Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Ren Young

Sure enough, it started to drip when we were about halfway to my house. I would need to get Cynthia inside soon before it washed away the makeup. I began to pick up my pace as the rain started to get heavier. Everyone else on the streets was heading inside for shelter. I guess it was good that Andrew decided to warn me, but I have no idea how he knew who Cynthia was. She was able to keep up with me as I dragged her behind me. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, and then she suddenly pulled her hand free.

"Ren!" Cynthia's voice rang out excitedly from behind me.

I turned around to see her staring up in the sky excitedly. She was pointing with the hand she had just pulled free. "There is water falling from the- ah, it got in my eye!" She began to rub her eye frantically.

"It's okay, it's just rain," I assured her. The rain quickly began to intensify. Cynthia looked up with a broad smile. She started to run around in a circle laughing.

"It's falling from the sky!"

I was glad that everyone had already gone to find shelter. She ran in circles like a child for a moment until she stopped and looked at me.

"You don't seem excited?" she asked me.

"It's just rain. It is pretty normal around here." She looked up and stared at the sky for a moment.

"Normal." The makeup was starting to run off her face as the rain was coming down harder now.

"Come on; we need to get inside before your makeup washes away." I started to walk away. Cynthia, with a shocked expression, reached up to where the makeup was on her face. Which naturally made it worse. It was certainly not waterproof.

"It comes off that easily?"

"Don't touch it!" I exclaimed. She quickly moved her hand from her face to behind her back and looked away from me. "Come on," I said more quietly, "We need to get going."

We began to walk back to my house. This time she kept up with my pace and did her best not to get distracted. At least not distracted as easily, only turning her head to look at things and not stopping us to ask about them.

"Hey Ren," she spoke up after a moment of walking, "What is a kitty exactly?"

"From the story?"

"Yes, that. It seemed like it was some kind of animal."

"Yeah, it's pretty common for people to keep cats as pets. They're pretty rare around here, but Andrew says there are plenty beyond the wasteland."

"Wasteland?"

"Oh, uh, our city circles the mountain over there," I pointed to the mountain even though it was plainly obvious what mountain I would be referring to, "and just outside our city is a desert wasteland. Supposedly beyond that is a lush forest and fields, but only Andrew is said to have been beyond the wasteland."

"No one goes into the wasteland?"

"It's prone to frequent sandstorms that last days at a time. Something was made to put a barrier up to keep the sand out, and only Andrew has ever been known to come out alive."

"How did he make it then?"

"Don't know. The story is that he just showed up from the wasteland one day with torn up clothes. Hard to say if it's even true. He will never tell me anything when I ask." Cynthia looked like she wanted to talk more, but we'd reached the front door at my house. At this point, we were drenched from the rain. I reached for the handle. I hoped my parents weren't home yet. That way, I would have time to reapply Cynthia's makeup, which made her face look horrible at this point. I opened the door.

"Welcome home, Ren," my mother yelled cheerfully from down the hall. There was a good chance that my father would be home too. She addressed me by name, so she knew not to assume it was him coming in the door after all. Damn. How was I going to explain this? Even if the markings on her face were not showing, I was still bringing home some girl they had never met. I would never hear the end of this.

We walked into the house. My parents were still around the corner, so I had a minute to think of something. I just had to come up with an excuse to get Cynthia up to my room and get makeup on her before my parents saw her. I could come up with the rest of the story later. Something like, she was from a part of town far away from here and got lost exploring. Technically that wasn't even a lie.

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"Ren, did someone come in with you?" My father was astute as any other day, only when it was inconvenient for me.

He must have heard the extra footsteps. I still don't know how he does it. I frantically rubbed the makeup on her face with my hands. She tightly closed her eyes and made a frown when I did. I imagine I surprised her. Reluctantly, I brought Cynthia around the corner. The makeup was smeared, but it might pass as acceptable in the right light. I could probably pass it off as a beauty mark if they pried. We would have to see. My mother came around the corner to greet me. She beamed a smile when she saw Cynthia.

"Oh my," she turned to yell down the hallway. "Dear, Ren brought a girl home," she turned back around and looked our way. In an instant, she went from standing at the corner of the hall to being in front of Cynthia and looked right into her eyes. "It's so nice to meet you!" Without any warning, she grabbed Cynthia's hands and started to shake them. Cynthia stood with a confused expression. She had no idea what to think. I couldn't blame her.

My father poked his head around the corner. He smirked then slid back out of view. I could hear him chuckle a little. He would probably want to talk about my future family later. Damn it, Dad, you're worse than Mom. My mother had begun to bombard Cynthia with an endless stream of words in rapid-fire succession.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you. What's your name? Where did you and Ren meet? How long have you known each other? Are you staying for dinner? Are you staying the night? You seem like such a nice girl. I was starting to worry since Ren had been out for a while, but now I know it's okay-"

She kept going on and on. Cynthia just stood there with a confused look on her face. I had to give her credit. The last time I brought a girl around, an actual girlfriend and not a freak in disguise, my parents scared her away rather quickly. I couldn't tell if Cynthia's ignorance kept her from running out or she was just able to take all this in her stride. I guess it was a little of both. I have to hand it to her; not many people could keep this calm when my parents got going.

"Dear, give the poor girl a rest." My father intervened from the other room. He said that, but he probably wanted to ask Cynthia more questions. Like, how did my son find such a pretty girl and such.

"We should probably have dinner," I spoke up. We would get nowhere if I didn't intervene, "Mom, you were cooking when we got here, right?" My mother suddenly spun around and ran to the kitchen. She had left something on the burner and walked away again. I sighed. I hope Cynthia likes her food on the crispy side. Cynthia stood motionless for a minute before coming back to her senses.

"Oh, I can help make dinner," she said in an unsure tone. A bang rang from the kitchen and echoed as my mother came running back out. She grabbed Cynthia by both wrists and smiled intensely with her eyes shut.

"You would help me, dear? You're so wonderful." My mother was excited to get help. She dragged Cynthia into the kitchen. I think I saw a sense of regret, or perhaps a plea for help, in her eyes as she was pulled away. Whatever sparked her to offer help was now gone, replaced with a sense of dread of what was to come. I'm sorry, Cynthia. I won't forget your sacrifice. I went into the living room and sat on the couch, next to my father. There was no helping Cynthia now. The two of us were not allowed to step into the kitchen when a meal was being cooked out of fear that it would turn out worse than simply burned.

My father was looking at me and smirking. I stared forward at the wall instead of turning to look at him. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. It was going to be a long night at this rate. I still didn't know what to do with Cynthia. I'd gone along with bringing her around the town, but she didn't belong here. Now that she'd seen the town, I would have to show her the way up the mountain. Unfortunately, it would have to be in the morning. The rain didn't look like it would stop soon, and I couldn't risk people seeing her face if all the makeup washed off.

"So, Ren," My father must have gotten tired of the silence, he spoke in a serious tone, "Is she a good cook?" It was not the question I expected, but I guess his priorities made sense with our family's culinary history.

"Uh, I'm not sure." Should I expect something amazing? Obviously, anyone would be better than my dad or me, but she could end up being at my mother's level. Maybe this would be one of those things where she turns out to be a fantastic cook. They had to eat good food up there, right? I imagine they had excellent five-star meals every day. Probably lobster with a side of garlic rice, something we had stories of, but not the ingredients for. A crash and Cynthia's surprised yell from the kitchen broke my spirits. There were four of us here; it would be sad if none of us could cook a decent meal. I just hope it was edible.

"So, where did you meet her?" My dad started up a conversation.

"Uh, she's from a remote part of town. She got lost exploring."

"And you just happened to go this far to help her? Seems like a bit much, doesn't it?" My dad was starting to sound like he was onto something. "Who would have thought you were a sucker for redheads," he said with a laugh. Nope, he was way off.

He put his hand on my shoulder. I think he was getting ready to give me essential life advice. Before he could speak, the fire alarm went off. I grabbed a pillow off the couch and got up. The fire alarm was a few feet away, so it was my job, or my dad's, to fan it when it went off. When I finally got it to be quiet, my dad yelled to the kitchen:

"Was that a real or false alarm."

"Real! Come on in," my mother yelled back. Dinner was ready. My father and I shuffled into the kitchen, to our table where the plates and utensils had already been placed. The table was a small wooden table with three chairs and not nearly enough room for four plates and the food. We managed somehow, by placing the food on the counter, to fit four plates. My father gestured to Cynthia to sit. She looked around and then at him.

"Don't worry, dear. I can stand."

My father typically did this with a guest, so it didn't bother him. She reluctantly sat down. The food looked to be a burned beef steak and mixed vegetable mash. There was no way to tell what vegetables were used in it if any at all. I made a plate and began to eat. Needless to say, it was terrible. Cynthia followed suit and made a plate. She stared at the plate for a moment. Then she watched me cut my steak before trying herself. She seemed to be having trouble using the utensils.

After getting a bite-sized piece on her fork, she ate it. She chewed for a moment before pausing then chewing some more. She swallowed and stared at the plate.

"Is something wrong, dear?" my mother asked.

"It's delicious," Cynthia said without looking up. She didn't say anything else and continued to eat. My parents smiled before eating their meals. This whole thing was a little odd, but I decided to let it go. I took another bite of my food. Maybe it didn't taste so bad.

 

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