Distant Stars

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, like a farmer gets used to the scent of manure.  But I wasn't.  The smell of tonight's dinner decomposing and being digested, oozing from human pores, mixed with the leftover stench of rancid grease and burned oil.  Pork chops.  My mom made pork chops.  For some reason, pork smells so much nastier than chicken or beef or even fish, really.  At least fish is digested quicker, and the stink doesn't linger so long.

To make things worse, it was a hot and muggy night, and I could smell them sweating in their sleep, the bacteria spreading and dancing in the moistness.  The odors mixed together so unpleasantly I started to gag.

I threw off the covers, deciding sleep was useless like this.  I peeked over at Lily to make sure she didn't stir.  Of course she didn't.  She slept like a forbidden temple every night.  Nothing disturbed her.  I didn't bother changing my clothes or putting on shoes; my pajama pants fit me loosely, letting air circulate, and my tank top invited cooling, too.  I tiptoed to the window and opened it slowly, quietly.  I stepped out onto the roof as lithe as a lynx, walked down the slanted tiles, and agilely leaped to the sturdy oak tree like I had so many nights already this summer.  I shimmied down and felt my feet touch wet dewy grass.

I walked, much further than my parents would have been comfortable with, but I knew where I wanted to go.  Where I needed to be right then.  Nobody passed me as I traveled, and it dawned on me that I hadn't bothered to check the time.  No matter.  I'd head home when the sky turned from charcoal black to dusty gray.  They'd never miss me.

I could smell fresh grass now, and I knew I was getting closer.  My feet picked up the pace intuitively, until I rounded the corner and stepped into the vacant filled.  Blades of wild grass reached up to my thighs.  People were far from here, and animals didn't come by frequently.  I breathed in deeply, feeling the dread seep from my body, feeling my muscles relax and my shoulders slump.

I moved towards the middle of the field and chose a spot that felt like even ground beneath my feet.  My hands worked instinctively, weaving the grass back and forth until I'd made a soft, comfortable bed.  I laid down and gazed up at the sky.

It looked beautiful tonight.  So far from town, the city lights were unable to dim the stars brilliance.  And yet, I couldn't help but feel that I was looking at the mixed up pieces of a jig-saw puzzle, that the patterns were off somehow.  And in spite of my logical brain, as I stared at the moon, I couldn't help but search the skies for the other two that I knew were missing.

I heard the haunting song of a barn owl, and it nearly made me cry.  Not because of the loneliness it carried, no, I was OK with being alone.  It was because it was such a foreign sound, something I knew I would never hear back where I came from.  Or rather, where I was supposed to have gone.

Fifteen years.  Fifteen years I'd been building a wall around my heart, keeping the homesickness at bay.  It wasn't like I'd be going anywhere soon.  I allowed on -- just one -- small tear to glide down my face.  Then, with a deep breath, I closed my eyes to the foreign sky and rested.

*****

This week's prompt:
Use this lyric from Shore Leave to flavor your story: “Hong Kong drizzle on Cuban heels.”

This week's  prompt was about being so far away from home, and it fit very well with my current work in progress.  So, I developed a story using my main character.  I hope you enjoyed it.

As always, to play along, visit Write Anything's [Fiction] Friday here.