Chapter 1 - Moving Day

The "big day," as Mom calls it, is here. It isn't a big day for me. My life is over. Leaving my friends, school, and home is not how I planned to end the summer before my senior year. Lord, why did Mom have to marry Michael anyway? We were doing ok on our own. Weren't we? I certainly thought so. She was all I had, and now I have lost her too. I feel so alone. I guess I wasn't enough for her, so she had to go off and get married. Life sucks!

I closed my journal and tucked it into a cardboard box marked "Frankie" Personal! Keep Out!" on all four sides, informing the movers not to snoop. I took my time taping the box closed, staving off the inevitable. Sighing deeply, I took one last sorrowful look at my bedroom. The walls were painted "Snappy Sunshine." My favorite color is yellow, and it was the brightest, boldest yellow I could find at the local hardware store. I loved my room.

I remember the day Mom and I painted my room. It was a warm spring day. We had opened the windows allowing a soft breeze to blow through the apartment, filling it with the scent of roses growing in the window boxes in the back. Mom loves roses. The local Top-Ten radio station played loudly on my stereo, and we danced and sang all afternoon. The paint was splattered everywhere! More paint landed on us than the walls. The memory made me chuckle softly under my breath. That was a fantastic day. I sighed, looking at the floor, and a tear silently slid down my cheek, landing on the rug. The heaviness in my heart was palpable.

"Frankie, it's time to go," Mom said, leaning inside the door jamb, watching me.

"Yeah," I jumped, startled, and quickly replied, "I guess so."

I grabbed my oversized stuffed sloth, Clarence, and slid past my mom. I avoided direct eye contact with her, my head bent low, allowing me to wipe a second tear that had escaped.

I stopped outside my door. With my back to Mom, shoulders squared, I firmly stated, "I will go, but I don't have to like it " or him," and marched down the hall. My favorite pair of Durango boots clomped on the hardwood floors as I headed towards the front door"the echo created by the vacant house reverberated in my ears, causing the hollowness in my chest to be amplified. Today was the saddest day I could ever remember in my life.

Silently, we headed east out of town. I was quietly saying goodbye to all things cherished and familiar. The lump in my throat grew more prominent when we passed my high school. I had so many fun times with my friends at school. Memories of football games, school dances, and the drama club flooded my mind. My heart ached in my chest. I missed them already " especially my best friend, Faith. Approaching 3rd Avenue, I spotted a group of kids gathered on the corner at the Starbucks where we hung out every day after school. I perked up, recognizing Faith. Our friends, Tabitha, Paige, John Mark, and Hunter, were with her waving franticly, jumping up and down resembling a band of baboons! They were holding a big, brightly colored sign that read, “We’ll miss you, Frankie!”

"Mom! Stop!" I shouted as we flew past them. I wanted to jump out of the car and hug them all. My friends had always been there when I needed them.

"I can't, Honey. I have to keep up with Michael so we don't get separated."

"Mom, you have to!" I shouted, watching their silhouettes grow smaller in the side view mirror. "Just five minutes. I swear. Paaleeese" I begged. 

"No, sweetheart, we have to get on the road. Just call her." 

"I don't have my phone." I realized suddenly. "It's in the trunk in my bookbag!"

 "Well, then you can just call Faith when we get home," she stated flatly, eyes fixed on the road. 

"His house will never be my home!" I threw at her; "You are so mean!" Mom was unphased by my outburst and kept going, following the tackey yellow moving truck that Michael was driving.

The three-hour drive from Hickory to Holly Springs was dreadful; as I refused to speak to Mom, I made it clear that she had ruined my life without saying a word. She didn't care about me anymore; it was all about Michael now. Since he came into the picture, I ceased to exist. I buried my face into Clarence's belly and silently sobbed until every tear was spilled. Somewhere along I-40, I cried myself right to sleep.

"Honey, wake up. We are here." Mom chirped from the driver's seat. "Welcome to Holly Springs!" she was way too chipper for my liking.

Swimming up from a sleep-induced fog into consciousness, reality suddenly hit me. I was here, at Michael's house, and everything I knew and loved was back in Hickory. I curled up into a ball in the passenger seat, grieving the life I was forced to leave behind.

"I am just going to stay here for the rest of my life." I groaned loud enough for Mom to hear.

"Frances Tulsa Montgomery, you get out of that car right now." Mom demanded from the driveway.

I rolled my eyes, unlocked the door, and reluctantly rolled out of the car. My butt had gone numb from sitting so long. Holy Cow! My mind cried out. Is this his house? I rubbed my eyes several times to ensure I wasn't trapped in some type mirage.

"Like it?" Mom asked, giddy as a schoolgirl.

"It's alright." I feigned aloofness, hoping to conceal my surprise.

In actuality, I was in awe. Michael's "house" was a massive, two-story, 

farmhouse complete with a white wrap-around porch with ceiling fans and rocking chairs. Was this a movie set or Was Scarlett O'Hara our neighbor? Pretending to get my bag out of the back of the car, I slyly checked out the scenery. It was breathtaking. 

The driveway was long, windy, and tree-lined on both sides with huge Oaks that created an arch of intertwined branches overhead. Instantly I pictured a horse and buggy cresting the knoll. On one side of the drive there were horses in a pasture a  a beautiful pond on the other. There were even ducks in the pond! It was like looking at a Thomas Kincade painting. I was a bit overwhelmed momentarily in shock. I don't know what I envisioned Michael's house to look like, but it certainly wasn't this.

Mom appeared at my side, her eyes gleaming.

"Well?" she asked in eager anticipation, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Whatcha think?"

"I like our apartment in Hickory better." I spat at her, my voice filled with venom.

I knew I had burst her bubble, but there was no way on God's green Earth I was going to admit that this house could have been taken right out of my journal. I used to dream of a family home with my mom, dad, and me, just like this one. Michael was not in the picture.

"Where is the room I have to sleep in?" I asked angrily. I wanted to be alone and call Faith…and probably cry again.

"Your bedroom and bath are on the second floor," Mom yelled from the back seat of her car. I heard her grunting as she tried to manipulate a suitcase from behind the driver's seat. I know I should have helped her, I was brought up better than that, but dangit, I was mad at her. I ignored her and kept walking towards the house.

Once inside the house, it was hard to miss way to the upper level. "Stairs" did not do justice to the impressive staircase that led to my room. I dragged my suitcase across the polished hardwoods, not caring if I scratched them, and pounded my way up the steps. I must admit that I was more than a little stunned to discover that the entire second floor only had two doors, one for a bedroom and one for a bathroom - my bedroom and my bathroom. 

I peeked in the bathroom first. It was cute, I thought, but all white. The shower was all glass with shiny brass fixtures; the walls, floor, and oversized vanity were a blinding white. A large oval free-standing mirror stood in the corner. It definitely needed a pop of color. My mind suddenly flashed back to my bedroom in Hickory with the bright yellow walls and rugs, and my heart ached.

"Frankie, you can do this," I told myself. "God, please help me do this," I took a deep breath and crossed the hall to check out my new room.

PINK? What the crap? I couldn't believe my eyes. They painted my room pink and  I hate pink! Pink is my least favorite color in the paint palette.

"Mom!" I shrieked down the stairs, "Mom! Come here!"

"Honey, what's wrong?" panic filled her voice as she took the stairs two at a time. "Are you ok?" she was genuinely concerned and breathless as she reached the top landing. Grabbing me by my shoulders, she quickly scanned my body for any visible signs of trauma.

"How could you paint my room pink of all colors?" I demanded, ignoring her obvious distress.

She stepped back, "You called me up here, screaming like an ax murderer had jumped out of your closet, and it is just about the color of your walls? Really, Frankie?" The look on Mom's face told me she was not happy with me at the moment.

"But it looks like someone puked Pepto Bismal all over the place," I whined, but it didn't appear that Mom was listening.

"We wanted to give you something new and different," she said softly. "I thought you would love it." Mom looked wounded by my reaction, and I instantly felt like a heel. 

"Well, I guess it isn't so bad," I relented. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mom. I knew I was taking my sadness out on her. "I will try to think of it like cotton candy instead of diarrhea medicine."

"That's my girl!" Mom rolled her eyes and chuckled. I saw the relief wash over her face before she turned and headed back down the stairs. 

"Nope," I said aloud once inside the pink parfait of a bedroom, "it will always look like Pepto Bismal to me."