July (The Year of The Change Book 1) (35 page)

I walked through my domain again. It smelled strongly of fresh paint and I couldn't help smiling at the blush of blue on the few walls I had. My footsteps echoed, making me feel small. It was doubtful I would ever be able to fill this room. In a year and a half, when I escaped back to civilization, I would try hard to forget this year and the forced isolation from my friends ... friend. Donny was all I had left. I wouldn’t be here long enough to put forth too much effort, but it couldn't hurt to make my prison a little homier.

My space was huge with a few pieces of odd furniture scattered around. An old rocking chair hung from the rafters, two little side tables were stuck under the eaves with a faded overstuffed chair, which must’ve been too big to lug down the stairs by the previous owners. I felt right at home with these forgotten remnants of other people's lives.

The back window was open and I leaned on the sill. Just outside, an old rickety fire escape beckoned to me. It would be easy to crawl out onto the landing. The ladder was missing half way down, though. No escape there. Not that I would have the guts to use it as far up as I was, even if it had the whole ladder attached. The landing may have been secure, I wasn’t sure I would want to try climbing around it. It would be a nice place to sit outside at night if it was warm enough. Maybe I’ll borrow Tim’s telescope to look at the stars on cloudless nights, that is when darkness came back. I closed the window as the morning breeze chilled my skin.

In the bathroom, at the other end of the room, my other window overlooked the front yard. I would be able to see the comings and goings of our neighbors while I got ready for school. Curtains were necessary so the neighbors couldn’t watch my comings and goings as well. To the left of the window was the sink and mirrored medicine cabinet.

The mirror was something I usually tried to avoid. Not that I was bad looking, it was just that I wasn’t good looking. At five-foot-eight, with dull honey blonde hair and light blue eyes, I’m … okay looking. At my last physical, the doctor said I had a well-proportioned body that was healthy and should be done growing. Thank goodness for that. I hated being taller than most of the boys in my class. What I hated the most was wearing glasses. My first pair, when I was six, had black rims. I didn’t know how bad they looked until I was ten and saw my school picture from kindergarten. I’ve been self-conscious about my glasses ever since, even the wire rims I’ve worn. I once talked to Sue about getting contact lenses. She said maybe my senior year, if I was mature enough to take care of them. So, next year I get contacts, that is, if my eyes don’t get a lot better on their own. My grandmother said The Change would make them much better. Wouldn't that be something, no more
four eyes
?

I put my toiletry bag in the corner by the linen closet. I should’ve unpacked it, however, I couldn’t get excited about actually moving in. It was one thing to clean and paint. The thought of my stuff being moved in was totally wrong. I left the bathroom and looked in my huge walk-in closet that painted up nicely. My clothes would be overwhelmed by the space since I wasn’t a clothes hog. Perhaps I could put my dresser in there, too, just to take up space. If I did that I wouldn't have it to fill up space in the open room. I'll think of something. Meanwhile my full length mirror would fit nicely on the inside of the closet door.

Looking out of the closet at the vast space, I shuddered at the thought that my things would be dumped here today. After that, there would be no going back. The moment of no return sped at me like an out of control locomotive. Soon we would collide head on and I truly would be stuck here until I graduated high school. My shoulders slumped as my breathe wheezed out. I missed Gram. I couldn’t feel her here, nothing held her memory. Must not think of that.

What to do poked at my brain. It distracted me, as I looked down the long, cavernous room. All I had was a double bed, a dresser and a small desk. Not nearly enough stuff to take away the cold echo. I had some babysitting money saved, and from the big garage sale that I was forced to put my stuff in. Hopefully, I would have enough to fix this space up. Until then, I guessed, I would have an awesome place to dance.

As I looked around, I racked my brain for ideas. I wasn't actually looking forward to decorating. Now if the movers would get here and get this debacle over with, I would have my stuff back, something of my old life to comfort me. They said they would be here at 9am sharp. It was now 10:15 am and I could smell Sue burning as she paced through the house. Never,
ever
be late around Sue. She’ll put up with most everything else, but she won’t put up with tardiness.

Scratch that.

Sue doesn’t put up with anything that affects her schedule. I have a knack for affecting her iron clad itinerary.

Sue, the woman my dad chose to saddle me with, had never warmed to me. I can’t say I’d ever warmed to the ice queen, either. I’d like to. Unfortunately, I don’t own a blowtorch.

When I met Sue, I lived with Gram and Gramps. She immediately mistrusted me as much as I mistrusted her. Dad, all smiles, hugged her and shoved the twins at me. Did he really expect me to throw my arms around her and call her mommy? From the very start, my relationship with Sue had always been strained. Now it was at the breaking point. I wondered who would break first. It would probably be me. At five-foot-three, she was the epitome of stone faced cool and could look at Jack the Ripper until he quivered and cried in terror. Needless to say, I didn’t look in her eyes if I could help it, and then only short glimpses to make sure she was either listening or not fuming. I seemed to have the ability to set her off over the littlest things. To keep peace, I stayed out of her way and she let me stay out of her way.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a coward. I don’t like confrontations or debates. Don’t tell my little brother and sister I said that. My evil eye, and the threat that I might have some backbone, was the only thing that kept Tim and Tam at bay. Or Heckle and Jekyll, as my father likes to call them. Timothy Andrew Morgan and Tamara Irene Morgan are Sue’s twins by a previous marriage. They're five years younger and I guessed the two red heads were alright as siblings go. Unfortunately they’d reached an age where they seem to think they knew everything and it really irritated those of us who do.

Since finding out my dad took the position as the manager of a small water treatment plant in Alaska a funk hovered over me like a black raincloud. It came and went as it pleased. At the moment, it came and slithered around my heart. Hadn’t enough happened this year? Why’d he have to move us, as well? I scuffed my shoe on the shiny wood floor. With a big sigh, I plopped down on the overstuffed chair.

That was a mistake.

Billows of dust escaped from ages of imprisonment in the decrepit material. I hacked and coughed my way through the dizzying swirls of heaven knows what while I groped to the window and tugged at the sash. It didn’t budge at first. What the heck? I just had it open. It suddenly came free, flying up so fast I thought for a moment I’d broken it. These days I broke a lot of things. When I was least expecting it, and it could embarrass me the most, my future strength would raise its ugly head and give a glimpse of itself. Something would break and Sue would get mad at me. Nope, the glass didn’t shatter. It just rattled and hung there, trembling in the mid-summer air. I stuck my head out and felt the morning sun on my face and smiled as the still, crisp air tweaked my nose. I breathed in deep. The view from my window was beautiful, as long as I didn't look down.

Sue yelled something from the second floor about wanting the house to still be standing when my father got home.

That was another thing she was angry about. My father was supposed to be home to help with the move-in. His boss, who’s also on the town council, called him in for an emergency at work. How much of an emergency can a small town water treatment plant have? Sue wasn’t happy. When Sue ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

After a few deep breaths of clean air, I pulled my head back in. I looked around for something to sit on. My eye caught the rocking chair. Would the old thing hold my weight? Smoothly, I lifted it from the dusty wooden peg and gently placed it on the aged floor in the splash of sunlight. It looked fairly sound. With a firm hand on the wood arm rest I pushed, but a sit test was the only way to really know. Gently, lowering my body to the worn seat I gradually put all my weight on it and held my breath. It creaked and groaned, but held my 120 pounds just fine. Back and forth I rocked and tried not to push my luck. The rocker was smooth. A lot like the rocking chair my grandmother had when I was little and lived with her.

The memories of that time flooded in on me.

My parents divorced when I was eight years old. It was a traumatic time, and the break up was rough. I blamed myself. If I’d been a better daughter, my home wouldn’t have been torn apart. My dad was in the army at the time and shipped overseas. My mom had a hard time getting on her feet, so the adults decided I should go live with my father’s parents outside of Houston, Texas. I hardly knew them when my mom dropped me off at their big house in the country, however, their beautiful smiles and warm loving eyes won me over very quickly. Of course the chocolate chip cookies cooling on their kitchen table might’ve had a little something to do with that, as well.

Mom left and hasn't been seen since. I didn’t understand then, nor do I now, why she’d gone away without me. Was I such a terrible child? If my own mother left me, would there ever be anyone who really wanted me?

There I was, alone with Gram and Gramps. I had no idea what I was going to do with them. Despite my misgivings, their actions and words welcomed me with hearts that opened the gates of heaven on earth and I became a child again. It was a blissful two years in their happy, secure home.

In the heat of the early evening Gram would sit in her rocking chair by the big screened window in the front room. A wonderful night breeze flowed cool across the hall to the sitting room and out the big window over the worn green and brown floral couch. I would stand by her and ask all kinds of questions until she pulled me onto her soft, round lap. Patiently, she answered my questions as she rocked me sound asleep to the night serenade of crickets from the garden below the window. When it was time for bed, Gramps would lift me into his big strong arms with his rough, calloused hands and cradle me there before he laid me on my bed. Never was there a child loved more than I. To me, that rocking chair came to represent the pure act of love.

After two years, Dad came home from the army, married somewhere in Oklahoma, and I had a stepmother. No one had asked me if I wanted a stepmother,
or
whether I wanted to go live with her. Plus she brought the twins, Heckle and Jekyll, who thought they should do everything I was doing. They weren’t that bad. The real problem was not being used to having anyone else around. If truth be told, I’d always gotten along better with adults rather than children because I was used to them and didn’t know what to do with kids my own age,
let alone
younger ones.

They packed up my clothes and toys and dragged me away from my angel grandparents and off to Oklahoma where dad had a job and a house waiting for us.

No more rocking chair, no more hugs, no more heaven.

When Gramps died, four years later, that rocking chair went with Gram, to rock other babies, all boys, at her daughter, Pauline’s house, where Gram lived till she died in May this year.

A loud rumble pulled me from my reverie.

A quick glance out the open bathroom window and I spotted the huge semi as it came to a stop in front of our house. Finally, the movers were here and we could get this show on the road. Sue would be too busy being in charge to growl at me. I did feel a little sorry for the movers, though.

Downstairs, Sue already had the men whipped into shape and boxes streamed in. There were five movers, two brunettes, one red head, and two with black hair. They were efficient and quick. They kept glancing around like they were looking for something. I knew what they were looking for. Me. They were overly nice to Sue, who disregarded their smiles as she briskly barked orders.

Sue stood at the front door and directed where everything would go. That was one positive thing about my stepmother, she always had things organized and moving smoothly. Whether it was a move, a garage sale, a PTA bake sale or the PTA itself, she was efficient. That was probably why she and dad got along so well. He didn’t like to organize anything outside of work. When he got home, he just wanted to be told what to do and he usually did it.

Our jobs for the day were to stay out of the way, unless we were showing a mover where something went. Stationed at the top of the stairs beside the door to the attic, I figured I could point left or right or open the attic door for the poor soul that had to climb yet another flight of stairs.

This went on all morning as Sue kept everyone hopping. At first, the movers didn’t notice me. Eventually though, they all had to go past me. The one thing I didn’t like was they kept staring at me and would smile as they lingered a moment trying to start a conversation. I wouldn’t say anything so they would give up when Sue yelled. It made me nervous the way they would try to stand too close and none of them were my age. All of them were around 20 and one looked like he could be 40.

Yuck.

Boys had never shown me attention, other than just as a friend. I didn’t know what to do when a boy did notice me, let alone a grown man. Sue would have a meltdown if I practiced on these poor affected souls while I had their attention. I was never going to learn anything, and at this rate, I'd be an old maid by the time I figured it out.

As I waited sentinel, I worked on my plan. Gram taught me to always have a plan. I decided that if one of them tried to touch me, I would scream bloody murder. It wasn’t a very good plan, though it was a better one than the last time it happened.

Last time I was faced with this problem I didn’t have a plan at all. I stood there, at the company party, and trembled until the glass cup I held broke in my hand. It was another of those parties for dad’s work where the kids were dragged along to show the bosses what good family men the middle management were.

The sound of glass breaking brought Sue’s attention. She came and dragged me out of the group of young men, one having placed his arm around my shoulders. She spent the next fifteen minutes whispering at me on how embarrassed she was at the way I flirted with those grown men. I tried to convince her I had nothing to do with it, that I was minding my own business hiding in the corner when they came over to me. I didn't even know how to flirt, still don't. I need to practice.

Sue didn’t believe me. Well, not at first. She made me stand next to her the rest of the evening, where she could keep an eye on me while Dad flitted from group to group. I kept my eyes down and never left her side.

To her dismay, she spent the rest of the evening shooing off young men. They would bring me punch or food, any excuse to come over. I appreciated the food. Sue didn't appreciate them. She didn’t give me a hard time about flirting after that night.

I was more prepared this time. I wasn’t going to stand there and do nothing. I’d walk away or scream, or slap the guy if he was fresh. Gram said I was to keep my distance because the guys would get really friendly. Gram and I had a lot of talks before she died. After a rather rough first month, one of the things we decided was that, I was not going to date until after my seventeenth birthday and The Change was done. That was the hardest sacrifice of all. I’d so looked forward to dating. It was going to be my time. Finally, I would be allowed to have someone special who would think I was special. Or, at least, I hoped.

Not dating until after The Change should’ve been easy because there had never been any boys that looked twice at me. That all changed right after my 16
th
birthday. I didn't really noticed The Change my first day back from Christmas vacation. Not even when I was sitting in English and Willy Leibinitz leaned over to say hi. Now, that in itself isn’t a big deal. Since Willy was very popular and never looked once at me before, it was a big deal to me. From that day on he spoke to me and even waved when we passed in the hall. I sure enjoyed the attention until my best friend, Bree Ann, got mad at me because she was crazy over him. I tried to convince her that there was nothing to it, to no avail. Our friendship died a quick and horrible death after he asked me out, in front of her. There was nothing I could do to save it. I still missed Bree Ann.

Gram died too soon. I have so many more questions for her. I can’t talk about this with my father, and Sue definitely is out of the question. After Gram told Dad and Sue about The Change, Sue thought the whole thing was a ‘
demented old woman’s fantasy, which Sylvia bought into
.’ If it hadn’t been for the weird things that started happening, I would’ve agreed with her.