To Me She Was Pretty

The Move and The Boy Next Door Part 1

Clare Middlebrook, had fallen asleep just as the sun had begin to fade and a sea of stars took the night sky. Dried tears stained her pleasantly plump face as she lay, still----quiet, wrapped up in a red, scratchy flannel blanket, arms at her chest, an old photograph of a loved one in a stainless steel locket around her neck (she knew, she would never see again).

Hours before, the girl had not been so still, or so quite. She had been reasonably and unbelievably upset, and according to her mother----utterly disrespectful. But what 16-year-old isn't at some point or another, in their young, uncertain, ever-changing, raging, hormonal lives?

And besides, so what, if she had made such a big, raving, emotional fuss earlier that day. Clare had a good enough reason to. She knew her mother Grace wasn't always so strong (so why should she be?), particularly by the look she got in her eye, when dinner went uneaten and cold on nights her husband David didn't bother coming home.

And David, he was a completely different matter altogether. He had recently gone off the deep end and broken a few things in the house; vases, a couple of tarnished sports trophies from his short-lived, high school football career, and more than enough family portraits to make his point. The family bound, was like those pictures and shattered glass in a frame----broken. So much, that the cracks were finally beginning to show.

For David, he figured the little things, (parking tickets, abnormally long red-lights) typical annoyances from day to day, had began getting the best of him, but if he was completely honest with himself, those things as bothersome as they were, weren't where the problem lied. They weren't the root. Instead, it was a burning, churning, hellish kind of anger he felt deep, deep inside, that was causing him so much pain.

He carried an unbearable amount of guilt for what he felt, he let happen----and he hated himself for it. That hate, that anger, it had began spilling over and out into his and his family's life. It was slowly destroying something that was once good and perfect.

So, this was why, Clare hadn't been so happy, why she hadn't been herself lately. Why she said what she said, and meant every----single----word, "Moving, isn't going to fixing anything----don't you guys know that?!?!?" Grace dropped her head and David kept his focus on the road as his jaw clinched repeatedly. "Especially, when what's inside you is broken. You'll carry it with you..." Clare was the exceptional kind of young woman that was wise far beyond her years, but she credited such wisdom, to the teaching of Loretta, her late grandmother. "Mom, you can't run from the fact your mother died, and dad----you can't blame the world for what's no ones fault. Sometimes, bad things just happen... and there's nothing you or anyone can do, but keep living, and moving forward the best you can; we still have each other, you know?"

Clare balled her hands into fists and beat the back of the passenger seat, "We haven't lost everything, not yet..." She screamed as the tears flowed from her eyes like a great river. "You guys need to pull your selves together, quit being selfish with your pain and start being adults. We all have suffered a loss here; all of our hearts ache. We have to get through this as a family... You guys are all I've got!! I need you to be present in my life..."

****

The cool, flowing air, slipped through the crack of the window and kissed Clare's smooth, pale skin. She lay sprawled across the navy and torn leather seat, in the back of the used, but trusty station wagon (her friends back home called old faithful).

Her eyes fought the drunkenness of sleep away and her body shivered. She sat up slowly. "We're almost there sweetheart," Grace forced a smile, placing her gaze upon her daughter through the rear-view mirror. David took his wife's hand in his, leaving the other resting on the steering-wheel. "We're sorry----your mom and I... I'm sorry. I really am. But no excuses this time, we'll try----we'll do----better. We promise."

The car rounded a corner and pulled into a neat, well-manicured community. A white wooden sigh on a large strudy post read; Mountian View. "We're here," Grace exhaled with relief as the station wagon scraped up the spotless driveway. "I know sweetie, that you feel this isn't going to fix anything, but I want you to know, that as bad as some of our old memories are, this move, is a chance to make new ones, allowing you, me and your father time to reconnect and heal. This is a fresh, blank chapter in our lives, one for us to write however we'd like... We can take every tarnished piece we have, and build something truly wonderful from it all..."

Grace faced her daughter and searched her eyes... "How about that?" Clare nodded just before turning to catch a quick glimpse of a boy in the window of the house next door. A light in his room flicked quickly off. All Clare could see now, was darkness. How long he had been watching, and did 'old faithful' wake him? Clare wondered if there was a chance, the boy in the window was a lot like her, carrying a large burden on his shoulders unable to find rest and a good nights sleep.

She pondered upon such things for while, helping her parents upload the organized clutter in the back of the wagon. It didn't take nearly as long as she had thought.

Later that night, staring at the ceiling, atop an inflatable mattress, surrounded by boxes full of keepsakes from her old life, a smile tugged at the corners of Clare's lips as her tired eyes grew very heavy.

She had for a moment found a sense of peace, a small comfort in her brand-new life. Maybe, after all, she wouldn't be as alone as she thought in that sleepy, rainy, little town in Colorado. But despite the prep-talk, and the valid point Clare had made to her parents, she too, was broken, and in desperate need of fixing. However, with a nudge in the right direction and a little help from the boy next door, such brokenness, in time, could indeed be beautifully mended.