Life Lessons from the Boy on the Fence

First Lesson: Everyone's a Stranger

"Don't pay no mind to the demons they fill you with fear... just know you're not alone, 'cause I'm gonna make this place your home."

-Philip Phillips, Home

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I guess one could say I was a fish out of water as my father pulled into the small, country town of Winstown, Mississippi, located just far enough from any urban location to be considered nowhere. The tires of our Lexus crunched against the gravel streets and dirt tracks, turning the sleek black exterior into a musty gray color within minutes of crossing into the city border. I scrunched my nose at the awful scent of manure mixed with fertilizer. Still, I could not bring myself to dislike the small town. I supposed the smell would grow on me along with the small population and wandering animals.

Small children speed along the streets to watch us drive past, their little legs moving quickly to bring them to the edge of the gravel street. While none of them were dirt-covered and plaid-clad like I had expected, after all, that was what they looked like in western movies, they certainly were not clean with their grimy hands and wrinkled shirts. A few adults also turned to look, many of them admiring the car that was obviously uncommon in that little town. I felt self-conscious when I saw a few glancing at me and my father instead of the car. I found myself subconsciously tucking stray stands of hair behind my ears and smoothing out my shirt, trying to make a good impression on these people who were surely poorer dressed than me.

The car turned into a long driveway, one of the few paved ones I saw, and I felt myself let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when I saw that it wasn't some rundown shack waiting for us at the end of the driveway. The house was large, the outside of it a mixture of wooden siding and bricks. It had a charming porch, complete with a swinging bench and rocking chair. It looked like it belonged in the countryside while still appearing elegant. While it was not exactly my style, it was as close as I assumed I would get in such a small town. After all, Nowhere, Mississippi did not exactly strike as the type of place to have urban style houses.

"This is it," my father said, a forced smile on his face. "This is our new house."

I almost laughed at his word choice. He was hurting the same way that I was, and we both knew that this place was not home, it was house. It was a place in which we would live, not the place where our lives would take place. Home would never exist for people like us.

I got out of the car, suddenly thankful that I had chosen to wear my old pair of vans instead of my new black boots. The ground was absolutely filthy, something I was not used to. Back in Chicago the ground was a different type of dirty. This ground was mud and dust.

I went to the trunk of our car and pulled out my small bag to take into the house; a truck had come earlier that week with the rest of our belongings. All I had with me was a change of clothes and a laptop.

Slinging the bag onto my back, I approached my father who had his own backpack. "Are you ready?" He asked, a sad smile on his lips. I could sense the double meaning in his words. I supposed I was ready to see the new house, and, at the same time, I was ready to move on.

I nodded and walked in front of him, carefully walking up the creaky, wooden steps and standing in front of the green door that led to my future.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, pleasantly surprised by the large amount of natural light that flowed in from huge windows. The room I was in was charming, complete with wooden ceilings and floors with a charming pattern of moldings and plenty of built-ins. Our furniture, which seemed quite high end at our old house, seemed to be more antique than new with all of the other aesthetics. Leather seemed more worn, patterns seemed charming rather than elegant, and the imperfections on any wood seemed to jump out.