In the Apple

Chapter 2

We drove across the New York state border in August, after four hours of me sitting in the backseat next to my sobbing sister who sat behind my misery-soaked mother. My father drove tight-lipped and grim-faced, occasionally relaxing into a grin and sending me a wink as he caught sight of my bubbling joy in the rear view mirror. The sight of our new, much smaller home nested in its colony of identical homes, in contrast to our old house nestling by itself at the edge of a picturesque wood gave rise to a fresh outburst of angst from my mother and sister and even, briefly, gave me pause - but my momentary despair was swept away by the joy and excitement that had possessed me for the past few months. If the price to pay for a new start was cramped housing, I'd pay it and be glad. I set about settling in, being as jolly and helpful as I could to my gloomy family, and was finally dismissed to go off and explore the neighbourhood, no doubt so that they could fully indulge their misery without having it punctuated by my cheerful expressions.

School wasn't going to start for three weeks. I caught glimpses of other kids my age in the area, but my former life as a reject had failed to develop in me the courage to introduce myself. I watched, waited, and longed for school to start. Bored with no one to talk to but my family and excited at the idea that New York City itself lay a simple half hour away, I pestered my parents to take us on an outing. To my astonished disappointment, they weren't interested. Further, they firmly instructed me not to even consider going by myself. I was, they said, not nearly old enough or mature enough to be wandering the streets of New York without one of them. I would be in Big Trouble if I tried to sneak off.

Being a good girl, sneaking off on my own had never occurred to me, and so I complied and instead spent every waking moment walking or riding my bicycle all around our new world, satisfying myself with exploring a town that was probably 6 or 7 times bigger than the one I'd grown up in. I rode my bike to the high school, circling the grounds and savouring the sight of other teens who might soon be my friends, hoping that one of them might approach me. I explored the nearby rivers, ponds and woods, and marked the days off on my mental calendar.

One blistering morning, I woke up exceptionally early and stared at the rainbows the sun made on the ceiling above my bed, my thoughts dreamily drifting between trying to determine the source of the rainbows, and trying to think of something to do in the long day that stretched ahead. I thought about the options. It was a Thursday. Dad, the only possible hope of any fun, would be at work. Mom would probably alternate between chain-smoking in the back yard while dispiritedly perusing the Help Wanted ads in the local paper, and running up long-distance phone bills talking to her best friends at home. Either that or she'd stay in bed with some ailment or another. My sister would beg me to stay home and sit indoors with her playing Monopoly or double Solitaire. Failing that, she'd lie on a lounge chair in the back yard, sunbathe, and listen to the radio, tears sliding down her cheeks at the sound of any song that reminded her of home.