Ashmoor

Three

'Every story starts with love, but it ends with loss' -Calia Read.

|Altaira|

   What was at the base of our hopes? Was it the light of good times, or the shadows of disappointment? Were we hoping for the Sun rays to hit just right so we could forget and it could wash away our sins? The Golden Weekly said it was suntan lotion. A chemical free, physical sunblock extravaganza. A winning formula this time. As if the previous formulas weren't still being sold and touted as the best of its kind, fooling everyday shopgoers. I squeezed some out and lathered it onto my forearms exposed by my quarter-sleeve top. Thanks to global warming, September was still rather warm.

   "You're a smart girl, you'll fit in really well.' Dad said as he curved the roundabout and headed straight down the path that cut through the underbrush. Every so often dense trees flanked both sides, expelling the sunlight and dousing us in gloom.

   It didn't take much convincing, coming to Ashmoor. First they were worried as most parents would be in a situation like mine. I suppose what sealed the deal was not having to tell everyone why I was a shut-in anymore. This time they had something to be proud of, something to fill their trophy case and beam on their picture frames, reserved for success only. One reserved for a solicitor such as my father and a third time home marketing champion such as my mother.

   "I hope so," I murmured, glancing at the letter poking through my half zipped handbag.

   It was an acceptance letter, but it didn't really look like one. It was punchy and straight to the point: 'Your application was successful.' 'We look forward to seeing you.' Yet it felt empty. Maybe because you haven't earned it, my preschool, bully subconscious poked me with its most helpful comment of the day. Yesterday's one was that I was gaining pounds even though my shirt hung loose around my midsection.

   The air was cleaner here, as if the world shook the smoke, soot and dust off for an eco-friendly coat. The sun hit the treetops and a majestic turret peaked through. My gothic senses were tingling. For a second I forgot all that I came here for and appreciated the sight unfolding in front of me. Turrets jut haphazardly across the steep, grey bricked roof. Brown Ivy and moss vines climbed across the Westside wall. The morning sun flashed slightly across the large windows every time the clouds gave an opening. The car came to a stop.

   I'm here, June. I grabbed my bag and opened the passenger door. For some reason my stomach wouldn't stop swirling from the sunny side up I had this morning. I took a deep breath of the country air, free from the constant city pollution.

   "Altaira, your suitcase," Dad said, as he wheeled a small looking thing that looked like it was about to burst and vomit clothes. "You really should have packed lightly, I told you I could make two trips."

   "I really don't want to waste your time with this," I said. Dad pulled me into a hug before I could take the suitcase from his hands, one that I returned wholeheartedly. I was going to miss them, a lot. I didn't want him to leave so quickly, but I couldn't have my training wheels on forever and sulk in my room all day.

   "Dad? I got this. I can take it from here."

   I expected him to be worried and make excuses. After what happened in the past, I'd expect nothing less than their overprotective nature. I couldn't believe I said it myself, half wishing I could take it back. Instead he was stunned for a second, and then he smiled.