The Hidden Center; From Teenager to Hippy

The Hidden Centre; From Teenager to Hippy

The beginning of a strange tale

I stood at the door not bothering to plaster on a fake smile. My black ankle length dress swayed in the slight wind as my ash brown hair hung low behind my shoulders, each strand seemed to dance alone to a sad and slow song created by the perfect weather. I thought it would rain today. In most movies that I've seen it's always raining at funerals, like the sky itself is crying because of the departure of that person and their soul.

Then again my life is not a movie. If it were my mother would never have been work crazed. She would have never of left her teenage daughter to do anything she pleased, or just throw money at her and believe that she would be okay. If my life were a movie, my mother would have never ran that red light just to be on time for work.

I felt tears well up in my eyes. Why should I cry? She was always gone anyway. Never here...... but this time she's not coming back. There's not going to be anymore letters of apologies, no more late night phone calls of her repeating the words 'I'm sorry,' No more avoiding her because I was angry that she was missing out on my life.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I nodded and shook hands with yet another one of mom's colleagues. They seemed to create an endless stream of business woman and men, who probably knew my own mother better then I. Mom had been a very respectable Lawyer. The best of the best, or so I've been told a dozen times today. I gently rest my head on the side of the door, and looked over the bright blue sky which hung above my cheery high classed neighborhood. It's almost sickening how perfect the weather is today, how perfect it always is. I'm not particularly a person who likes this kind of bright weather, I more-so like rainy days, days in which the sky converges and a show of thunderstorms is greeted by the whimpering of small children and animals; that is my sort of weather.

My aunty has given me door duty, a long, boring and what seems to be never ending task. The least I could do, or so she said. I find it weird how every night I've been alone in this house and now it's full of complete strangers that of whom I have never met, grieving over the death of my mother, yet I'm on door duty.

"How are you doing possum?" I gave a half smile and leaned on the familiar body.

"As good as I can be gramps." He kissed my forehead as I sighed at the apparence of more suited bodies. I wasn't the only one who hadn't seen my mother in ages. Grandpa hates the fact that moms co-workers are here. He and I were in favor of a family and close friends only memorial service, but of course my contorling aunty refused. I don't even know why. She doesn't know anyone here, honestly, she's probably just playing the heartbroken sister act to try and find a 'male friend.'

"Well I'll be..." I looked up to my grandpa and raised an eyebrow.

"What's up?" a shaken smile made its way onto his old, thinned lips as he nodded his head to the street. My gaze followed his to the road where four vans were now parked.

The vans were brightly coloured and looked well loved and old, very, very old. I could see where repairs had been made in desperate attempts to fix the old vehicles, which apparently had worked. The faded colours of the vehicles gained many stares, it ever had old Mrs Crabnaght, my grumpy neighbour, close her blinds in discuss, although even from here I could see her long nose pointing out.

I watched as people dressed in colorful clothes jumped out and started to make their way over to us. Some of them had guitars strapped to their backs; others wore baggy pants and no shirts. their clothes were much like the vans, old faded and well loved. the people were all different sizes but one thing was awfully apparent-they were all unconditionally happy.

I've lived here all my life, never, ever, have I seen these people. In a town like mine you would know of them. Unfortunately my town gossips about anything and everything. there are no secrets here in Yarram, and that's just how the locals like it.