Chapter 1
Life isn’t a story, at least, not the kind that warms you up on a cold, winter night. Life is more like a collection of photographs–moments can be vivid, colorful as the day it happened, but the image slowly fades as it sinks into retrospect. The pictures of my earlier years of life were insignificant, but I didn’t realize this until the day I moved to Montana 9 years ago.
Montana stands at the edge of the world, collecting the memories of their people along the riverbank and storing the secrets within the rugged mountains that penetrate the gray sky. The roads were bumpy with muddy potholes that splashed my mother’s 2006 Toyota Camry and the cargo trailer that lazily dragged behind. My mom occasionally glanced at the rear seat, as if mud splashed to the back seat, then would gaze intently at the vacant road with her GPS stating street names and mileage numbers.
“We’ll be in Great Falls in no time, Ashton!” My mom announced.
I nodded in acknowledgement as I continued to stare out of the window, the view of the mythical scenery being blocked by the drops of mud.
“And you know the best part?” I looked over at her before she continued speaking, “I only had to turn around twice!”
Mom was always like that. She used to use a big, paper map that nearly took over the entire dashboard whenever she drove. Whether it was a road trip or a casual day out, she’d whip out the map and place it on the top of the steering wheel until she finally bought herself a phone with a GPS when I was 12 years old. Even with the map, she had a bad sense of direction, so when she replaced the map she memorized with Google Maps, we would often get stuck on the side of a road or parking lot. Mom would exclaim things like, “That’s not Illinois Street!” and “You stupid robot, why would I take a left?” A twenty-minute car ride would take an hour whenever she relied on GPS, so it was shocking to see that the move from Indiana to Montana only took twenty-two hours rather than twenty-two thousand hours. Either way, my mom smiled with pride as she missed a right turn onto one of the intersections that led into Great Falls.
I didn’t expect to see a patch of city within the scenic land of Montana. It’s one of those states that contains more trees than people, so it was astonishing to see a town like Great Falls that contained more than just dirt. My mom and I drove onto a concrete road that extended into the vast town. On either side of the vehicle, I could see tall, brick buildings with small, tinted windows along the sides. Much like the prior towns, Great Falls was covered in wildlife that accented the architecture. It looked like a fictional town from Mr. Rogers as every building, plant, and the string lights hung from every street corner was seemingly placed to an exact precision. We turned onto Wood Avenue and slowly pulled into a driveway, my gaze turning to the windshield.
“Well, this is our new home, Ashton.” My mom said, gently grabbing my hand and holding it, her hands as cold as a winter blizzard.
The front of the house was a light gray with white pillars that supported the porch roof. The porch had a stone floor and was big enough to fit the front door, which was pearl white and had glass with a flower print in the middle. In the front of the porch lay a garden that contained wilted roses and bushes as yellow as sand on the beach; however, the luscious grass brightened the shriveled plants.
I stepped out of the vehicle and walked to the cargo trailer, pulling down the heavy ramp door as it crashed onto the driveway. The cardboard boxes were stacked to the top of the trailer, and I’m still perplexed on how the boxes stayed intact with the use of a singular cord.
“Be careful, honey!” My mom nudged me to the side, “Now, grab some boxes and get in the house. We won’t have furniture for a few hours, so just sit in the car or on the front porch.”
“Okay, mom.” I grabbed a box labeled “Ash’s Room,” “Where would my room be?”
“The back hallway to your right, sweetheart!”
My mom kneed the front door open as she dropped a box on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was oddly large; a big, square box with an island in the middle and marble countertops that brought life to the white wallpaper. Unlike the old kitchen back in Indiana, it could hold more than two people and contained modern appliances. Back in my old house, only one person could fit in the kitchen at a time or else it was a trainwreck trying to get out of the cramped space. Oftentimes, me, my mom, and my dad would pile up all at once and giggle in unison as we attempted to shift on different sides of the kitchen. The appliances within the cramped space were also old, the dishwasher creating a clunk sound every time it started or the fridge randomly shutting off. My dad would have to punch the dishwasher or take apart the entire refrigerator just to get it working, but in the end, it was reliable. Staring at the modern appliances in my new home, I couldn’t help but feel like nothing was reliable. If the fridge stopped working, taking it apart may not expose the solution, and punching the dishwasher would only destroy it further. Even with the additional space, it felt cramped to no longer shift around or create exotic schedules for when we could enter the kitchen. It was now just a spot with new gadgets and empty space.
I went into my new room, smelling the scent of pine. My old room smelled like my sweaty sweatpants and Axe body spray, which caused many disputes between me and my father. Smelling the new room, I couldn’t help but wonder where my new clothes would lay or whether my body spray could leave a lingering scent throughout the air.
I put down my boxes and looked around, rubbing the blue Azul gem that loosely hung on my neck. It was a gift given to me on my 10th birthday by my dad. He was a geologist, and I remembered asking him for gifts from his work but always turned down. However, on my 10th birthday, he found a blue Azul and put it on a thin black string. It was the only gift I received that year, but the memory stuck in my head, even to this very day.
My mom walked in as I decorated. “Good job decorating your room already! It’s starting to look like home.”
“I suppose so, mom.” I briefly said, fixing up my mattress and stuffing clothing into my dresser.
“I know you’re not ready for this to be home...” my mom hugged me from behind, “but I know you will grow to love this... maybe even cherish this.”
She picked up a sock from the floor, “Besides, you have school in the morning, so you’d be best getting ready for bed.”
I groaned and entered into my new bathroom, the space also feeling less cramped, but stuffed with emptiness. I looked at the empty cabinet shelves, waiting to see my mom’s makeup and hairdryer. When I couldn’t find what I was looking for, I slowly got into bed and turned off my light, the night slowly peeking against the brightened sky.
