I couldn't remember how long it has been since I've been to New York. It couldn't have been that long, but since I had left at eighteen, it has. I've spent the years traveling for work. No not music tours. I've stopped ever since Leo said...
Leo.
I shook my head, looking away from the window that overlooked the cities of New York. I stared down at my hands, empty they were until I pulled a pendant from underneath my shirt. I stared blankly at the steel, bone shaped dog tag with the name 'Kiba' engraved on it. I had been years since I've seen those turtles. I closed my eyes, tucking the pendant back into my shirt, waiting for the plane to come to a complete stop.
I'd be lying if I said that I didn't think about them. In fact, on each trip, I always wondered if they had been there. After all the stories they told me of the times they've left New York, I began to wonder if they were holding out on me. Though, at least I can say I've been to China and Japan, if I do see them. I doubt it, hell I don't think they'll recognize me.
I opened my eyes when the plane came to a complete stop and I felt my nerves go into over drive. I hadn't seen my mom since I left New York. Granted, she came to my graduation, but that was for a few days before I left for Africa. Pictures, letters, and the occasional phone call had kept us in touch. Yet, that never really gets you ready for the actual meeting. I continued to shuffle my way through, my back pack slung over my shoulder and I did my best not to step on anyone's foot. After all, my thoughts weren't on my surroundings.
The sound of cheering lifted my gaze from the floor and I remembered the few guys in camouflage gear, obviously military. I spotted the crowd before it separated as family and friends greeted their heroes. I couldn't help but smile as an old memory came into play. Jana, my sister, and I running to meet our father when he would return home from an emergency call from the fire department.
Everything was pulled away from when I heard a familiar voice calling out my name. Cadence. No one has called me that since I've left, all except for my mother. There was a sudden lump in my throat as I saw a familiar blond running towards me, roughly shoving others out of her way.
"Cadence!"
"Mom." My voice cracked as I figured it would, but I didn't care. I dropped my bag and welcomed my mom's tight embrace, instantly taking her into one of my own. Years of sitting behind the desk didn't soften the hard muscle from previous years working in the field. Neither did age.
"I can't believe you recognized me." I almost shook my head right as the words left my mouth. It was then I remembered the photographs I've sent her.
"I can't believe you dyed you hair, blonde. Of all colors, Cadence. Unless you want me calling you Artemis?" My mom took a step back, fingering my blonde hair that easily matched hers. She was used to strange things, but she didn't expect that I would alter my looks. As minor as they were. The look she gave me was an obvious sign she spotted my blue contact.
"Mom, can we not get into it?" I asked, squeezing her hand in comfort. I remember agreeing to her that I would never wear contacts. Well, I'm only wearing one, and that blue one easily matched my right eye.
I watched as my mother gave me another look over. Taking in my torn jeans, faded blue plaid buttoned down shirt that hung openly over my white tank top. Both stained with dirt and grease. Her fingers still lingered in my hair, taking hold of the black feather braided into my hair.
"You look like a mess." My mother muttered, but she couldn't hold back the smile. I knew that smile and I relaxed my shoulders. "Lets go grab your bags, then go home."
Home. The thought couldn't sound any better than it already was. I picked up my bag and walked beside her in a comforting silence. The simple touch of her hand was all I need to help me remember that this wasn't a dream. I'm sure she held my hand for the same reason.
Noise filled my ears but not enough to drown out the sound of my mothers. If she ever decided to speak. Out of habit, mostly from years of being in foreign places, I quickly took note of my surroundings. The New York airport was busy as usual, even on a Tuesday. Thought I would take a Tuesday over a Friday, any day.
We found that baggage carousel and I swear I thought my mom would die from laughter when we grabbed my bags. Black as they were, but each was decorated in glow in the dark paint, not to mention stickers that matched my passport. I gave her a childish grin when she patted my shoulder.
"Told you I would need the cart." I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulders as I took hold of the cart that held my luggage.
"No shit." My mom shook her head, her short blonde hair swinging with the movement. "Wait outside while I go get the car."
"Yes, ma'am." I pulled the car with ease, ignoring the odd stares I was getting. I was no Silver Sentry, but I was strong enough to receive some odd looks. I continued to ignore them as I waited patiently for my mom.
New York, I almost forgot the humidity. Pulling my hair back into a the typical ponytail, letting the braid with the feather attached fall beside my cheek. Afterwards, I rolled up my sleeve to my elbow. I was half tempted to just take the shirt off, but the last thing I needed to was to receive anymore odd stares. After all, I had probably more scars than the average field operative in the military. With that train of thought, I gazed at the faint scars scattered across my forearms.
"Cadence!"
I looked up from my arms and looked at the large truck my mother resided in. I was surprised, not that my mother owned a truck; the truck once belonged to my father. Thought I wasn't surprised that it still worked, my mom was stubborn enough to keep it that way. I couldn't help but smile as she gave me a thumbs up.
"It may be a piece of junk, but it's a piece of junk that I refuse to toss out." She laughed but didn't remove herself from the drivers seat.
I knew why. I brushed aside any assistance that had been offered to help load the back of the truck. I didn't need any help, and even if it I did. I would still refuse it. Stubborn pride, my mother called it. She was right.
There was no exertion as I would lift each luggage bag into the truck bed. I never thought in my whole life I would have to carry more than two bags, my backpack and one luggage bag. However, I tended to accumulate a lot of souvenirs when traveling the world. Archeology, you get to go to some awesome places.
When I finished loading the truck, I spotted a family. A couple desperately trying to handle four rambunctious kids. I couldn't help but smile as I pushed the now empty cart in their direction. They looked like they needed it.
"'Scuse me?" I asked, smiling inwardly as I caught the mother's attention. "You look like you could use this." I motioned towards the cart, almost laughing as two kids, twin boys, leapt onto it with glee.
"I don't suppose you have another one with you?" The woman inquired, the exasperated expression fading as her lips quirked up into a smile. Her eyes went from her boys to me and nearly laughed when my eyes widened from a sudden shout.
"Oh aren't they the cutest, and I'm not talking about you." My mother came up beside me, waving at the two boys before looking at me. I rolled my eyes, it was the typical saying.
"Two boys, huh?" My mother's voice was cut off as a chorus of two came running around the car to join the twins. They were followed by a man and I spotted the remembering smile on my mother's face.
I remembered it too, my dad chasing both my sister and myself around. Must be a kid thing. Running around in circles, avoiding the parent's grasp whether it was a game or them just trying to keep you still. For this dad, it must be the latter.
"Three boys and a girl, you got yourself a handful." I said, ruffling one of the twin boy's hair and smiling when he giggled.
"You have kids?" The man looked at me, his look showing that he wouldn't believe me if I said I do.
"I did. I had a classroom filled with kids." I gave him a smile. I spotted the look of interest in the woman's eyes and I held up a hand before she could ask. "Muay Thai Kickboxing."
"She was the champ here for some time."
"Mom!" I hissed, shooting a glare at my mom even as she smiled at me. I looked back at the couple, even the kids seemed in awe. "That was years ago."
My mom tried not to laugh as she shook her head. She gave a short wave to the couple in front of us. "Well you folks have a safe trip, and don't blink. They'll turn into this." She jerked a thumb in my direction.
The couple grinned at both of us before looking fondly at their children. The mother hugged the small girl before sending another smile my way. "Thank you again for the cart."
Both my mom and I gave them a relaxed salute before we headed back towards the truck. Once again, silence hung in the air between us, but it was a comfort. The touch of her hand was all that I needed, a mother's touch.
As my mother cruised us out of the airport, I stared out the window. I almost forgot the beauty of New York in the early morning. The way the sun hit the sky scraping buildings, the endless blue sky, not the mention the morning life that surrounded us. Central Park was still green.
My heart tore at the sight, all the memories came back in a rush. The days of endless running with a group, the spot where Liam would arrive to either drop me off or pick me up for work. Central Park was the home to my best friends. Former best friends. I watched as the glorious park disappeared in the review mirror, looking back ahead as we dove deeper into the city. Times Square had even came into view.
"I still have the bike."
I looked at my mom blankly before the words finally registered. My motorcycle. It was new when I first bought it, but I spent a lot more for the upgrades. I got to ride it for awhile when attending school in California before I sent it back here.
"I'm guessing you've been taking care of it just like this old truck?" I smiled when she glanced at me with a smile of her own.
"Donny and Raph would come over to take her out, make sure she's still running good." My mother leaned back, relaxing in her seat as we came up beside the house. Her features turned passive at the mentioning of my former friends and saviors.
I stared at my mother before looking up at the house. Central Park came back to mind, seeing the memories through my mind's eye. I closed my eyes, turning my head to face my mom. "Okay, I'll bite. How are they?" I asked as I opened my eyes.
"They've gotten taller. Splinter is up and kicking even though his age requires to lay still. Donny got a job, part time. Brings in some extra cash. Mikey is, well, Mikey. Leo's pretty much the same." My mom leaned forward slightly to shut the ignition off just before leaning back into her seat.
I watched her for a moment, waiting for her to speak up about the hot tempered brother. Raphael. "And what about Raphael?"
When my mother didn't respond immediately, my heart dropped. Yet she held up a hand, the lump in my throat starting to fade.
"Raphael took up smoking and drinking. His tempered shortened and, from what Leo tells me, he's more. . . Efficient with his work."
I winced at the word 'efficient'. That only meant he became more ruthless, but got the job done. I looked away, opening the truck door before slipping out.
I shouldn't have asked. I should have just let their memory fade back into the small trinkets I've kept. A slight reminder, but nothing personal. Personal items such as the skateboard, the guitar. However, I couldn't toss out the album. I specifically made that album for when I left, taking it with me everywhere I went.
Still deep in thought, I began pulling the luggage out of the truck and into the house. Growling as I hefted them up the stairs; mumbling when I would stumble down the stairs. I kept this up until I slammed the last of my luggage onto my bed. That was when I took a good look around.
Everything was where I had left it, even the stuff I thought I had tossed away. My music studio untouched, but not a speck of dust was found. My shelves empty of books except for car mechanics and music. My closet empty of clothes until I would fill it up with my current wardrobe. Honestly, that wasn't very different from the wardrobe I had when I was seventeen.
At the corner of my eye, I spotted a certain black skateboard. Letting out a shaky breath, I picked up the multicolored, mostly orange, board. I sat myself on the floor, the board laying across my lap. I let my fingers graze over the paint, spinning the freshly oiled wheels. Holding that board, I couldn't stop that one stray tear. I cried when I left with Liam, I cried on the plane, I cried every time I was alone in my room. Their memories plagued me for years, until I thought I had ran out of tears to cry. That moment, holding the board, I was wrong.
"There's a skatepark just past Central Park."
I looked up, spotting my mom leaning against the door frame. She sent me a smile even as I looked away.
"Go on, get some lunch. When you get back, I'll order us some pizza and we'll have a couple drinks." My mother insisted, nudging me with her foot. I couldn't help but smile then. "And take the bike. I know you can handle yourself, but I'd rather not have to explain why several kids had to go to the hospital."
I sent her a feral grin before nodding. She walked out the door before I could say a word, but I didn't hesitate when the door closed.
Last I recall was my mother handing my a couple dollars before shoving me towards the garage. She didn't say a word about my choice of clothing for the bike ride: shorts, sneakers and a dark orange tank top. Not exactly the greatest clothing to wear on a motorcycle, but no other had my reflexes.
Now the bike ride was pleasant, even though that word was an understatement to how I felt. Having a powerful engine thrum with life and energy beneath you, and having absolute control. That life and energy surged adrenaline through my system as I dodged cars and other cyclists. However, I missed the feeling of the wind through my hair. Though after cutting it short, the helmet covered it all.
I slowed as I came up to Central Park; even on a Tuesday morning, the park was filled with life. Children too young or too old for high school scampered through the grass among friends and family. If I rode farther down, more sections of the park would come into view, but I was focused on a certain section of the park.
I hadn't realized till that moment, sitting on my bike in the spot Liam would pick me up from work. The spot where if I looked straight ahead, I'd be staring that the spot Leo would wait for me. Wishing thinking here, but he sill might be. Maybe tomorrow.
I started the ignition on the bike, pulling out of the parkig lot and towards the skatepark mom mentioned. I could only hope it wasn't too crowded.
. . . .
"So how many numbers?"
I leaned back into the couch, seeing the amusement in my mother's eyes. When I held up all ten fingers, due mostly because my mouth was full of pizza, she titled her head back as she let out a whoop of laughter.
"At least half o them are younger than me, fresh out of high school or in college." I stated with a grin.
The skatepark was more than I imagined. I was still able to pull off the tricks Mikey taught me years ago; those tricks earned me several phone numbers. I think the motorcycle earned me a few more. I even earned a few bucks when bets were laid out, but I pulled out when I had the chance and, not to mention it was close to dinner.
"Did you stop by Central?"
I looked at my mother before taking another bite of pizza, shrugging as I wrestled with the cheese. Ray's Pizza had no competition. I didn't bother to acknowledge the disappointment in her eyes.
"If I did, I wouldn't have phone numbers and I wouldn't have been home in time for dinner." I managed to say, licking the marinara sauce from my lips.
"This is true. I, instead, would have gotten a phone call saying you're being mauled by turtles and a cat."
"Klunk is still alive?" I blurted, leaning forward with interest. When my mom nodded, I grinned. "I love that cat."
"Yeah, well, Klunk became bionic-Klunk. Poor guy got stuck in a garbage pile. Donnie fixed him a a new leg, of course." My mother took a sip of whiskey from her cup.
My heart dropped at the thought of Klunk being injured, but if mom said I'd be mauled by a him, that I didn't have to worry. Plus, cats tended to live longer than some dogs. He's also in the care of a loving savior. The same one who saved my life.
I couldn't suppress the yawn that crept up on me, nearly choking with laughter when my mother made gagging noises. She must've saw the chewed up chess that I was currently choking on. After that episode passed, I shot a glare at my mother as she stood up.
"I'll clean up here. Go to bed." She stated simply, picking up the box of pizza we were working on. The look she gave me, however, gave me zero room to argue.
I gave a sharp nod, tossing back my head as I drank the last of my rum and coke. I looked over the rim of my cup to see my mother patiently waiting for me; I handed her my empty glass quickly. Knowing my mother, she would change her mind. To be honest, I wanted to start unpacking before going to bed.
The knowing smile my mother sent me got me racing to my room. I had to start unpacking otherwise I doubt I wouldn't have any time to go to Central Park tomorrow. I had an interview tomorrow morning with the Director of the Anthropology Department at the New York University. I had already done several phone interviews, so this would be my last interview.
As I made my way out of the living room, my eyes grazed across the walls of my home. Photographs consumed the majority of the wall space, but not enough to make it look cluttered. Family photos, high school graduation, vacation trips; anything you could think of, my mother had a photograph either up on the wall or in an album.
I hadn't realized I was up the stairs until I was standing in front of a door. Not my door, no, that one was wide open to my left. This was Jana's room. I took a breath before walking into my room, maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow night I'll visit my sister's room, I knew it was still the way she had left it: stuff animals strewn across he bed, dancing shoes left in the middle of the floor. She was a child, thus the room was expected to be messy.
I entered my room, closing the door silently behind me and I began to dread unpacking. I hated the moving process of packing and unpacking. Granted I hadn't really moved, I just had several luggage bags to unpack. I glanced at my bare desk, bare but for a leather-bound book. I knew I would get distracted eventually, due to that book, but I knew I had to work before I could let that distraction come to me.
I walked over to a luggage bag and opened it, glad to know that I remembered which luggage held what. This was the current wardrobe that I would fill my closet and dresser with. Similar it was to what I wore eight years ago, granted from visiting other countries, my boyish wardrobe had faltered. I began immediately, grabbing the hangers and I put my mind to work. Focusing on the task at hand, I was pretty much unstoppable.
However, in the back of my mind, I wanted to sit on the floor and pick up that leather-bound book. I had put it there when I first got home. That album held the photos Master Splinter had taken when I entrusted him with the camera. Eight years ago