Picturesque

Chapter 9: The Family

I didn't move an inch as I slept through the night, and when I woke up to the feeling of hot sun on my face, I knew I had slept well through the morning. My stomach growled as I opened my eyes which strained from the bright light filling them. For a brief moment, I forgot where I was as I sat my aching body upright and looked around the room that looked much different during the day, brighter and more open. I looked towards the balcony doors through which the sun was pouring in.

Taking a deep breath, I slid out of the bed, my shoes that I hadn't even bothered to kick off padding against the light hardwood floor as I walked towards the balcony doors. Pushing the curtains open a little wider, I hesitantly opened the doors and stepped out. The balcony was in the shape of a half-circle, guarded by polished black railing. The bare sun burned my tired eyes as air filled my nostrils. Instantly, I was filled with a sort of strange joy. The air felt so fresh and warm, so smooth and breezy. The sun felt much brighter here, and once my eyes finally adjusted to it, I could look out at the view. The grassy green of the backyard sloped into a cluster of trees, which spanned out for a little way until they became more sparse and the land more mountainous. The manicured lawn of the estate was a stark contrast from the dustier and desert-esque landscape of the Californian hills. The land stretched so far out that I could see blue mountains way in the distance, and the little blocks and squares of the city of Los Angeles. The house was far up in the hills, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but it was close enough to keep an eye on. It felt like how my house back home was always just a little way from the city, too far to be considered a city-goer, but close enough to feel included. The difference was that you couldn't see New Orleans from my house the way you could see Los Angeles from the Donnelley estate sat on a hill taller than everything else.

The first thing I needed to do was take a shower. I felt like I still had the smell of travel on me, and I wanted to make sure that I looked as presentable as possible for the whole family that I expected to meet that day. The intensity of the pressured hot water soothed me as I washed myself. It felt as if I were washing away my nerves, the lingering germs of bashful girlhood which I was destined to leave behind. I didn't think a shower could be so philosophical.

I had pinned my hair up so it wouldn't get wet, telling myself it was clean enough and could be washed later that night so it would have more time to dry.

I dressed myself in a knee-length black skirt with a green blouse tucked into it, wishing to look the most professional and adult that I could. My timidity often made me out to look like a naïve young girl, so I had to make up for it with my dress. I was not a naïve girl, and I was defensive over this as I was starting a new chapter in my life with new people. There were no prior expectations, besides what Dr. Marlar told Marty about me.

When I was finally dressed, I stood in the room and hesitated. Was I supposed to just walk out? Where was I even supposed to go? I was sure I would get lost in the maze of mini hallways that made the upstairs of the home. Marty had dashed me so fast upstairs that I hadn't had time to really look around.

Maybe someone would come to get me, I told myself. While I waited for my moment of indecisiveness to pass before I would either get the guts to walk out and find my way around or someone would come get me, I decided to unpack my things. There was a large wooden dresser on the wall by the bed, so I neatly folded my clothes into it. I put my bathroom items in the cabinet space around the sink in the bathroom, and I took out all my books and journals and lined them up on top of the desk, using the heavy bronze lamp already there as a bookstand. Lastly, I took the picture of Greg out of my purse. I looked around the room for a proper place to put it.

For some reason, I felt like it would be wrong to put his picture out for everyone to see. Greg was a part of my childhood, my home in Louisiana. To put him out in the open like this, in a rich family's estate in California, felt like it would be betraying the distance I was trying to create from Louisiana and California—the distance between who I was and who I wanted to be. Guilt washed over me. Was I ashamed of my life, of myself, of Greg? Was it wrong to feel the need to hide the picture of him for no one to ever see but myself?