that was then*
chapter 05
Josh sat quietly at the kitchen table that night, eagerly awaiting 7:30. He tapped his pen anxiously against his opened book that was lying in front of him, and stared up at the antique-looking time piece hanging from the light blue walls.
His mother walked through the swinging door into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the Spanish tile covering the floor. "Almost finished?" she asked Josh, referring to the history paper he was supposed to be writing an outline for.
"Uh, yeah, pretty much," he replied as he shifted in his seat, resting his head on his hand in a lopsided fashion.
"Well, you better work faster because it's nearly a quarter after, and Tyler still has to set the table."
"Mom, make Heather do it! She never does anything!" Tyler whined, dragging his feet across the floor over to his mother.
"Tyler, stop complaining," she cautioned as she stirred the contents of one of the many pots on the stove. "Heather already helped me clean the house this afternoon while you were out with your friends. Just set the table." She grabbed the appropriate number of dishes out of the cabinet before her, and handed them to him. "And please do something with your hair!"
"What's wrong with my hair?" he said on the verge of a scream.
"Only the fact that it looks like you stood in the bathtub with a radio!" Heather spat at him, pushing the back of his head roughly as she passed.
"Screw you!" he yelled back at her.
Josh sighed in annoyance while scribbling some facts about the Civil War on a sheet of paper.
"Hey," Mr.Chasez said softly as he walked into the kitchen where everyone was gathered (he always had a lot of patients when it came to his children), "Heather, leave your brother alone, Tyler, shut up and set the table, and Josh please take your stuff upstairs. They'll be here any minute."
"Fine," the three of them said in unison.
Josh closed his books one after the other, and tucked them under his arm as he walked away and up the carpeted staircase to his room.
He tossed his belongings on his bed, and sat heavily in an old leather armchair that was in the corner of his bedroom. It was originally in the living room, but when his parents bought new furniture, he volunteered to adopt the piece.
7:24, he said to himself after looking at the digital alarm clock next to his bed. He stood up and marched over to his dresser. On top of the large wooden object was a number of different colognes, his car keys, and his most recent pay check.
He looked at the mirror that was hung eye level in front of him. He immediately became self-conscious at the thought of Dora coming over in less then 10 minutes. He ruffled his short black hair with his hands, trying to get a more spikey texture to it. Decent, he thought before heading back downstairs.
In a near by house, Dora stood in front of the full length mirror that was located in the far corner of her dark blue bedroom. Her eyes scanned down her body from her black tank top, to her legs that were covered in light blue jeans, and down to her feet that were adorned by black sandles, her white toenail polish visible. Decent, she said to herself.
"Dora, we're leaving!" her mother called to her from down the hall.
"OK, one second!" Dora exclaimed, making a mad dash to her vanity. She pulled a small stool over to it and sat.
Dora yanked the band out of her hair that was holding it in a bun position. She frantically pulled a paddle brush through her now free locks, working out any knots she came across.
"Dora, hurry up! We don't want to be late!" her father yelled.
"All right!" she replied in a frustrated tone.
She quickly applied some transparent gloss to her lips and sprayed her wrists with some perfume she only wore on special occasions; she figured this was a special time as any.
"We're out the door, young lady!" Mrs.Christensen shouted impatiently.
"I'm coming!" She ran across the room, pulling a zip-up gray fleece off her bed.