The Ballerina and the Rocker

Zacky

He was going to miss the Andersons. Even though they had only lived next door to for four short years, it felt like he had known them his whole life. They had practically become proxy grandparents, not to mention the coolest neighbors anyone could have asked for; they didn’t complain when his guitar playing got a tad too loud (hell, they had practically paid for it by giving him a gift of fifty bucks every Christmas and birthday), and always brought over an abundance of leftovers. It was going to be weird without them.

Zacky felt like he was losing a part of himself, which was way too dramatic for his 17-year-old self to handle. He had always just assumed the Anderson’s were going to be his neighbors forever. He expected them to be there to throw him welcome home parties when he came back from touring with his (hopefully one day successful) band. But he knew he shouldn’t be selfish. Rob and Jen Anderson were elderly and needed to be closer to their children and grandkids.

“Oh Zachary, darling,” Mrs. Anderson said as she clasped Zacky’s youthful hand in her aging ones. “You are going to grow up into a fine young man.”

“Stop that, Mrs. A,” was Zacky’s bashful response.

“And with Zina off at school you’re going to need to help your parents a lot more. Goodness knows Matt won’t do it.” Mrs. Anderson’s jab at Zacky’s younger brother earned a chuckle from the blushing teenager. “And don’t you worry,” she continued. “You will still be getting birthday cards from me.”

She smiled that grandmotherly smile Zacky knew all too well, a smile that had reassured him time and time again after he had found himself in trouble. She always had his back when Zacky found himself in a battle, and now he had to continue on without his star soldier.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Zacky said as he embraced Mrs. Anderson.

“Zack,” he heard his mother, Maria, call. He turned his head out of the hug and saw his mother standing by the moving truck filled with the Anderson’s possessions. “Do you mind helping with the last few boxes?” He nodded and made his way silently to the curb, decorated with boxes. He and his father, along with the Anderson’s son, Jim, piled the last few boxes into the truck. Jim closed the door, locked it, and hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Have a safe drive, you guys,” Maria said to the Anderson’s as the two families shared their final set of good-bye hugs. After a few tearful minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson eventually situated themselves in the truck alongside their son and waved farewell to the Baker’s.

Zacky waved back as the truck drove down the block, and he continued to wave until they drove out of sight.

“It’s funny,” Maria began as she placed an arm around her teenage son. “How they’re moving up to Washington after we moved here.” Zacky smiled at the comment; it almost made it easier to accept the Anderson’s departure knowing they would be living in Tacoma, a mere half and hour drive from his hometown.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster.

“Well, Jen made sure to leave us a roast for tonight. Which means starting tomorrow I’ll actually have to start cooking for you boys!”

Maria squeezed Zacky’s shoulder before heading back into their house. Zacky didn’t follow immediately. Instead, he stared at the now empty house next door and wondered who his new neighbors would be.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t complain about his guitar.

Quinn

Quinn was used to moving. Her family had been moving for as long as she could remember: Born in Newport, Connecticut but raised just about everywhere else on the East Coast. Some people might have found this constant uprooting a nuisance, but Quinn had quickly learned to accept the 90s as the decade of change.

Her father, Lt. Colonel Daniel Hartford, was an officer in the U.S. Navy. Whenever his orders arrived, the family would pick up and move to where Dan had been transferred. Quinn and her two older siblings didn’t resent their father for their constant uprooting (they had managed to keep their family a solid unit, after all), but being “military brats” did take a certain toll; Quinn never seemed to stay put at a school for very long, at least not long enough to make any lasting friendships. The one constant thing in Quinn’s life was ballet.

The skylines may have changed, but the dance certainly didn’t.

As the Hartford’s pulled up to their new home, Quinn didn’t feel anything. No excitement, no resentment – nothing. It was just another house they were going to occupy. She was going into her senior year of high school and would be leaving after the year anyway, with her sights set on Juilliard, and her siblings had already moved on in their own lives; she had became envious of her siblings for escaping the nomadic lifestyle they had unwillingly adopted, and couldn’t wait to do the same when she got to college. But that was a long, agonizing year away.

For now, Quinn just had to deal with another house in a line of houses the Hartford’s had called “home.”

“Well, here we are,” her mother, Joanne, said as she parked their white 1989 station wagon on the street. Quinn got out of the car and stood beside it to take in the new view just as her father pulled the moving van into the driveway.

“Home sweet home.” Quinn felt her mother place a hand on each of her shoulders and give them a tight squeeze.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of big?” Quinn asked her mother after surveying the outside of the house. “I mean, it’s just going to be the three of us.”

“Yes, but Audrey and Mason will each need a room when they come to visit,” her mother explained of her siblings.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Well,” Dan said as he stepped out of the moving van. “Should we start bringing this stuff in?”

Quinn let out a heavy sigh as she aided her parents in a routine she knew all too well. Here we go again, she thought as she reached for a box, just another house in just another town.