benefactor is a rich, heartless sadist."

She cast the shack a scathing glance to hit the point home. The university was eight minutes away, and the rent was undoubtedly cheap, but Julie knew that neither of those qualities factored into her benefactor's decision-making process. Somehow he saw an unfathomable worth in the ramshackle house stood before her, much as he had identified something of worth in her all those years ago, something salvageable. Disappearing behind the raised trunk, Julie hefted a large leather suitcase onto the sidewalk, and reappeared with a worn duffel bag on her shoulder.

"One of those philosophical intellectual types. The worst kind, actually. This thing, to him, is probably a metaphorical representation of my new life here in... Los Santos, isn't it? Something that requires work, and rebuilding, or something."

Shielding her eyes from the sun's glare, she looked to Jake with curiosity, "Or maybe that's just me. I don't know how that psychology rubbish is supposed to work, do you? I believe in real science."

[Jacob Foley]

"Amen to that."

It was a sentiment Jake appreciated, having under his belt a long unsuccessful history with psychotherapists, not that he was about to make such a confession in present company. Then he considered what he'd just said, and wondered what exactly it was with which he'd just blindly agreed. Somewhat flummoxed, he watched Julie struggle up the path with her suitcase while he replayed her words in his head: who the hell spoke like that?

"So, you're some sort of... scientist, then? Here, let me help you with that."

[Julie Moon]

"Touch it, and I'll bitch slap you back to the... fucking fifties!" she managed, straining to lift the hefty suitcase over the steps.

It wasn't a glamorous sight, what with all that pink-faced puffing, but whether her good samaritan knew it or not, there was a point at stake. Once the steps were conquered, Julie deposited the suitcase and the duffel bag with a mighty grunt, and stalked back through the front door where Jake hadn't taken off in a fit of grave offense. Hands on hips, and a with a brow speckled in wet light, she tossed him an incredulous look.

"I'm a scientist, not a Nazi war criminal."

[Jacob Foley]

"Yeah... uh, sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

Clearly, the dubious tone that slipped into his voice hadn't gone unnoticed. While Jake wasn't a man of science, or pretty much any other academic study for that matter, that wasn't to say he didn't have his views. And the latest stories from the arena of scientific progress hadn't exactly left him in love with the idea of it. Still, it was a pig-headed perspective and he'd keep it to himself. Instead, what really left him stumped was the revelation that the blue-tongued bitch was actually a professional nerd. He shrugged.

"What is it scientists get up to in Los Angeles? Research the expanding craniums of Hollywood airheads?"

[Julie Moon]

"I wouldn't know. The only research I will be doing is testing the limits of my patience with hungover frat boys. I'm sensing it won't be pretty."

She offered him a thin smile, one of consolation, which was really for her own benefit. Judging by the look on his face, Jake failed to grasp the severity of her fall-from-grace, perhaps it wasn't that obvious to a stranger. But to Julie, her appointment at the university was nothing short of a rusty scalpel in the back, regardless of the pay rise. She sighed, and resigned herself to another trip across the lawn.

"And what do you do, Jake, when you're not bothering the neighbours?"

[Jacob Foley]

"I-" he stumbled, stung by her words, and yet as he watched her retreated to the car, he imagined a hidden smile. He followed, gathering his stride.

"When I'm not providing such invaluable community service, I- well, actually, I'm between jobs at the moment. But I keep myself busy!" he added weakly.