Stupid Teens (Patrick Hockstetter)

Welcome to Maine

Wind blew by. The car windows were wide open, your arm hanging out. The signs passed by, each one welcoming you to a new state. So many cornfields passing by, forests, farms, a few small towns. Nothing interesting seemed to go on anywhere you went. You came from Illinois, god knows what grand things happen there; nothing but corn. Maine wasn't especially more special, but it was a good change of pace.
The time of the move was impeccable, almost like a save for your family. At your old house, the family was preparing for a baby, even set up a new room and painted it blue and pink. However, your mother miscarried 5 months in, nearly devastated your parents. No one really knew what to do. Your mom was grief-stricken, unable to go out of the house while your dad went to work everyday. It became too much, you couldn't even go to school on your own. So, after a lot of discussion, a move was decided. A move to Derry, Maine, a house waiting for your arrivals.

The house was small, a two floor with 3 rooms and a bathroom. The paint job was okay at best, carpeting was in 2 bedrooms and the living room, hardwood everywhere else. It smelled odd, but it was a good kind of odd. Something that smelled familiar of sawdust and moss. The floors were wooden, walls painted a creamish-tan color. Dull pink furniture, and somewhat transparent white curtains under the dusty windows. Up the creaky stairs were two bedrooms, one being yours. It was a grayish-blue, also having wooden floors. A small, twin sized bed with a metal frame sit in the corner, waiting for someone to lay on it. You answered its beckoning, falling onto it after laying your bags on your floor. Outside a perfect view of a telephone pole stood next to the sidewalk, a couple of trees next to it.

It was a Saturday evening, around noon. You didn't bring too much with you, only your clothes, a blanket, pillows, a stuffed animal from childhood, a radio your parents gave you on your birthday, and a journal you occasionally wrote in to not forget things or express thoughts. It didn't take too much time to settle in, and you weren't quite sure what to do afterwords. Being a 17 almost 18 year old, maybe your parents would let you go check out the neighborhood, maybe buy anything they asked you to. Something to get you out of the house.
Going downstairs, you could barely hear the conversation between your parents, things along the lines of "is this going to be ok for them?" and "will it be different this time?" It was in your best interest to keep your head down and not think too much about it. Coming into the kitchen, you looked at your mom sitting on a chair and your father comforting her. They look at you, "hi sweetie, how do you like your room?" Your mother asks, trying to lighten the mood if you had overheard them, which you did. "It's okay, I could get used to it for sure." She nodded, your father looks at you, wondering why you came down here.
Sensing his questioning, you speak up, "is there anything we need to buy? Maybe some extra pillows, a blanket," you look at the dusty window and cobweb forming around it, "or maybe a duster..?" They look at each other and nod. "Sure, I'll give you some of my money." She gives you around twenty dollars. "That should be more than enough. Get yourself something nice," she winks at you. Despite the trauma induced over the past few months, your mom always tried to make you smile. With that, you left. Free to wander around Derry, exploring the small town.