"So this is my new home," you mumbled to yourself. Your already foul mood turned worse as you sat on the front porch of your new home. To you it was more like a cottage. Everything about it screamed Little House On the Prairie. From the creaking wooden floors, to the horrible floral wallpaper. You thought your mom had a little more class than this, but apparently you were wrong.
"Ma'am where would ya' like this box ta' go?" one of the men asked you. You cringed at his southern drawl, not even bothering to look up.
"By the living room wall please," you sighed. The man gave a sympathetic smile and walked into the house doing as he was told. Truthfully, you didn't expect such a culture shock. Riding into the small backwoods city in the middle of nowhere you noticed that a lot of the people wore either baseball caps or cowboy hats. Their shoe of choice were boots, and most wore jeans even in extreme heat.
These people are crazy... This whole place is inconvenient! The nearest grocery store is more than five miles away, and the nearest neighbor has to be at least three miles at that.
It was true, most of the available land was used for farming, and cattle. Your mother had enough sense not to buy a house close to a cattle farm, but there was a horse ranch down the road-no, the dirt path, there were no paved roads only red dirt trails. Everything about this place aggravated you, the people were to sugar sweet, there was to much land, and nothing to do but stare at grass.
"(Name) why don't you stop pouting and pick up a box or two?" you mom chirped as she placed a cardboard box on the porch.
"Mom you're sweating," you sneered in disgust. Your mom was a business women who had nothing to do with heat or going outside.
She gave a sheepish smile, "So I am. C'mon (Nickname) it isn't that bad." You groaned and hopped of the porch, your Vans creating a cloud of dust. You started chocking and waving the dust away. You could hear some of the workers chuckle and poke jokes at you. "She won't even last a week here." You glared at them before stomping into the moving van and grabbing a couple of boxes.
After an hour of hauling boxes the living room was no longer empty. The brown boxes created skyscrapers in the available rooms. You rubbed your temples, just thinking about unpacking all of this already had you stressed. You couldn't find your mom anywhere so you found the boxes with your name labeled on it and carried them upstairs to your room. The sound of tape being sliced filled the soundless room. You shuffled through your things, first unpacking your clothes and shoes, then your bedroom decorations. You were halfway through when you heard your mom all for you.
"(Name) come down stairs, the neighbors want to meet you!"
You moved the thin curtain from the window to see your mom waving frantically and an older couple standing beside her. You huffed and made your way down to the front yard. You opened the door and squinted your eyes, the dirt never seemed to settle around here.
"(Name), this is Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They own the ranch down the rode," your mom smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the business smile she usually used when meeting new people.
You looked them up and down, they were both a picture of the south. The lady had on a floral dress with a pair of boots, her gray blonde hair was tied back in a sloppy bun. The man had a flannel plaid shirt tucked into a pair of sun bleached jeans, with a huge gleaming silver belt buckle to match it. You gave a small but polite smile, "Hi, I'm (Name). Nice to meet you."
"Well aren't you just as sweet as peach! How are ya'll likin' your new home?" Mrs. Jones clasped her hands in delight.
"Um... It's nice. A lot of trees and live stock," you tugged at the bottom of your graphic tee nervously. You weren't going to be rude and tell them you hated this God forsaken place.
The man chuckled, "There's a lot more than that 'round here. But it might take a while for a Yankee to realize that." You could see a mysterious sparkle in his blue eyes.
"(Name), they also have a son that's about your age, am I correct?"
"Yes, his name's Alfred! You'll see him 'round the local high school, or you could just come down to the ranch whenever you feel like you need something to do besides countin' clouds," the lady laughed. You gave a nervous smile and laughed along. You didn't want to make friends, you wanted to be left alone and sulk for the rest of your teenage life.
"See? It's not all that bad. Maybe you can get a job to keep you occupied," your mother elbowed you in the arm. You forced yourself not give a shocked look. She was already pressuring you to get a job.
"Why don't y'all come by tonight and have dinner with us!" Mr. Jones clapped his calloused hands together. You were about to object, but your mom was already hugging their necks.
"Thank you! When would be a good time?"
Mrs. Jones returned her hug, "Five o'clock is when we all eat. I hope y'all don't mind fried chicken and collard greens." You gaged a bit at those words. You weren't one for fried things nor vegetables.
"We'll be there." You wanted to smack your moms head and ask her if she's gone crazy. But you just smiled and waved as the two clambered into the dusty red pickup truck.
Before closing the door Mr. Jones tipped his tan cowboy hat, "Welcome to the South."