State of Grace (Complete)

Saved by the boys

Me and the boys next door, me and them, them and I, the three of us. We were an inseparable force when I was young. But age and experience changes everything.

When I was four we moved from the big city to a small town. Our apartment was tiny, cramped and my world. Books lined the halls, stacked higher than me, overflowing off my father's tiny desk spilling onto the floor, creeping into every space. I loved our elevator and the park across the road where I would play with all sorts of friends from different buildings and backgrounds. Languages were rich and varied, but we all spoke the language of running and swinging and climbing. There may have been differences but we were unaware—we just argued over who was king of the castle.

"We are moving, Gracie" proclaims my mother, chirping with happiness. "Daddy is a doctor now and he has a new job."

There was a party for Daddy at a local restaurant crowded and loud. I couldn't figure out how Daddy could be a doctor; he couldn't help sick people, he stayed far away from me whenever I had the flu. Of course later I would realize a ph.d in comparative literature isn't quite the same kind of doctor as the ones in the coats on tv.

"Can I get a pony, Mommy? Will we have room for a pony? Are there farms near us? Will there be 'partments like the city, and a playground?"

"Gracie, stop being a squirmy-wormy and leave your mommy alone, she's trying to drive," Daddy turns from his book in the front seat next to Mommy. "Behave." Then he faces front again.

I am so excited. We are going from our 'partment in the big city to our new house in the country. We are going to have a whole new house, with a yard and two floors and Daddy can have a room just for his desk and books. Mommy says we are going to have a yard which makes sense because we are the Yardleys, so a pony is a great idea, I think.

The road is busy and we are pulling everything in trailer behind our car except for the van behind us that Uncle Paul is driving that has the rest of our stuff. Mommy says we'll have to get more furniture too, because our house is going to be bigger than our 'partment and we have it all to ourselves. I won't be able to here the Shamdaris next door or the Shwartzs upstairs. Upstairs will be my room and Mommy and Daddy's room and a spare room besides. I am getting tired of waiting and it's hot in the car and we aren't driving fast enough...

"What's that smell?" I wipe my sticky hand against my heavy eyes as everything flickers into focus. Outside is different. There are no tall buildings, and there's grass everywhere, and the roads aren't busy and there's a funny smell. I turn behind to look out the back window, and Uncle Paul is still there with the van, going along behind our trailer, so at least we didn't lose my things.

"That's manure," Mommy answers snappishly. My brow furrows over the unfamiliar word.

"Animal poop, Sleepyhead," Daddy explains to me. And I'm not sure I like the new house anymore.

The poop smell doesn't go away and we stop outside a yellow brick house that looks like a yucky mustard. There are lots of yucky mustard houses and some red brick ones besides on the street, and a forest up ahead. The house, our new home, has a red door and white trim that Mommy says is ginger breading, and a big tree on our front lawn and a porch with a swing. It's raining and we have our very own driveway, but no underground parking like at our building and I get wet walking to the front door and I hate getting wet. So I walk into our stupid mustard yellow house with a ketchup door with rain dripping off me and tears rolling down my eyes.

"What's wrong, Buttercup?" Daddy asks, noticing my unhappiness.

"Where's the park and buildings and people and why does it smell?" I whine.