A Teenager's Challenge in a Small Town

Moving On

My whole adopted family is moving today, and I'm not so excited. I hate with a passion where we're moving. And as if it weren't bad enough, we are leaving from the city!

               "Bekah," my mother calls loudly. "We have to go now!"

I reply softly, "Coming, mom..."

I feel the hard pavement under my feet as I run out to the truck. While my mom starts the engine, I swing into the truck. Ever since my father bought this truck, I have always felt sick because I sit so high up in the back seat. We will need so many things because our new home will be in "horse country". I still can't believe my dad accepted that job in Tennessee. Horse people! Gross. I'm not one of those people, in fact, I am afraid of horses. I always have been. That is what is making this move so terrible for me. When I was six years old, my father had this awful blue truck and he thought it would be fun to go horseback riding as a surprise. I did not know what was coming. The horse was walking slowly beside my father, when all of a sudden that horse that I was riding, bucked me off. I was thrown to the ground. That was it! After that, I became a dog person. But that was then, and this is now. After one more crazy look from my dad, we were on our way towards Tennessee.

"I'm going to miss the old brownstone, and New York, like crazy." I moaned as I looked in the rear view mirror.

     "We will miss it too," says my dad as we drive through the crowded city, "but we'll make our new home in Tennessee!"

"You know, a puppy would make this whole move a lot easier..." I say in my happiest tone.

"I don't know honey... Dad's going to have a new work schedule and with the new house and everything a puppy might be too much right now, but we'll consider it." My chin drops.

"Hey, com'on Beks. I promise I will consider it!" as my dad squeezes my knee.

"Yeah right," I reply as I roll my eyes.

As we drive through the city I look up and see our truck's reflection on the New York skyscrapers. I got the last sight of my favorite city and look away. After that, I observed miles and miles until all I would see was green for three days. As we drove through Pennsylvania, I felt sick. I was leaving the only home I have ever known for some small hick town named Collierville. Here I am twelve years old, and having lived in one of the largest cities in the world, only to find myself moving to this remote little berg. I was trying to make up a joke about this move when I heard my mom's cell phone.

"We will be there in a week to pick it up," as mom talks softly.

"What are we picking up mom?" as I perked up.

"It's a surprise! You'll find out when we get it" she replies. I crossed my fingers that the surprise was the poodle I have always wanted, but I tried not to get my hopes up. When we get to Collierville, I'm still stumped as to what my surprise could be. I've kept guessing the entire way here. I jump out of the truck and feel the crunch of dirt under my Nike tennis shoes. We are in the middle of nowhere and I hate it. Nothing; No New York Skyline, no neighbors, absolutely nothing but one creaky old southern mansion.

"Beks, would you mind staying here while the movers take our stuff into the house?" Dad asks nicely.

"Why? I hate this place and I don't want my nice stuff inside this old ugly house," I reply in my nastiest tone.

"Rebekah!" my mom scolds, "This is our chance to start over after everything that happened in New York, and you know that!"

"But mom-"

"I don't want to hear it! You are going to stay here and help the movers while your father and I go pick up something a few miles away."

"Fine," I say, but I can't seem to look her in the eyes. My parents leave and I decide to explore the house. I think it's kind of cool, but I would never admit that to my parents. I trudge through the tall grass up to the house.

It's covered in ivy, but I can still see the white paint chipping off underneath. I climb the stairs to the front door while the movers are going through the garage.

The heavy wooden front door creaks and is hard to open, but finally after trying for three minutes, I open it. Nevertheless, I step inside and the first thing I do is to look up to see a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling. This must have been a beautiful mansion in its time.

As I venture further inside I see a staircase to my right, and a dining room to my left that must have some crazy parties from the twenties. I sneeze from all the dust. This place is a real "fixer upper". Did my father buy some cheap old "steal" just to save money? I still can't understand why he would uproot our family to come to a place like this. There are no people for miles. I know dad used to be a contractor but that was a long time ago when he moved to New York City. I guess he definitely wants to go back to his past and renovate a house again to make this place livable.