Screaming at the Stars

Hell on Earth

The moment our old truck started bouncing on the rocky dirty road was all it took to wake me up, and all it took to let me know that we were here. We had arrived to the absolute worst place I could ever ask to be. The exact opposite of home. Hell on Earth. The whole deal.

It had been my mother's idea to move here, it's where she grew up. We were moving into the very same house she lived in, with my aunt and uncle and two cousins. We were going to live in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere in Montana. I can remember when my big brother Davie and I were younger, she would tuck us into our beds in the room that we shared and tell us about how much she loved it here. She told us about all about all the trouble she got in with her older brothers Carter and Joey, like the time when they convinced her to help them steal all their relative's shoes and glue them to the roof while they were asleep.

"Now don't either of you get any ideas," she joked with twinkling eyes, poking our stomachs, to which we responded with a squeal and a poke back. "We each got a whoopin' for that one. Grandpa Frankie was so mad that Joey swore he saw steam comin' out from his ears!"

It was the stories like those that made this place seem like a dream when I was 4. Now, 11 years later, I would give anything to not be here. My mom decided that we should move here 3 years after Jamie died of leukemia. She said it would be good for us to be around other family. "We need each other," she said. "We need to be together. Things won't be so...well...they'll just get better." I'd responded with slamming my door in her face. Afterwards I'd felt bad and apologized, but the anger hadn't left. This place wasn't my home. I didn't care how amazing my mother had made it sound. Davie wasn't here anymore. The days passed slower and I always felt angrier and I didn't care as much about anything anymore. Life felt numb.

I tried to think about something else. I slouched down in the backseat, squeezed my eyes shut and tried to let the Beatles through my headphones distract me. I didn't need to look out the window. I knew I wouldn't care for what I saw. The 3 day trip hadn't been short enough. We had probably 10 more minutes before we arrived to the house. That's all it was to me. A house. A brick foundation and some wooden boards. My true home was in Boston. The city. I didn't care how much my parents tried to convince me that I would love it here. It was all bullshit persuasion, false hope, and fake smiles. They couldn't make me want to be here. No matter how hard they tried.

When the car stopped I kept my eyes closed. I heard my dad's door open and he climbed out and closed the door. I heard my name called. I ignored them. It was called again, louder. I didn't care. It was only when my mom turned around and screamed my name that I opened my eyes and glared at her.

"What?" I responded loudly, in turn receiving a warning look from her.

"Don't even start with me Andie. Get your shit and get out, I'm exhausted."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my backpack and swung the door open. I climbed out and kicked it shut as hard as I could so that it rattled the truck. I could hear my mother groan from the passenger seat. I didn't feel guilty for making things more difficult for her, and maybe that sounds bad, but at least she wanted to be here.

I walked around to the back of the truck where my Dad was grabbing suitcases and putting them on the ground. Our eyes met and he opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind so he grabbed a box instead. He turned around a few seconds later to look at me again. "Give this place a chance, alright? And try to watch the attitude. It's not so bad here."

I wanted to remind him that he didn't want to be here either. I remembered the long arguments at 11 pm I could hear in their bedroom as he tried to convince her that Montana wasn't a good idea. I thought about how annoyed he'd been when we sold our car to buy this old beaten up Chevvy truck. Although I wanted so badly to remind him of these things, one look at his tired eyes made me think twice. I grit my teeth and grabbed my suitcase. A few minutes later, my mother came around to the back of the trunk, all of a sudden with a completely different, calmer air. By then, all the suitcases and boxes and the little furniture we brought with us was all sitting in the rocky dirt. For the first time, I looked around. It was a big house, which was good since there would be a lot of us. My mom had told me that I'd probably have to share a room with my cousin Claudia, who was a year older than me. The thought made me want to hurl.

"Isn't it cute?!" My mother exclaimed brightly, looking around. "I remember this place so clearly! Look Lucas, they've fixed it up, it looks so nice! "

While my mom gushed about the house, all I could do was stare. The house was old, but I could see they'd just repainted it. It was bright blue with white trim and brown tiles on the roof. There was a small garden right out front by the door that was filled with daisies, hydrangeas and roses. The front yard had bright green grass that had just been mowed, and all the bushes were perfectly trimmed and symmetrical.  The house looked like it had just come out of a catalog. I could feel myself hating it more and more.

I barely had any more time to pick out more things I hated about the house before the front door opened and people came out. I could sense the hugs and awkward how are you's coming my way. Fucking awesome.