Chapter 1

Mila

I wasn’t used to staring at a wide, luminous lake from my windowsill. I was used to seeing lush emerald willows and wild evergreen trees swaying in my yard. The wild daisies and golden buttercups scattered across my lawn like birds on a field. Listening to cars rumble their motors at night and music vibrating through the wooden floors below me, weren’t something I was fond of. I loved my sleep. Sleep was my relaxation and my escape. I hated being disrupted.
I shifted my glance and turned to face the room before me. Cardboard boxes and full garbage bags crowded the small space. To my right sat a small single bed with a black comforter and a lime green pillow. I gazed down at my bare toes as they scuffed the wooden floor beneath me. I could feel the slivers being formed through my skin and I didn’t even care. I knew I wouldn’t like this place. I didn’t like the reason I was there. I didn’t like it at all.
I bent down onto my knees, pulling my ripped, seaming jean shorts down on my thin things. I reached for a cardboard box and dug my fingernails into the tape. I used all my energy to unravel the tape off the box. I threw the white puffs onto the floor behind me until the box revealed a small dresser made of shear oak. I sat back on my heals, sighing, and pulled the dresser out of it’s cage. I could feel my face squishing to one side as I pulled the structure out, setting it on the wood before me. I looked towards my bed then back to the dresser then heaved it to the end of my bed, creating a nightstand as well as an item holder. After I had pushed it against my bed, I sat back and leaned against it. I blew the pieces of auburn hair out of my face and sighed gently.
The boxes filled my room to the brink. It’s surprising I even had this much stuff to begin with. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe how much you have when you don’t expect it. I used to think I had a lot. When I was young, I used to pretend I was rich, a princess. I would dress in my mothers old dress-gowns and sneak into her bathroom to try on her lipstick and eye shadow. She would never realize I was there until she saw me in my room talking to myself on my bed. She hated me during those times; the times when I’d sneak around and keep secrets from her. Usually I felt like it was my fault she would drink every night, thinking I had done something wrong to make her act so violently towards my father and even myself at times. I came to realize that it was only her harsh anger that was kept inside those bottles, not my own
I turned my head to face another box; a box with writing scribbled all over the side. It wasn’t a large box, yet it wasn’t small. I reached my arms towards it, pulling it to my side. I dug my nails into the tape and ripped it off, pulling the white puffs out and throwing them onto the ground. Inside were a few items, which I had never really seen before. Items that were new to me and made my curiosity grow and grow. I pulled out a shoebox that had black tape scrambled around it. The shoe was a Nike Sneaker size 9. It had to be my mothers. A chill ran down my back as I set it to my side and continued to scavenger through my finding. I pulled out a manila envelope that carried about three papers, each having to do with different types of clouds and unique airwaves; my father’s. I didn’t understand why my dad would have needed these papers because he had everything he had ever wanted right at his office.
He had been a meteorologist and a damn good one. Whenever I wanted to know if it would rain tomorrow, he always knew exactly when it would rain and how much. Snow days were never a surprise in our household because good ol’ Jay Albadoh would know. To me, he was my hero and the fact that he was gone was all I could take. The fact that he was gone because of my mother was an even worse aspect of the situation.
The last item in the box was a small tan envelope, sealed on the back by a round blue sticker. I held it close to my green eyes so I could look at the rough, fading paper. On the front it read: To Mila, From Daddy. I gulped and a large bulge slid down my throat. My face grew hot and I became aware that he must have written this a long, long time ago. Why would it have been in this box? Why had I never discovered it in the last sixteen years of my life? I set the envelope with the shoebox and manila folder and pushed them all underneath my bed, by my dresser. I stood up quickly, flattening out my gray t-shirt over my stomach and walked back to the windowsill.
The wind was still cool and the town was still moving quickly. The water from the lake was moving with small boats floating on its skin. It was weird being in a city. It was weird being in an apartment with my grandmother. It was weird being alone.
I bent down beside me and grabbed my shoulder bag, which held a small, velvet-covered notepad. I reached back inside to retrieve a pen and opened it on the sill, the wind flying through my brunette locks. Slowly, I began to write. Calmly, I wrote word after word onto the paper. Poetry. I had loved writing forever. It was almost as relaxing as sleep was for me. I wrote down my dreams. I wrote down my fears. I wrote down my life.
I suddenly heard an abrupt noise below me from outside my window. The sound of a window opening and loud, screaming music filled my ears. I rolled my eyes and bent my body over the sill slightly to see who lived in the complex below me. Whoever this was, he or she loved playing music late at night and loved driving away in the wee hours of the morning. I looked over the sill further and was able to notice something.
The scent of cigarette smoke climbed into my nostrils and my mind began to sink. I coughed a few times then saw a ringed hand dangle outside the window, a cigarette hanging between painted black fingernails. I coughed a few more times then a face popped into my sight. I moved back for a second, afraid the girl thought I was being peaky. I heard a heaving sigh and I moved closer to the windowsill.
“I already saw you so don’t think I didn’t.” The girl said monotonously. I bent my face back over the windowsill and viewed the girl. She took in a hit and blew it out in silver circles of smoke. Her face was covered in dark make-up. Black lined her eyes and bright blue outlined that. She had a lip ring popping from her bottom lip and her skin was snow white. For a moment I was worried to talk to her, but I didn’t want to be the coward I usually was.
“Sorry. I was writing.” I said quickly, picking up my pen and shaking it outside the window. I heard a low laugh and bent my face out again.
“Why would you be writing out your window? Windows are used for smoking and sneaking out of. Who are you anyway?” She asked, taking in another drag. I shut my notebook and leaned on the sill.
“Mila Albadoh.”
“Oh, you’re that girl.” She snorted, shaking her hand in the wind, her cigarette flame fading. How could this girl know who I was? I had no idea who she was.
“How do you know me?” I asked, my face still hanging out the window.
“I saw the moving truck come her two days ago and I’ve read your name in the papers now and then.” She muttered, sucking in her cigarette. I nodded my head, even though she couldn’t see me. I should have expected her to see my name in the papers, who didn’t. My mother’s name had been in the newspapers every month for the last six years. Ever since she had begun to drink nightly, she became violent. She would walk out of the bars and run in the streets, screaming at people and beginning fights. When I was younger I didn’t know why everyone knew the name Charlotte Albadoh, but I soon began to understand it all.
“Who are you?” I asked, setting my head on the tops of my hands. She twisted her head to look up at me.
“Spencer. Spencer Clavorok. I’m guessing you know no one, right?” Spencer asked, letting go of her cigarette. It floated to the ground like a small firefly in the early evening dusk. I shook my head as I watched the spark float onto the parking lot tar. A rush of sadness took over my body and my face turned solemn and I shook my head.
“No. It’s just me and my grandma.” I sighed and I began to play with the pen, bouncing it into my hand. Spencer grabbed a bar above her window and pulled herself so she was dangling her legs outside. She began to kick her heels against the tin of the building.
“Well that sucks. What room are you? Maybe I’ll visit you before my brother comes home.”
“I’m room 214. You could help me unpack?” I said jokingly. Spencer spit a wad of saliva out the window and then stuck her head out of it.
“Not a chance. Be right up.”

“So where’s the old lady?” Spencer said, lying on her stomach on the covers of my small bed. I was leaning against my dresser, searching through another box full of clothing.
“She’s out at the store then she said she had to stop at the doctors.” I groaned, piling pairs of jeans onto the floor. Spencer hopped off the bed and onto the floor, filing around the boxes. I turned my head to face her make-up ridden face. Her outfit wasn’t ordinary. Her short black halter shirt reeked of smoke and her black leather shorts were about as short as shorts could go. She was much taller then I had imagined when we just chatted through the window. Her legs were so long and so fit it was surprising she wasn’t a model. She leaned up against the dresser alongside me.
“Where’d you come from? Clint-Savory isn’t a town where many people visit often.” Spencer said, biting her nails.
“I came from Green-Haven, about twenty miles south. It’s all country land out there. I loved it.” I murmured folding a pair of identical shorts to the ones I had on. Spencer nodded casually, continuing to bite her nails.
“I come off to look like an ass, but really I’m not… usually.” Spencer laughed, tapping the palms of her hands on the rug. I chuckled quickly and twisted towards my doorway. I heard the door slam and could hear my grandmother’s soft steps as she walked into the room. She made her way to my bedroom and then leaned her slender, weak body against my doorway. She adjusted her glasses and then squinted towards Spencer.
“Hello dear. Who’s she?” Grandma whispered, waving at Spencer as if she was three years old.
“Grandma this is-“
“Spencer, from the floor down. I used to sell Girl Scout Cookie’s here when I was little.” Spencer said kindly. My grandma just stared at her.
“I don’t remember you. I like cookies though. I’m going to make some.” She said, and with that she shuffled her way out into the kitchen where I heard the radio pop on. I went back to folding clothing. Spencer reached into her pocket and slid a piece of bubble gum into her darkly lined mouth, not even offering me a piece.
“How couldn’t she remember me? I’m unforgettable!” Spencer said, chewing into her bubble gum. A nervous chill climbed into my back and I stopped folding.
“My grandma has Alzheimer’s.” I said sternly, turning towards my window and gazing out. I could almost hear Spencer’s heartbeat for a second then continue beating quickly again.
“That sucks. Well, my brother’s a moron. How about that? But he‘s okay.” Spencer said, her teeth grinding away at the gum in her mouth. I nodded, my face remaining motionless. I knew it would be difficult living with my grandmother’s problem. I knew it would be difficult, living in this community. At least I knew I had the beginning of a friendship brewing. I guess that’s a start.

I sat curled in a woven blanket on the sofa in our small living area. The television was racing colors of blues and grays; not reds or greens or pinks. My grandma only owned an old working television without much color or channels. I laid there, my eyes closed facing the screen. I could still see the lights changing through my lids as I rested. I could hear my grandmother’s needle’s whipping through the yarn that she was crocheting on the rocking chair next to me. The chair squeaked and rocked so loudly I never thought I would be able to get any peace. Then, a knock came at our door. I uncurled from my position on the sofa and stood up, pulling my shorts further down on my legs. I ran my fingers through my brown waves and stood on tiptoes to peek out the eyehole. Once I knew who it was, I opened the door.
“Mila! You haven’t changed a bit since Elementary. Where’s Grandma?” Alexa asked quickly, racing into the house as if she had seen me a million times. I hadn’t seen Alexa since fifth grade, back when our family did holiday gatherings. Since my mother had begun her rampages, we had stopped seeing most of my family. The fact that this girl was my cousin was unbelievable. Her hair was straight and platinum blonde, falling perfectly down her back. Her eyelashes were large and pokey, dark over her ocean blue eyes. She was holding a glass plate of maroon lasagna and baring her pearl white teeth over it.
I turned to grandma as she continued to sit in her rocking chair, knitting away and staring at the screen. She hadn’t even heard the knock on the door. I twisted back to Alexa, my face less then thrilled. She leant on one leg and her head was swinging to the side.
“She’s watching her show right now, but if you leave a message-.” I said quietly, joking. Alexa rolled her eyes and handed me the glass plate, sticking it into my chest.
“I’ll get her. God, why do you have to be so difficult Mila?” Alexa said, barging into the room and walking towards my Grandma. I placed the still warm plate onto the stove and walked into the room and back on the sofa, curling into my blanket. Alexa hugged my grandmother and reminded her who she was about three times. Finally, Grandma received some idea of who she was and hugged her back.
“I brought you both some yummy lasagna. Basically it’s for Mila and her welcoming, but it’s also for you with love!” Alexa added, sitting on the edges of my feet. I could barely feel her body on my toes as she leaned against the cushioned back. Her body seemed so thin it was almost embarrassing. Yet, she remained as pretty and as bratty as she had always been.
I closed my eyes and went back to the world where the shadows of the television screen were dancing in my head. To the world where my imagination could take flight. I closed my eyes even tighter, trying to close out the voices that were talking in the background. I closed them so tight that I tried to erase my past; and tried to ignore everything I had gone through. I tried to pretend I was someone else; someone like Alexa. I pretended my mother wasn’t an alcoholic in rehab. I tried to pretend my grandmother wasn’t sick and that everything would turn out fine. The thing was, you can’t pretend in reality and you can’t erase the past.