October Story Month #25
Title: Home
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,161
Story Arc: Unusual Florida
Summary: Amy adjusts to the new/old place.
Note: Crossposted to Dreamwidth.
Amy set down her travel bag right in the entryway, taking a moment to look around.
It wasn't like the old house, the one her family had lived in before tragedy had struck. This new one was smaller, for one thing, but that was okay because there were fewer people to live in it now. Amy forced that thought away when she felt the familiar prickle of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. It had been almost nine years since she had cried over that night, nine years since it had felt close enough and real enough that the sudden thought she would never see her mother or her baby brother again hurt enough to cause tears.
She didn't know why it had come upon her so suddenly in this instance. This was a different house in a different city. Brand new and blank, waiting to be filled with things. The smooth wooden floors, the gleaming staircase, the thick curtains over the windows: none of them held memories. It wasn't Florida itself; she attended college here, for heaven's sake, and she'd never had a problem.
But maybe it was the fact of the house itself. She went to school in Florida, she didn't live there. Her family had all still been up in Millinocket, still ensconced in the life that had been their reality for the past nine years.
She should feel relief. Millinocket had always felt temporary, despite that they had lived there for so many years. Sharing a house with their aunt and uncle, most of their belongings in storage, things that weren't even relevant anymore after nine years of life. Amy had opened some of the old boxes already. What use did they have now for Cassie's toddler-sized clothing? She was eleven years old. James was a teenage boy now, with no interest in his old action figures. Amy barely recognized the groups on the covers of the CDs she had liked in middle school. And what about Jacob's stuff, the things that were abandoned not because their owner had outgrown them or moved on, but because he would never have the chance to? Her father hadn't thrown anything away, but Amy had insisted it be left in the warehouse. If her father wanted to get rid of the old things, that was his responsibility. Amy didn't want to touch any of it.
She took a deep breath, smelling the faint scent of fresh paint and Pine-sol. The cleaners had already been there, and everything was ready for Amy and her family. Amy was the only one there at the moment. Spring semester had just ended, and Amy had driven to the new house as soon as her last final was over, excited despite herself to see the completed place for the first time. Her younger siblings were still in school, and were to finish the semester before they came up. Since it was the middle of the day her father was at work. Which meant she had the whole house to herself for the next several hours.
Shaking off the moment of melancholy, she moved toward the staircase, possessed with a child-like glee at the thought that she got to pick her bedroom first. That was one definite improvement over Millinocket: her aunt and uncle's house hadn't been that small, but with all the people staying there she had been forced to share a bedroom with Cassie. That had been a pain in the early days, when her sister was still young enough to have ridiculously early bedtimes, and when Amy had become a teenager the lack of privacy rankled. Things had gotten better as Amy reached the end of high school and Cassie matured from a child into a somewhat-reasonable almost-teenager, and it was hardly worth it now that she spent most of the year at school, but it was still nice that she got her own space.
She wished it could have come sooner, but she understood why it hadn't, and she tried not to resent her father. No one could have expected him to be capable of taking care of three children after losing his wife and youngest son in such a horrific way. He couldn't be blamed for wanting to hide away, for wanting to take his remaining family to the other end of the country, for wanting to depend on his relatives to take care of all of them while his own emotional wounds healed. Amy hadn't cried in nine years, but for her father it had taken much longer.
The first bedroom she came to she immediately rejected; it was too close to the main staircase and the noise from foot traffic would be awful. She peeked in the second room, but found it too oppressive with its dark paneling, plus the bathroom was shared with the first room. The room directly across the hall, though, was more her style. There were large windows across the back wall, and a pair of French doors that led out to a small veranda. It had its own small bathroom attached and two large, walk-in closets. The walls were painted a light blue which made it seem a bit nursery-like, but wall paint was something that could easily be changed.
"Okay," she said, shivering a little at the first word to be uttered in the completed house. "This one is mine." She ran downstairs and grabbed her travel bag, hoisting it up to her room and depositing it on the floor. It looked sad and small all alone in the empty space, but the furniture would arrive later that afternoon and she would at least have a bed to set up in there before too long.
Next, Amy set out on a systematic exploration of the house. She had seen the blueprints for it, of course, and had visited the site once while it was being built, but she still wanted to see the real-life versions of things that had been in the plans. She started with the finished basement, then moved up to the first floor: entryway, living room, kitchen, dining room, breakfast nook, two empty rooms that could be offices or dens, two bathrooms. The upstairs held the six bedrooms and four more bathrooms, and a rec room. After that there was just an attic.
So yes, smaller than their old house. But so much larger than what she had gotten used to in the last eight years, and even larger for it being so empty.
Back in her own room, Amy spread her arms and laid back on the dark blue carpet, gazing up at the ceiling's stucco texture. There was one bit that, if she squinted her eyes, looked a little bit like a girl laying across the ceiling, her arms spread wide and gazing back at Amy.
"Yeah," she said, smiling up at it. "I like it here, too."
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,161
Story Arc: Unusual Florida
Summary: Amy adjusts to the new/old place.
Note: Crossposted to Dreamwidth.
Amy set down her travel bag right in the entryway, taking a moment to look around.
It wasn't like the old house, the one her family had lived in before tragedy had struck. This new one was smaller, for one thing, but that was okay because there were fewer people to live in it now. Amy forced that thought away when she felt the familiar prickle of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. It had been almost nine years since she had cried over that night, nine years since it had felt close enough and real enough that the sudden thought she would never see her mother or her baby brother again hurt enough to cause tears.
She didn't know why it had come upon her so suddenly in this instance. This was a different house in a different city. Brand new and blank, waiting to be filled with things. The smooth wooden floors, the gleaming staircase, the thick curtains over the windows: none of them held memories. It wasn't Florida itself; she attended college here, for heaven's sake, and she'd never had a problem.
But maybe it was the fact of the house itself. She went to school in Florida, she didn't live there. Her family had all still been up in Millinocket, still ensconced in the life that had been their reality for the past nine years.
She should feel relief. Millinocket had always felt temporary, despite that they had lived there for so many years. Sharing a house with their aunt and uncle, most of their belongings in storage, things that weren't even relevant anymore after nine years of life. Amy had opened some of the old boxes already. What use did they have now for Cassie's toddler-sized clothing? She was eleven years old. James was a teenage boy now, with no interest in his old action figures. Amy barely recognized the groups on the covers of the CDs she had liked in middle school. And what about Jacob's stuff, the things that were abandoned not because their owner had outgrown them or moved on, but because he would never have the chance to? Her father hadn't thrown anything away, but Amy had insisted it be left in the warehouse. If her father wanted to get rid of the old things, that was his responsibility. Amy didn't want to touch any of it.
She took a deep breath, smelling the faint scent of fresh paint and Pine-sol. The cleaners had already been there, and everything was ready for Amy and her family. Amy was the only one there at the moment. Spring semester had just ended, and Amy had driven to the new house as soon as her last final was over, excited despite herself to see the completed place for the first time. Her younger siblings were still in school, and were to finish the semester before they came up. Since it was the middle of the day her father was at work. Which meant she had the whole house to herself for the next several hours.
Shaking off the moment of melancholy, she moved toward the staircase, possessed with a child-like glee at the thought that she got to pick her bedroom first. That was one definite improvement over Millinocket: her aunt and uncle's house hadn't been that small, but with all the people staying there she had been forced to share a bedroom with Cassie. That had been a pain in the early days, when her sister was still young enough to have ridiculously early bedtimes, and when Amy had become a teenager the lack of privacy rankled. Things had gotten better as Amy reached the end of high school and Cassie matured from a child into a somewhat-reasonable almost-teenager, and it was hardly worth it now that she spent most of the year at school, but it was still nice that she got her own space.
She wished it could have come sooner, but she understood why it hadn't, and she tried not to resent her father. No one could have expected him to be capable of taking care of three children after losing his wife and youngest son in such a horrific way. He couldn't be blamed for wanting to hide away, for wanting to take his remaining family to the other end of the country, for wanting to depend on his relatives to take care of all of them while his own emotional wounds healed. Amy hadn't cried in nine years, but for her father it had taken much longer.
The first bedroom she came to she immediately rejected; it was too close to the main staircase and the noise from foot traffic would be awful. She peeked in the second room, but found it too oppressive with its dark paneling, plus the bathroom was shared with the first room. The room directly across the hall, though, was more her style. There were large windows across the back wall, and a pair of French doors that led out to a small veranda. It had its own small bathroom attached and two large, walk-in closets. The walls were painted a light blue which made it seem a bit nursery-like, but wall paint was something that could easily be changed.
"Okay," she said, shivering a little at the first word to be uttered in the completed house. "This one is mine." She ran downstairs and grabbed her travel bag, hoisting it up to her room and depositing it on the floor. It looked sad and small all alone in the empty space, but the furniture would arrive later that afternoon and she would at least have a bed to set up in there before too long.
Next, Amy set out on a systematic exploration of the house. She had seen the blueprints for it, of course, and had visited the site once while it was being built, but she still wanted to see the real-life versions of things that had been in the plans. She started with the finished basement, then moved up to the first floor: entryway, living room, kitchen, dining room, breakfast nook, two empty rooms that could be offices or dens, two bathrooms. The upstairs held the six bedrooms and four more bathrooms, and a rec room. After that there was just an attic.
So yes, smaller than their old house. But so much larger than what she had gotten used to in the last eight years, and even larger for it being so empty.
Back in her own room, Amy spread her arms and laid back on the dark blue carpet, gazing up at the ceiling's stucco texture. There was one bit that, if she squinted her eyes, looked a little bit like a girl laying across the ceiling, her arms spread wide and gazing back at Amy.
"Yeah," she said, smiling up at it. "I like it here, too."