Hotel 63

Chapter 1: Bad Attitudes

To say I was shocked when we reached Cambridge, California would be an understatement. I mean..I knew California would be different from New York, but when my mom said we were moving here I was envisioning L.A. or San Francisco, but according to the "Welcome to Cambridge" sign at the city limit, my new home had a population of 1,088. I looked at the sign with disgust. I already hated it here. I've never lived in a small town. I never intended to either. I was used to a fast paced life and I could already tell that this place would be a bore.

By the next evening, my mom and I had finished unpacking. My new home was rather adorable, of course, I would never tell mom that. The house was little, but in that cozy, endearing kind of way. It backed right up to the ocean, too. There were constant sounds of waves gently crashing against the shore and the neighbors children screeching with laughter as the played in the sand, but as a great as this all was, I just couldn't bring myself to like it. I missed the chaos of city life. I missed the bright lights at night. I missed the sound of cars whizzing by my apartment. Hell, I even missed the obnoxious sound of blaring sirens. The silence here was deafening. That was home. This place? I didn't belong here. It was plain to see.

As my first week in Cambridge drug on, I became increasingly more agitated with the place. Everyday people would knock on our door, welcoming gifts in hand, to introduce themselves and "see how we're settling in." I swear I must have met all 1,088 residents of Cambridge that week. On top of that I must have eaten at least twice that amount in various welcoming casseroles with Mrs. *insert name here*'s "secret ingredient." Honestly, I didn't dislike the hospitality we had received. Something like this would never happen in New York. It's just that it was so nice. Sickeningly nice. It was hard to hate people that were so kind and thoughtful and that's exactly what I wanted to do. It was as if I thought that maybe, just maybe, if i hated everything and everyone in Cambridge enough, that I would wake up tomorrow in my little New York apartment, wipe my brow, and breathe a sigh of relief, having realized it was all some crazy nightmare. Of course, that fantasy was a lie. This was reality, and the people of Cambridge kept knocking on my door, casserole in hand, reminding me of it.

On my sixth day in Cambridge I snapped. Mrs. Canton, the little old woman who lived across the street, hobbled up our front porch steps to introduce herself. I opened the door as she told me her name and held out (you guessed it) a casserole. I was beginning to worry that casserole was the only food this town contained. For an old woman, she sure was energetic. She talked a mile a minute, telling me how much I would love Cambridge and how lovely everything was. The woman was very forward, too, a quality I would later come to greatly value in her. However, at the time, I saw this trait as preposterous and slightly irritating. This, being why I told her that I had just settled in and that I would appreciate it if uninvited guests stopped showing up to our house, when she shouldered her way into the house to "get to know us better." Of course, my mother happened to overhear this comment and promptly invited Mrs. Canton for dinner while simultaneously sending me a glare that would make the bravest of people to cower in fear.

As my mother bid Mrs. Canton goodnight after dinner, I ,unsuccessfully, tried to make it upstairs unscathed by mother's wrath regarding the disrespectful comment I had made previously. I made it halfway up the stairs before I heard my mothers voice.

"Alexandria," she said in a disproving tone. At that moment I knew I was in for Hell because she didn't even yell. She just called my name in an even, unwavering voice.

"Yea?" I replied sheepishly.

"I don't even know what to say to you, Alex. I have never seen you be so blatantly disrespectful in my life. I can't believe you would say something like that to someone who was doing nothing, but being kind and gracious to you. I know that you're not happy with this move, but that is no reason to treat someone the way you did. Now I suggest you go to your room before I get any more pissed off than I already am. Don't think you're off the hook. We'll talk about this in the morning."

*The Next Morning*

I awoke the next morning blissfully unaware my mother waiting for me downstairs. I had assumed she'd forget about the fiasco that occurred yesterday, but I suppose not.

"Things are going to change around here, Alex."

"Good Morning to you, too," I muttered under my breath. I knew I was in for it saw my moms face turn red. oops, wrong move, Alex.

"That's it!" She slammed our unopened mail on the table. "I'm sick of you acting like I've ruined your life! You moved, Alex! You weren't diagnosed with a terminal illness, you just moved," she said, her voice softening as she realized what she had just said.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after seeing the hurt held in my eyes. "I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay, Mom. I get it," I replied as I silently turned on my heal and headed back to my room.

Cara was my sister. Twin actually. And god, was that girl annoying. All she did was talk and yell and bounce off the walls. She never seemed to stop. She loved to steal my clothes. "It's so vintage-y. Hipster almost." she'd always say, but I knew this was only fashion talk and it really meant that I wore the same old, ratty, over-sized clothes that I'd owned for years. She always used up all of the hot water when she showered. She was annoyingly smart. Irritatingly talented. But most of all, she was my best friend. She was the kind of person that everyone wanted to be around and even though she was the most irritating person I've ever met, I loved her, unequivocally. She was the certainty in my doubt, the strength in my weakness, and the confidence in my insecurity. I'd like to think that I was that for her , as well. I know I tried to be, especially in the last few months she lived. When we were fourteen Cara was diagnosed with Leukemia. I think we all knew it was pretty bad. Cara knew, too, but she never let it get to her. She laughed her way through the cancer and the treatments up until the day she died. I wish you all could meet her because there's just some people that words can't describe. When I talk about Cara, the words just always seem to fall short of what I want them to say. I miss her, but that really doesn't explain it. Losing someone is like walking around with a weight on your chest . It's always there reminding you of the ever-present ache in your heart. To this day, I still feel like my entire chest collapses when I turn on the shower to be greeted with steaming hot water. I feel the ache in my chest intensify every time I return to my room to find my clothes untouched and I have to sit down for a second to catch my breath. I miss her so much, I thought. It really struck a nerve when mom said that, but in all honesty I deserved it. Cara would never have acted the way I have recently. Cara didn't even act like this when she was sick and tired and had every right to act I'll-mannered. A sudden pang of guilt washed over me as I thought about this and I found myself wishing I could be a little more like Cara. She always knew how to handle crappy situations with a great sense of positivity and grace. I, to put it lightly, lacked in that department.

As I continued to think about Cara my mom called my name from downstairs, breaking my train of thought. I trotted downstairs to find my mom waiting for me at the kitchen table. Oh no, here we go again. I mentally cringed at the thought of another argument. Almost as if she had read my mind she said "I'm not going to yell, but we need to talk." I nodded and she continued, "First off, I'm sorry. I should not have ever said what I said earlier. It slipped out and I'm sorry. I know how much you miss her."

"It's okay, Mom," I replied. " We all say things we regret sometimes," I shrugged.

"I really am sorry, lex. But we still have some things to talk about. I'm sick of you moping around this house. Go out. explore. Hell, you have an ocean in your backyard that you haven't even swam in," She shot me a grin, knowing that I love the water. "All I'm asking is that you give this place a chance. I know it's small and you miss home, but go out, make some friends, get another job maybe. Please just try."

"Alright," I said slowly, trying to see things the way Cara would. "I'll try, but no promises," I sent her a playful scowl.

"Oh and if you ever speak to anyone the way you did to Mrs. Canton ever again you will never see the light of day, Alex. I'm serious."

"Okay, Mom." I trudged upstairs to my bedroom.