The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 1

"Lucas, look," Adrienne Cast shouted excitedly, "we're here."

Her blonde hair tied in a playful pony-tail flopped vigorously as her head swiveled between her son and the large green welcome sign. The large white letters burst forth: DERRYTON WELCOMES YOU!

Wow, she thought-even an exclamation mark. Such welcoming enthusiasm these people had. She never saw such a homecoming in New York City. In an effort to convince herself that this was the right decision, she would only let herself imagine people here welcome new faces running far from their troubles with open arms. A desperately needed new beginning.

She patted Lucas on the thigh again vying for his attention. She offered a rare smile. "Can't believe we really did it, honey. Look how pretty it is. Look at all the orange and brown leaves."

Lucas kept his eyes fixed downward, inflexible in his groveling.

The van turned slowly onto Main Street. The narrow two-lane road was buttressed by red and brown cobblestone sidewalks on both sides that gave the area a sort of 18th century American Revolution era feel, minus the canons. Neatly trimmed oak trees rose from the sidewalks in measured increments with empty benches between.

Adrienne could hardly believe the cleanliness of the town, being generally accustomed to orders of trash and rats swallowing every block in the city. She leaned over the steering wheel to get a better look at the quiet little store fronts, most yet to open given the early morning hour. A secondhand store, a hardware shop with a bright red overhang decorated with a thanksgiving turkey, an old ice cream parlor reminiscent of the old meet-up spots she'd patronize with her childhood friends, and a pet store. It was all so very pleasing, so reassuring.

"Look there, Lucas, they've got an art store," she said, and pointed out of the driver's side window, desperately trying to get Lucas to participate in her merry experience. Any meager show of enthusiasm would do-a disgruntled scoff, maybe the proverbial 'whatever mom'-anything.

Lucas shifted-a sign of life? A delayed yet finally emerging excitement? No such luck. He crossed his arms tighter and continued to ignore his mother.

Adrienne cleared her throat, the knot requiring a second forceful swallow. "I know we left your paints and sketch pad, but we can get some new supplies at that store. Isn't that great news?"

Lucas grumbled something to the effect of leave me alone.

She sighed, taking her gaze back towards the empty road as the gaslight street-lamps turned off in deference of the morning sun. Long hanging telephone wires decorated with orange and brown spiral garland glittered in morning sun.

The van moved on for a bit, rolling over a speed bump.

Lucas snuck a peak at his mom. He didn't mean to be so rude to her. He loved her but he felt today he had a good reason to be angry. How did she expect him to act after uprooting him?

Did she think he would leap for joy or maybe perform a set of flawless cartwheels? Meeting her at the same level of excitement just seemed criminal. He rolled up the sleeves of his red flannel and looked out his passenger window. A sickle-shaped white cloud loomed overhead seemingly following them. He wondered what it would be like to float away like a cloud, cut ties with this situation, or better yet cut ties with adults and all the problems they brought. Wherever the clouds would drop him off would be fine-he'd pay the fare, and let the wind push him off to shores better suited for a kid who wanted to be left alone and not feel like an inert fixture in his parent's world. He never asked to move. He was happy-well maybe not happy-but at least having fun in the city. This move was a forced march to some dumb town his mother thought he'd enjoy. The clouds took on a shade of grey. They seemed to be moving farther beyond and the car couldn't keep up. Fine. If the clouds refused him, he'd leap from the van and run off, perhaps establishing some sort of rogue teenager clan in the woods among the, what did his mom call them?-Birch trees. Maybe he'd recruit other disgruntled youths and lead a rebellion and take back their rightful position as authors of their own lives. In spite of his anguish, his eyes kept drifting back towards his mother's troubled expression. That tentative smile she wore, he hadn't seen that in a very long time, and he was careful to mask the subtle pinch of guilt with a sudden shift from one side of the seat to the other. Afterall, she was trying, as she put it 'give you a better life' but how can you be given a better life-moving doesn't just change things with every mile passed on the highway. She didn't get it. He'd never accept this stupid little New Hampshire town.