I've never really enjoyed cold weather. Luckily, it wasn't something I ever had to experience much throughout my life. When I was sixteen, I went on a school field trip to Montana, and I never thought my blood would run warm again. However, I love how cold weather looks. Lost in thought, I hear my mother call my name from the front seat of the car.
"Bella?" She says rather loudly to get my attention.
I take a headphone out from my left ear, "Yeah?"
"Are you hungry? We have about two hours left to go, but dad wants to eat now so that we can just relax when we get there."
I was about to say no, but then my stomach began to make strange noises at me. I guess I am hungry.
"Yeah, I am a little, actually."
She smiled, "Okay then. We're going to pull off on the next exit."
She returned her attention back to the road map that she had her nose buried in most of the ride. Although, I must say, that if it weren't for my mom giving directions, my dad would have us lost, and going the complete opposite direction. I turned my head back to look out the window again while I put my headphone back into my ear. It was a beautiful drive. I finally allowed myself to admit that, after seven hours of driving.
We left Phoenix yesterday around noon. We could have made the trip to Colorado in one day, but my dad didn't want to be driving for twelve hours straight. I suppose he could let my mom drive, but that takes us back to why she is the direction giver, and he is the driver.
I felt the car begin to slow down, and realized that we're getting off on an exit to eat. It's almost two o'clock in the afternoon, at the end of March, and it is freezing outside. I feel angry all over again. I miss Phoenix. I may not have liked the terrain, but it was warm, and it was home; the only place I know. I zip up my layers of jackets, and follow my parents inside the restaurant. I instantly smell mouthwatering food, and the waitress gives us a booth in the back. I read through the menu, and everything sounds delicious. I decide on a Diet Coke, and a Club Sandwich, before excusing myself to the bathroom. I see a women walk into the single bathroom before I can make it there. Waiting, I lean against the wall, and begin looking around. The walls are filled with pictures of mountains, gold miners, cows, horses, maps. It's a very comfortable place. I see people laughing, and smiling. All the other guests seem to know the waiters by name. Just then, the bathroom door opens up. Finally.
We're back on the road, and I am so relieved to only have a couple hours left before arriving. I was still mixed up in how I felt about moving to Florence, Colorado. I'd lived my entire eighteen years of life in Phoenix. It all felt surreal, like it was a vacation, not something permanent. Both of my parents were excited about this move which isn't surprising. When my dad was offered a Sherriff's position at the local and small police station in Florence, he took the offer immediately. He was tired of being strung around in Phoenix, always being promised to get a promotion, but never actually getting it. I can understand his frustration. I would imagine after being in the force for almost twenty years and never moving up could get frustrating
Upon hearing the news that we'd be moving to another state in the last semester of my senior year, I was all but happy about it. I'm still not very happy about it, but fortunately I have never been popular in school. I only had a few friends, but none that I will miss so terribly that I am miserable about it. My mother tells me that I will love the small town life. I'm not so sure about that, but this drive has made me start to see the beauty in this state, but once I graduate, I can easily move back to Phoenix. To be honest, it wasn't the climate change, or the timing of moving, it was that I wouldn't know anyone. I've never really liked, or cared for meeting new people; it's awkward for me. Although, I hear that my new high school only has 523, students, so I don't think it will be very hard to avoid people.
It was almost four o'clock once we arrived in Florence. It definitely was a small town. I was hoping that my mother had been exaggerating a little on that part. As we drove down the narrow streets, I notice that all of the buildings are historical. It's very pretty, despite the mounds of snow. I catch myself smiling a little in my window reflection. It wasn't long before we pulled up to our new house. Our new home to be. It's a deep blue grey color, and I can see parts where the paint is chipping. It was small, but not too small. Old, yet sturdy, and quiet, yet welcoming. I get out of the car as my mother opens my door, the brightest smile on her face.
"What do you think, baby? Isn't it beautiful?" She exclaimed.
She stands behind me with her hands on my shoulders. I notice the big bare tree's that tower over the roof. I bet they offer a lot of nice shade in the spring time. There is a wraparound porch, and a narrow brick walkway leading to the steps. I see an old rickety porch swing with snow weighing it down. My mom pats my shoulders, again.
"Well?" She asks.
"It's great mom. Very pretty. I like it."
"It has a lot of potential." Dad says, as he rounds the car coming to stand next to mom.
"Let's go inside. I want to show you your room, Bella." Mom says cheerily.
My parents begin to walk ahead of me. I take another look around, while reminding myself that it will look a lot different when spring arrives. Then, all of a sudden, I can hear a harmonica playing. Had it been playing this whole time? I glance to the left at the house next to ours. It's a very small house, and has a western theme. I see a boy with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. An elderly man sits wrapped in an old blanket in a wheel chair next to him. The boy looks over to me. I nod, and give a small wave. He stops playing to wave back, and then puts his mouth back to the harmonica.