A Daughter of Light(A Light onto the World)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Drip.  Splat.  I count another drop.  So far I’ve counted three drops in as many seconds.  Sweat drips onto the page of my book.  I let out a deep sigh.  I can’t concentrate.  The only thing I can think about is how hot and sweaty I am.  The damn air-conditioner in the minivan is busted.  It stopped working about a hundred miles back, it just went kaput.  When Papa rolled down the window it was as if the air blew in straight from hell.  Zero relief.  We’re all practically baking in here.  Papa says he’ll get it fixed tomorrow.  That’s not soon enough.

I gaze up from my book the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde to peer out the window.  No use in trying to read. 

“Look girls, this is it.  Don’t blink or you’ll miss it,” Papa chuckles.  The town is just coming into view.  It looks like a scene from an old western movie.  My God, the roads aren’t even paved.  I thought Papa was taking a shortcut down this dirt road.  The main street of the town is very, no, extremely old fashioned.  There are wooden walkways instead of sidewalks and yes, those are hitching posts for horses.  Main Street is pretty small; it consists of one block on either side of a four way stop sign.  It includes a few family owned restaurants, an ice cream parlor, laundry mat, gas station/grocery store, coffee shop, city hall, and post office.  The block on the other side has a small library the size of a double wide mobile home, a diner, another gas station on the opposite side of the street, and a couple of antique shops.  I’ve counted four churches on the way into town, all belonging to different denominations.

Papa stops the minivan in front of the lone stop sign and says, “Believe it or not there are no stoplights in the whole town.”

“You’re kidding.”  Oh God.  Kill me now.

“It won’t be long now until we’re at our new home.”  Home.  Home is where the heart is, and my heart is tied to our old home in Oregon.  No, this’ll be our new house.

Our new house is much larger than the last one we owned in Corvallis, Oregon.  I guess it’s a lot cheaper in Sam Valentin, Texas.  I wonder why?  Another drop of sweat splashes onto the page of my still opened book.  Oh, yeah, that’s why.  A lot of people can’t stand this sort of heat and I’m one of them.

The house was built in the late eighteen-hundreds.  Originally the house had a barn that used to be an old blacksmith shop, but it was burnt down over a century ago.  We had to move because Papa lost his job when the country went into “The Great Recession” and was unable to find anything besides part time and temporary work.  So evidently, we moved here because my Papa found a good paying full time job.  Everything about the house is great, as long as you don’t mind the heat, the humidity, or the fact that there aren’t any neighbors unless you count the local businesses.  Our house is on the edge of town with a large field separating it from the nearest building.

Why did we have to move?  It’s not fair.  I’m not used to this.  I like the cold and watching the rain from my bedroom window.  I dab the sweat away from my forehead with my shirt.  My whole body seems to be covered in sweat, drenched.  I don’t even have a lot of clothes on.  I’m wearing a tank-top, sandals, and a pair of shorts — as short as I’m allowed anyways, Papa’s all about “not showing skin”.  I had styled my curly hair into a messy bun, but after over an hour with the windows down I get to drive through my new town donning a frizzy mess.  Papa and Mama say our bodies will adapt to the weather, but I highly doubt it.

“Oohhhhh,” I groan quietly in frustration.  I feel so gross.  More sweat forms on my forehead.  I give up on wiping it away.  More will just form.  The salt stings my eyes.  Don’t I look attractive?  Good thing I’m not wearing any makeup or my face would look like it’s melting off, kind of like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.… At least nobody will see me, nobody I know anyways.  As soon as I get to our new house I’m taking a nice cold shower.  Cold.  Hmm.