By Jennifer Lightburn
I hated my mother and father. Don’t get me wrong. I loved them dearly, but I hated them all the same. They made us move… to the country to make matters worse. They wanted us to get away from the city. Like we lived in the city. We lived in DC. The last I heard it was the Nations Capital, not like New York City or L.A., and it’s not like we got into real trouble. Jasmine was always a 4.0 student, and I brought in straight C’s. We didn't get involved in grown people's business or hang around the “bad crowd”, but my mother and father were concerned about us getting caught up in the “fast life” and so they moved us down to Leesburg, VA where we could experience country living in the suburbs.
“Close enough to the city but far enough away from the chaos,” my mother, Jackie said.
I thought we’d be able to talk them out of this ridiculous decision. Shoot, Jasmine, my twin sister, was on the debate team, but not even her eleventh grade vocabulary could convince my parents to think about the damage they’d bestow on their children. I was in complete turmoil because Leslie finally said YES to the note about being my girlfriend that I passed her in class. I begged my parents, but my fifth grade words sure weren’t helping, especially since we were in the sixth grade. Gritting my teeth, huffing and puffing and having the most dramatic conniption inevitable only put my father’s belt around his neck, so I shut the heck up and said goodbye to Leslie and my friends after we loaded the last of the boxes on the U-Haul.
“I’ll miss you, Tyrone,” Leslie said before giving me a kiss on the cheek. My very first kiss, I must say.
“Don’t forget about us, yo,” KC said, trying to look as hard has he could, even though, I spotted a little tear in his right eye.
“T, don’t let the country turn you into a chump, homie,” LaJohn said, giving me some dap.
I said my peace and put my arm around my sister. She said goodbye to her friends but couldn’t hold in her emotion and cried so hard that I had to force myself to stay strong. Seriously, how would I look, crying like a girl because we were moving twenty miles east of town? I held it together the best I could.
“You’ll like Leesburg, and you’ll be able to invite your friends over to stay a visit,” my mother said in her southern drawl.
My father, who named me after him, completely abolished our sentimental moment. “Jr., get in. I want to get there so we have enough time to unload,” he said in his usual crass tone. He jumped in the U-Haul and put his seatbelt on before we even stepped inside.
We squished into the front seat of the truck like sardines in a can. Of course we had to role the windows all the way down because my father chose the truck with no AC to save fifteen dollars, and he ate a Big Mac knowing his digestive system couldn’t tolerate the grease. By the time we got to Leesburg, my mother’s hair looked like she’d stuck her finger in a socket and my sister looked like the Heat Miser.
“This is it,” my mother said excitedly.
“Shizaam! You have got to be kidding me.”
“Watch yourself boy!”
I really didn’t pay my father any mind. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We were moving into a place that could be used for a Frankenstein movie. I swear there was a dark cloud looming over the house, but my father said the forecast called for rain. In all my life, granted I was just eleven years old, I’d never seen it rain in one spot.
“You always were a dramatic kid. Maybe I need to get you into theatre,” my father said.
For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to and I said, “Did you get a deal on this piece of crap? Is that why you’re moving us out here?” before I could stop myself.
“One mo again,” my father said, and from experience I knew when he spoke those words, I’d reached his limit, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was about a second away from socking me a good one.
My sister grabbed my hand as we walked up the sidewalk to the front porch. I could hear creepy music in my head with every step. My father wrestled with the key chain to find the correct key and then he opened the door. A gust of wind forced us to hold our positions.
“Is that supposed to happen when you open a door,” I asked rhetorically.
My father gave me the look and my mother said, “There there. Let’s give it a chance.”
I felt as if I was in an 80’s movie and the gust of wind was the sign to GET OUT.
The floors creaked. There was a musty smell that chocked me. I was drowning in funk. The only way to survive was to breath in the foulness.
My mother, who always saw the bright side of every situation said, “Oh, we just need to open the windows and air the place out.”
“After we find and get rid of the dead body,” I replied.
There was no warning. My father plucked me upside my head with his middle finger. “I told you about mouthing off. Say something out of line again and see what happens,” he said.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, but I’m with Tyrone. This place gives me the creeps.”
My father put his arms around Leslie’s shoulder. “Don’t be scared baby girl. Daddy’s here to protect you.”
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