Return to YandarL.D. Blevins
1000 words It was six months after his parents sold their house and they moved to California before they had the time to come back to Kentucky. Christopher saw a lot of interesting things on the west coast but nothing as interesting as what he had found in his former bedroom's closet. He returned to Somerset in a state of pleasant agitation. They were staying with his aunt and uncle for one night only before they had to drive over an hour away to visit his grandparents for the rest of the week. At the earliest opportunity, while his parents and aunt and uncle were busy talking over coffee and an old record in the kitchen, he borrowed his cousin Gracie's bicycle and rode across town to Beecher Street. They used to live in the third to last home on the left. The only things different were the name on the mailbox, the minivan in the driveway, and the wind chimes on the porch. Christopher skidded to a halt in the middle of the street. His eyes drifted up to a window on the second floor. He used to have blinds. Whoever lived there now had curtains. They were closed. Christopher got off Gracie's bicycle, pushed it up the sidewalk, and left the bike leaning against the curb. Then he went to the front door. What am I going to say? he asked himself. He halted. A truck blew down the street going far too fast for your average parent's comfort. The wind chimes tinkled. Christopher had come a long way and he just had to know. There was no backing out now. He stepped onto the porch, stopped on the welcome mat, and pressed the white buzzer button. While he waited, he tucked his button-up shirt into his khaki shorts and brushed his long hair to one side. He needed to look respectable. That would help his chances. He pushed the buzzer again. He dimly heard its call through the door but could see nothing but dark foyer through the tinted window squares in the door. "Coming." The woman who opened the door looked so much like his elementary school librarian that at first he didn't realize that she had been his elementary school librarian. Miss Teager had soap on her hands. "Christopher Lewis," she said. She drew out the last name with an implied question mark before smiling in more confident recognition. "Now this is a surprise." "I used to live here," he said. "I know." Miss Teager crossed her arms, getting soap suds on her blouse. "I heard you moved to California." Christopher nodded. "Do you like it there?" He nodded again. Miss Teager looked past him to the bicycle on the curb and then scanned the street. "Where are your parents?" Christopher shrugged. "I was just out riding my bike. Well, actually, my cousin Gracie's." He changed subjects. "Do you have kids, Miss Teager?" "Well, I'm not Miss Teager anymore. I'm Miss Murphy now. I have a stepdaughter." "Does she live in my old room?" "I don't know which room was your old room." "The one up there." Christopher pointed above them. "Right up there." The librarian nodded. "Her name is Traci. She likes to read like you do." "Could I go upstairs and see my old room?" Miss Teager sighed but it was a kind sigh and the smile that followed it was nice and diplomatic. "I don't think that would be appropriate, Christopher. Your parents wouldn't like that." "No, they would. They'd like that fine." He shuffled his feet. "They wouldn't mind." She shook her head. "Maybe you can come back with them tomorrow and I could give you all a tour. You know, I moved a lot when I was a kid. I think I understand how you feel." "We're leaving early tomorrow." "I'm sorry." "Thanks, anyway," he told her. Then he turned and walked back to his cousin's bike. Miss Teager said, "Be careful riding back." Christopher pushed the bike upright, flipped the kickstand, and got on it. He threw the librarian a wave before he pedaled away. By the time he circled the end of the street and was passing in front of the house again, Miss Teager was gone and the front door was closed. But now there was a girl in the window above the porch. Christopher steered the bike onto the sidewalk. He stared up at the girl. Traci pushed open the window and leaned out of the frame. Her brown hair was cut short. "What do you want?" she asked him. "My stepmother told you to go away." "No, she didn't," Christopher said. "Not exactly." He looked up and down the street. There was no one around so he said it. "Do you ever go in your closet?" Traci laughed. "Who doesn't go in their closet?" "You know what I mean." He could see the top right corner of the closet in question from his angle down on the street. The fold-up door was closed. "You're Christopher, aren't you?" asked Traci. "The boy with the silver slingshot?" "How is Yandar?" he asked her, his voice cracking. "Is the Hedgebeast back? Do they need me to save them?" Traci pulled back inside her bedroom. She placed one hand on her windowsill. "They have me now. I protect them." "But you're a girl." "Girls can protect people, too." He shifted in his seat and pushed the right bike pedal down with the tip of his shoe. "I guess you're right," he said, and he spun the pedal so gently it stopped turning before it even reached its apex. "I better go." Traci said something he didn't hear. He looked back over his shoulder. She was leaning out the window again. "Bollam misses you. He has gray whiskers now. And he's as big as a dragon." Christopher smiled. "He's a good cat," he replied. Then, before the new Paladin of Yandar could see him start to cry, he pedaled away. He went back to his aunt and uncle's house. The next morning they drove to his grandparents. A week later they flew back to California. The first thing he did when he got home was go up to his room and check his closet. |
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L.D. Blevins
L.D. Blevins is a writer from Rowan County, Kentucky. He lives in a tiny house with a not-so-tiny cat. You can find more of his work at ldblevins.substack.com.
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