Abbarent Waters

You can’t disguise sad eyes.



Moving away is nice. I don’t understand why some kids try everything they can to stay where they are. I like the idea of moving to a place where no one knows who I am or knows everything about me. It’s suffocating living in a town that only has a population of two hundred, where not a single secret can be kept. I hated it growing up. So I know that moving is a really nice change, for me, at least. And for my brother who was jumping out his seat, dying with excitement. He’s not the one that’s moping about change.

Ironically, it’s the one bringing about this change: my mother. I suppose that could be blamed on the pregnancy; all those hormones are rather annoying, though. She was happy this morning. She couldn’t wait! And as soon as we drove off, she stopped the car, turned around, and looked at the tiny spec in the background which used to be our home. She lingered for a moment -- her eyes weary, as if she were having an internal battle. Like something was telling her to stay. Whatever it was, it must not have been a very strong feeling, because she turned back around and started the car up.

I found the quiet in the car to be comforting. Well, it was almost quiet, except for the occasional snap or pops my brother made. He spent most of the trip listening to his iPod. I could not help but feel a bit angry every time I glanced over at it, because once upon a time, it had actually been mine. But when I got the new iPod, my mother said I had to give it to him. I felt nostalgic watching him with it, though. It had been my first and had gotten me through many horrible, lonely days. I remember the Christmas eve I found it on the tree, sticking out like a sore thumb. It was now considered an antique, because they weren’t even made like that anymore. I had it three years – that’s three years I had it all to myself. And now it’s in the hands of my nine year old brother who can’t even wear a pair of socks without tearing them up.

The once metallic blue surface was colored black with a sharpie. Mother never understood how I could feel angry or indignant about the fact that he had drawn on his iPod but I had to remind her that it had, in fact, once been mine. I felt my nostrils flare up and forced myself to look away, knowing getting angry about it all over again.

I tapped the edge of my knee with my fingers, and stretched my long legs as far as I could without hitting mom’s seat (which wasn’t very far, by the way). I groaned and closed my eyes, wanting the long ride to be over. I wanted to lie down and stretch my limbs. For a pregnant woman, mom wasn’t using the bathroom like she should. She’s just paranoid that someone might want to kidnap us. I highly doubt that. I don’t have low self-esteem or anything, but if a kidnapper took my brother and me, after about five minutes, he or she would probably pay my mom just to take us back. They might even send her a thank you card, and a sympathy card to go along with it.

My brother, when provoked, could be the most irritating individual anyone has ever encountered. Sure, he was alright now, but that was because he didn’t want to get grounded his first day in a new town. I knew exactly what he would do as soon as we got there: go explore. It would most likely be the attic first, because he liked finding creatures. It’s truly disgusting, the things that he finds.

“Okay,” mom said, letting out a deep breath. “We’re almost there.”

I sighed in relief and sat straight up, now curious to look around at all the stores and houses. My shoulders slumped when I realized I had missed the major part of town, and we were now in the outskirts, near our house. Of all the places, mom wanted to move here. It was a bit strange, but I didn’t feel like arguing. We had been here once, about five years ago. And that was for summer vacation.

But honestly, it’s not summer right now. It’s almost fall and the sky is gray and gloomy looking. There are a few gas stations and convenience stores around the area, which is nice, so I don’t have to drive into town to get something. There are even a few fast food restaurants. Mom took a sharp left down a street and we all gazed out of the windows at the houses. They were in pretty good condition, though they were a bit plain looking.

Our house is a dull white, with white vinyl siding and bricks that were painted white. “Whoever built this house must have been pretty racist,” I commented, trying to lighten the mood. Mom offered a weary smile and Jackson snickered.

“Or boring,” he added. He was shaking impatiently.

I nodded and took my seatbelt off, and crawled over to Jackson’s side of the seat. He was too busy gazing at the house himself to protest. “Awesome!” he exclaimed. “When can I go swimming?”

Mom’s only reply was a stern glare as she pulled into the cement driveway -- a grayish white color. The stairs were plain brown, and from the looks of it, newly built. There were six windows, four on the first floor, and two on the second. And then there was the attic window.

There was a large lake less than half a mile away from our house. Mom said so, anyways. It could have been a lie to get me on board; she knew I couldn’t resist water. I had loved the water since I was five years old. My best friend taught me how to swim. I wanted to be on the swim team, but mom said she didn’t want me wearing tight bathing suits so that a bunch of men could look at me. She clearly didn’t understand the whole thing, but I didn’t like arguing with her. It was such a bother. Parents don't hear you.

Jackson opened to door and was out before Mom could even put the vehicle in park and turn the engine off. I quickly followed, eager to see my new room. Mom said she picked them out for us, to prevent any fights. I didn’t really care, because she knew me well, and she knew what type of room I would like.

“Elena, help me with the boxes, please,” Mom ordered, before I could get any further. I sighed and made my way -- slowly as possible -- to the back of the Rav4. She opened the door and peaked in. She quickly retreated and slammed the door with all her might. “Damn it!” she yelled.

“What?” I asked.

“I forgot the boxes.” Her face curled up in disgust and she marched up to the house, one hand protectively covering her enlarged stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she shrieked, before stepping in the house and slamming the door.

I gawked at the house in amazement. How could I have possibly known she had forgotten the boxes? Am I psychic? Doesn’t she think if I had known, I would have told her? I shook my head and walked up the stairs slowly, so that my flip flops wouldn’t squeak. I hated that.

I raised my hand to the door knob and let it rest on the cool silver surface, before turning in and opening it. The smell of beach immediately filled my nostrils; it smelled similar to the ocean – a mix of salt water and sun tanning lotion. It was faint, yet strong at the same time. I blinked a few times before gazing at my surroundings.

The floors were hardwood – a light tan color. The walls were white, and the ceiling was a crème color. I dodged going into the kitchen area, because I knew that’s where mom would be. I walked up the stairs, which were hardwood as well. Whoever built this house didn’t have much imagination, if any.

I could hear the thud of footsteps above me, and I shook my head. Jackson had found the attic. I looked into the first room and didn’t even have to take a step into it to know that it wasn’t mine. It didn’t feel right. I walked down to the end of the hall and entered the room on the right side of the hall. I sighed happily and shut the door behind me, knowing this was the one. It had a few of my boxes already in here. And there were three large windows, which reached down from the floor to the ceiling. There was a ceiling fan, with brown blades. A closet was to my right, with a few clothes hangers already in it. I fell down on the mattress by the window on the farthest left and smiled up at the ceiling. I breathed in and out deeply before shutting my eyes and rolling over.

I immediately recoiled and sat up, my eyes opening in a split second. “Gross,” I muttered. I ran my hand across the surface of the mattress; it was slightly wet. I jumped up and took my bottle of hand sanitizer out of my pocket, squeezing some on the palm of my hand before putting it back and rubbing my hand on my pants.

Sighing, I walked over the window and opened it, leaning my head out to look down at the sandy soil mixed with grass on the ground. I smiled and leaned back in. I started to close the windows when I heard a light fluttering noise. I looked down at the windowsill and frowned when I saw a letter.

Carefully, I picked it up, afraid that it might fly away, and began unfolding it. The blue and red lines were blurred and it made the writing hard to read; the paper was all crumpled up.

“Elena!”

Sighing, I folded the note back up carefully and ran down the hall and down the stairs. “Coming!”

I wondered how parents knew exactly when to call their kids at the worst possible time. It must be hardwired into them.

Mom was in the kitchen. Her hair was already covered by a red bandana, and she was kneeling down in front of a box, perspiration shining on her face. “Elena, Jackson is being too quiet.”

I looked up at the ceiling, now noticing how quiet it really was. I looked back down to mom, nervousness written all over her face. And as if on cue, the pitter patter of footsteps came crashing down the steps and Jackson’s face appeared momentarily, a huge grin on it. That definitely wasn’t good.

“Mom!” he yelled, holding up his hands. “I found this awesome dead mouse!”

He opened the palm of his hand to reveal a shriveled up dead mouse with fuzz all over its body. “And there was a snake skin in the attic!”

Mom moved faster than I’d ever seen any pregnant woman move and leaned over the sink, her whole body lurching forward as she threw up the contents of her last meal. I turned my head with my nose wrinkled up in disgust. Jackson watched her with excitement, as if throwing up was cool.

“Elena,” mom gasped.

I turned to see that she had her head partially turned over her shoulder to us, and her forefinger was pointing towards the door. “Take your brother to the lake.”

I sighed and pulled out my germ-x. “Put this on your hands,” I ordered.

Jackson stalked over to me and dropped the mouse at my feet. “Merry Christmas, Elena,” he said, smiling. I glared at him as I poured at least half of my hand sanitizer on his palms. He shrugged and wiggled his eyebrows at me before taking off outside.

“Elena,” mom said. I looked at her, trying to force a smile on my face. She relaxed a bit and gave me another weary smile. “Thanks kid.”

I nodded and slammed the door shut on my way out.

“I’m not a kid,” I muttered, before running to catch up with my brother.