Jude's Music

One

We moved to the country when I was about thirteen. My father wasn't with us anymore, and since my mother didn't want to stay in the house where, as she put it, "the memories followed her like a black cat," she decided to pack our belongings, along with me and my two sisters, and shift our lives to a new world.

At the time, I didn't know how I felt about all of it. I didn't have many friends to miss because I was shy and quiet. My sisters, both being older than me, cried at going. Allison didn't want to leave right in the middle of high school and Vanessa was sad because she hadn't even had a chance to go to the Fall Ball.

"They'll have dances at your new school," my mother had said, but Vanessa was certain it just wouldn't be the same, and I didn't know who I agreed with, because I wasn't sure what they meant by "same."

When we reached Mosspond, rattling past the sign that read: Welcome to Mosspond -- population 900. I was somewhat surprised to see how far out we really were. Nothing but fields and rows of black-green trees rose up to meet the deep gray sky. There were some hills far off in the background, but I didn't see them for the first few days because of the heavy rain clouds that had rolled in. People said they were glad for the rain, glad to have the ground moist again, but looking back, I think it was an omen.

I watched the blurred outline of the trees and houses as we passed them, wondering what they looked like when it wasn't raining. The drops of water on the window slid downward, piling into one another and streaking sideways as my mother gave the car more gas. My cheek was pressed against the glass, and the pressure felt good. I didn't want to move when the car came to a stop in front of our new place. I wasn't ready to get up. I could've been fine forever, sitting there with my cheek to the window, watching drops cascade down in front of my eyes.

"Nat! Come on out of the car," called my mother through the hardening rain. "And don't come in empty-handed, all right?" I turned to see her pull a large box out of the back of the car and hurry inside our front door. I would have to move.

The house was empty inside; the movers hadn't delivered our furniture yet. I didn't like the place the minute I saw it. I knew my mother would be trying to fill it up with our things, like the art we'd made or the pictures from holidays or even the noise of music and moving dishes. But I knew it wouldn't feel right, somehow. Not here–not in this house. Our memories would always be foreign to it.

"Nat, honey, what did you bring in?" I saw the exasperation in my mother's face. I looked to the side, then held up the pillow in my arms. "That's it?" She sighed but shook her head. Her dark-colored hair clung to the sides of her face from the rain's wetness. "That's fine. Why don't you go on upstairs and find yourself a room?"

Holding my pillow tighter against my chest I searched for a staircase. The house didn't look big from outside, but it seemed bigger inside. I discovered the stairs after stepping through the kitchen and making a right into a back hallway. As I started on my way up, I could hear Vanessa's clear voice arguing, "How come Nat doesn't have to help? I don't want to either, then! Mother? That's not fair!"

At the top of the stairs, I was met with a landing with four rooms and a modest bathroom branching from it. My sisters were likely fuming down below. They were older, they'd say, so they should get first choice of bedrooms. That didn't bother me. I wasn't half as interested in closet space or window size as they were. At the moment, I didn't care if I had to sleep in the bathtub, which was a real possibility seeing as our beds hadn't been delivered.

Standing there in the gloom of the landing, I became acutely aware of the fact that I wanted to go into the room on my far right. I couldn't explain what was pulling me toward that half-open door. Voices rose and fell downstairs; my sisters were talking. My steps to the room were slow but steady. I reached out my hand and slightly moved the door aside, as if I was afraid of disturbing some slumbering creature beyond it. It was empty, though. By the bare floors and stark walls I would have guessed the place had never been lived in at all. Maybe that's how it was supposed to look. Maybe I would've felt more uncomfortable if there were signs that someone had been there before me. Whatever the case, I knew that the room had to be mine.

Directly across from the door, in the opposite wall of the room, was a window. It was a bright rectangle against the gloom. Crossing to it, I touched my fingers to the cool glass. Outside, the rain was coming down harder than ever. From my window, I could see other houses, shadows against the sky. And I could see, going on for what seemed like forever, the wide, open, gray blanket of clouds.

When I tried to sleep that night, curled in a sleeping bag on the floor of my room, I felt afraid. I wasn't scared of the dark, or about going to a new school. I wasn't worried about making friends or even of being alone. It was the sky; it was the thick gray of the sky. I had to get out of my sleeping bag a number of times to look out my window. I was afraid that the clouds were going to move away, and if they did, I don't think I would have known how to feel.