New Neighbors
Here I am. I'm cradling the limp body of my girlfriend in my arms as I weep into her chest. I lift my arm to carefully move a blood soaked wisp of her formerly golden hair away from her unmoving face. You could almost believe that she is just sleeping, apart from the swelling of her eye and jaw, accompanied by a nasty cut running down from her hairline to her right ear.
How did I, of all people, get here? What's all this talk of a soulmate? And how the fuck did she get so bloodied up? Well, my friends, that is a long and complicated story. But what the hell. We have time.
It all started one day in June.
"Mom! Where's the mail? I need to see if I got my letter yet!" I yell up the stairs. My voice carries up the stairs and down the hall to my parents bedroom. My mom responds. "In the mailbox! Can you get it, and also bring in the newspaper?" She yells back.
I groan and get up from my spot at the kitchen counter and my bowl of cereal, and make my way to the front door. I put my hand on the knob, but before I pull, I look at what I'm wearing. I decided to wear my Amy Winehouse t-shirt and my Cheerios sweatpants. My hair is lazily down around my shoulders, and I'm wearing some black slippers.
'Decent enough' I resign. I pull the door open and step outside and into the warm breeze of June. I inhale deeply and close my eyes. I can hear birds chirping, kids playing, and a loud beeping. A beeping?
I open my eyes and scan our usually calm street for what's making that God-awful beeping noise. But my eyes land upon something that I did not expect.
A moving van.
That's a surprise. I didn't know that anyone was moving out. I shake it off with the thought that maybe that old bitch down the street finally bit it. I walk down the driveway and pick up the newspaper from its spot at the beginning of the driveway. I open the mailbox and flip through the mail, but no such luck. My acceptance letter hasn't come yet.
I groan again, but as I turn to leave, I spot my second surprise of the morning. The moving van has people unloading things in boxes. Not packing things up. My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. 'They're moving in next to us!' My brain registers.
This is not good news. For them at least. My Mom and Dad are very involved with the politics of the neighborhood, and if even one leaf falls off of the wrong tree, they go to the board. Not that I pity these people. They should know what they're getting themselves into.
I gather up the rest of the mail and rush into the house. "Mom! You'll never guess what's going on our street!" I yell. My mom appeared at the top of the stairs.
"What is it?" She questions. Her brows push together in the signature Lopez way. "You won't believe this." I say, readying my evil smirk.
"We've got new neighbors." I declare. One of the finer things in life, in my opinion, is causing mayhem for other people. That's why I joined the Cheerios in high school after all. I watch in amusement as my mothers face contorts into shock. They are part of the board of the community, if anything new happens they 'need' to know. At least, that's what they told me.
My mother quickly changes her expression from shock, to angry.
"Why didn't anyone tell us?! We don't know who those.. those.. ANIMALS could be!" She roared. I make a mental note that she is acting more animalistic at the moment than those people are. She stomps down the stairs and out the door. She stops in the doorframe and says to me, "Lets go meet our new neighbors."
Then she puts on her totally fake smile she wears when she wants something, and marches out the door. I follow behind her, but without the smile. I've decided that I'm going to intimidate this new family. If they have children my age, I will glare at them or crack my knuckles or something. Intimidation and fear was how I got to the top at McKinley, so this won't be much different.
We march across the neatly trimmed grass and onto their new driveway. We still cannot see the new family because the moving van is in the way. The open end faces us so we've decided to wait until someone notices us. And sure enough…
"Howdy!" A man in a thick southern accent greets us. He is tall, somewhat muscular, and smiling. He has a neatly cut head of dirty blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. 'Does he know that he moved to Ohio? Not Wyoming' I think. He is wearing large leather boots and a rolled up long sleeved button down shirt. He sticks out his hand, and my mother gratefully accepts. But I'm the only one who knows it's fake gratitude.
"You must be the neighbors!" He says, the smile and the accent never wavering. We nod, mine more cold and stiff than my mothers. He turns his head over his shoulder and calls for the rest of his family.
"Hey gang! C'mon and put the boxes down real quick and lets have a chat with the neighbors!" He turns back to us and gives us a reassuring smile. Not 10 seconds later, a woman comes out from the house and stands next to who I assume to be her husband.
She is a bit smaller than him, with equally blonde hair pinned up in a messy working bun. Her eyes are a bit of a deeper blue, and she too, wears an excited grin. She has on leather ankle boots, white socks, and a flowery summer dress. She sticks out her hand and my mother again, shakes it.
"I'm Randy Pierce and this here's my wife, Whitney." He introduces. Before he can say anymore, another blonde arrives.
When she stands by whom I assume to be her parents, I take her in.
She has honey blonde hair, which she wears down around her shoulders, and sports the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They are lighter than both of her parents, and it seems as though she stores unseen universes in them. She is tall too, almost as tall as her father, and taller than her mother. She is also somewhat muscular, from what I assume by the accent of her dad, farm work. She wears scuffed leather boots, torn blue jeans, and a button down with rolled up sleeves like her dad. She's beautiful.
"And this here's our daughter, Brittany." He says. She sticks out her hand like her parents did, but this time, she sticks it in my direction. I look to my mom, and she gives me a 'well don't just stand there' look. So I shake her hand. For what looks to be a farming family, they sure do have smooth hands.
"I'm Maribel Lopez, and this is my daughter, Santana." Neither of us sticks out our hands.
"Where did you all move here from?" My mother asks. Mrs. Pierce's face lights up at that, and she responds. "We moved here from the ranches of Texas." She smiles. Mr. Pierce nods and smiles too. "We decided to join y 'all city folk for a while so Britt here can go to college instead of workin' on our ranch her whole life." Brittany nods.
"Well that's nice. Santana here is also going to college. How old are you, Brittany?" My mother asks. Brittany looks down at her hands before replying.
"Nineteen." She answers. Her accent is lighter than her parents, but still noticeable. Her voice is sweet, with a hint of a raspy undertone. All in all, it's entrancing.
Her mother speaks, and I snap my attention back to reality. "Well y' all seem as sweet as sugar, so why don't you come over for dinner tonight? We would love to get to know our new next door neighbors." She winks.
"We would love to. And I will make sure to bring my husband." She offers a tight lipped smile. The Pierces don't seem to mind.
"Swell!" Mrs. Pierce exclaims, clasping her hands together. "We will expect you at six, then." She smiled warmly.
"Alright, that works. Goodbye." My mother says and walks back toward the house. Brittany looks at me for a second, before offering me a warm smile.
"It was nice meeting you, Santana." She says. "I have a feeling that I'm gonna like you." I smile back. I don't tell her, but I already feel attracted to the Texan blonde. I turn on my heel and make my way toward my own house, to prepare myself for dinner.
