JULY 7TH, 1967- TULSA, OKLAHOMA
Let me tell you, I had one of the worst summers one could have, and that's not even including the fact that I got mixed up in some gang drama and the fact that I saw several people die. My name is Selene Griffiths, and you're about to hear my story. At the time of telling this, I'm eighteen, but the events detailed here happened when I was sixteen.
JUNE 1965- LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK.
This has been the worst summer yet, and it hasn't even really started. We have to move to Tulsa, Oklahoma, with the reasons being that the lab my father works at (he's a scientist) has been moved to Tulsa, and that there is supposedly a really good science school there called the Elk Valley Science & Technology Academy. The school I'm going to currently is a very prestigious Catholic school known as Holy Trinity Preparatory. It's a very good school, but it isn't exactly the place where you graduate a scientist.
We live on Long Island, right on the Long Island Sound. One of the reasons I was deeply unsatisfied with the move was the fact that when I woke up, I wouldn't be seeing the sun glitter on the waves, or our sailboat moored at its dock. Yes, we have a boat. Every summer, we sail up the Sound to Newport, Block, Martha's Vineyard, and Nantucket. It is absolutely amazing and I look forwards to it every year. My mother says that we aren't selling the boat, merely keeping it at a marina, and that we would be able to go on our trip next summer. It's not the same, I said. The boat's not going to be right there in our backyard. We can't go for evening sails when it's warm out. Now it's a million miles away in some harbor.
Another thing I hated was the fact that I would be leaving all my friends behind. I don't have a lot of friends, only a few very close ones. Well, they won't be my friends anymore, soon enough, because I won't be able to keep in touch with them at all. Letters are annoying to write and send, and they take too long to get replies. My mother says I should make some new friends in Tulsa. Me? Make new friends? Oh no. I already had a hard enough time making friends at Holy Trinity, and now I have to make friends in the boondocks of the Midwest? I'd rather be dead.
Another thing that I'd like to point out is that I don't exactly fit in anywhere, as my style choices are a bit unorthodox for a girl my age. For one thing, my hair is cut very short and in an unusual style. It's long on top, and shaved underneath and in the back. I started cutting my hair in the sixth grade, but only went all the way in ninth grade. My father nearly had a heart attack when he saw I shaved it, but he doesn't like most things, to be fair. This brings me to the next thing, my clothing style. My style isn't very feminine and I hate skirts and dresses. Don't even get me started on makeup and nail varnish. My father says I'm too masculine and that I look like a boy. He's half right, as I have been mistaken for a male several times, as I'm extremely skinny and kind of short. To be honest, who cares? Surprisingly, my mother is on board with my appearance, so I'm good for now.
My best friend, Hedwig Plantagenet, says that Oklahoma isn't really a nice place, from what she's heard. She says there's a lot of greasers, whom she describes as "a scourge on society". I told her that they'd probably stay away from me, because I can fight anyone if I wanted to. Hedwig just rolled her eyes and said that just because I watch "those karate movies" doesn't mean I could fight someone. She did give me a cool butterfly knife (she called it a balisong) and said I could use it to defend myself, so that's cool.
We left for Oklahoma a few days after I was let out of school, on the sixteenth of June. It was disgustingly hot that summer, so hot that being outdoors for more than an hour would be extremely uncomfortable. The road trip there took approximately fifty thousand years, although in actuality it took a few days.
1965- TULSA, OKLAHOMA
When we arrived in Tulsa, it was a bit of a shock. I can tell you, it was not Long Island. Definitely not Long Island. There weren't any luxury shops or people in expensive clothing. I realized that Hedwig was right, and then I saw them. The greasers. The degenerates. All the color drained from my face and I said "Oh hell no." I slumped down in my seat and shut my eyes, trying to will myself someplace else.
The new house was on a shady tree-lined road. 6 Erikson Drive was the address, and it was an older home that looked vaguely Victorian. My mother seemed excited about it for some reason. In Long Island, our old house was a nice Cape Cod that was bright and let in a lot of light. Here, it was dark, even as the late afternoon sun streamed in, and the walls seemed to close in. I did get a room that faced the front, but instead of waking up and seeing the Sound, you saw the road. This place was nothing like my old home.
I hated Oklahoma. I hated the house, the view, the people, every single thing about this godforsaken state. I locked myself in the closet, which was surprisingly a walk-in, and cursed Oklahoma for the next half hour. When I emerged, I was still in a terrible mood. My mother started calling me to come get my things, so I made my way downstairs, into the fading dusky light.
The next few weeks were a blur of my parents looking through design magazines and gawking at various showrooms. It was all terribly boring and I ended up staying at the house after the fifth showroom visit. All that work was done for nothing, anyway, as we ended up just decorating it the same as our old house, except it looked a bit darker.
One of the few good things that came out of this was that I got a new pair of boots. I saw them in the shop window of a department store. It was not a luxury store like the ones in Long Island, but as soon as I saw the boots, I knew I was in love. They were eight-hole oxblood Dr. Martens, which is an English brand. They were the most beautiful boots I had ever seen, and I was able to get them because my other pair was getting worn and raggedy. When I arrived home. I admired their beauty for a time.
A few days later, to my surprise, my parents announced that they were going to Nevada for a few weeks. Apparently, my father's lab was running some type of testing in Nevada (he wouldn't specify what kind of tests) and also because they were going to Las Vegas. To my disappointment, I wasn't allowed to come, as my mother said I had to get to know my way around and make some friends. Las Vegas is stupid anywhere, there's too many fake people there.
The day after my parents left, I decided I would take a walk around the neighborhood. I decided to wear a white button-down collared shirt, khaki chinos, and my oxblood Dr. Martens. I made sure to bring my butterfly knife with me, because hey, you never know. I also made sure to tuck my pant legs into my boots, because I wanted to show them off. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, and it wasn't too hot. As I walked through the streets blithely, I noticed that despite still being in a residential area, the houses were much smaller and more run down. I felt my pocket for my butterfly knife, which thankfully was still there, and I started to turn around when I heard voices up ahead. Human voices- male voices, and I heard several swears. I decided to go check out what was happening up ahead, as there was seriously very little action in the last few weeks. What's the worst that could happen, anyway?