To Love Dust

To Love Dust

All of it started the day I moved from my home in Seattle to a little, rural town in the middle of Wyoming. What started you may ask? Well, you will just have to read on and find out.

 I was told that the town was beautiful and light, almost old-fashioned. Whoever told me that lied.

    Our large, brand new truck rolled into the dusty, bleak little town of Muddy Gap. I glanced out of my window quickly, in a moment taking in the dust, and the –--so I thought---- one street town.

  “Why did you make us move daddy!” I cried, despair evident in my voice. My father answered calmly from the front seat.

 “I told you why. This town needs us, and besides, your mom and I grew up here. Just . . . give it a chance.”

  “Never.” I replied stoutly. Childish was the word to describe the way I was acting, but I couldn’t find it within me to care. My summer was ruined! I say back on the leather seat and pouted just as our truck rolled past a business with a large sign that proclaimed it the grocery store. The truck purred the way only a new vehicle can. I flicked my gaze out the window, taking in the tall, rather attractive boy just leaving said store.

  “Hmm . . . maybe it won’t be so bad after all,” I joked. Not getting it, my dad started a lecture on how I was too young to date. I just rolled my eyes and discreetly slipped my headphones back into my ears.

Shortly thereafter we arrived at a beautiful house, some forty minutes from the town. I couldn’t help my surprise. The house was baby-blue with white trimming. Maybe old-fashioned was the correct term for this little dot on the map.

  “I’m impressed,” I said slowly. I will admit that I thought we would be moving from our beautiful city, suburban house to a dingy, creaky haunted house. My mouth quirked up, I was quite wrong.

   “Well I’m not! I wanna’ go home mommy!” Jerry whined from next to me. I let out a long-suffering sigh.

    “Yeah, well so do I, get over it.” I snapped, hopping out of the truck before Jerry replied. The first thing I noticed was the heat. It was oppressing, everywhere, omnipresent. The only thing I could think to say was, “There better be an air-conditioner in that house!”

    I headed around the car to grab my bag from the bed of the Chevy. Backpack and suitcase in hand, I headed inside to face the horror of moving into a new house. As I walked I took in the fact that the grass was a beautiful shade of green despite the weather. That one patch of green gave a the slight flickering of hope, maybe, just maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad. With this hope slowly growing, I entered our new house. 

                                                                         ✥  * * *  ✥

Three hours later I was lying on my new bed, staring up at the ceiling in slight awe. Our house was stunning. The inside was lavish, the walls all different hues that somehow complemented each other in stunning ways. Don’t even get me started on the furniture! It was all leather, the beautiful, dark cherry saddle leather. The style was a far cry from the modern theme we had in our old house, but it was so . . . classic-looking that it seemed far more beautiful than our other house.

   “Scarlette!” My mother called, her voice echoing in the still upstairs.

   “Coming!” I called back, my voice cracking slightly from the strain. I jumped up off of my beautiful, four poster, mahogany bed, my feet landing firmly on the red wood floor. Yep, you could say I liked the house. I sprinted down the grand staircase and fell against the kitchen doorway. The scent of grilled steak met my nose and I sniffed appreciatively.