After a close friend's death, Sienna Cassidy, who goes by Senna, is pleased to move away from the city's bright lights and into the serene woods of Whelvewood, Wyoming.
In learning the importance of life and the indifference of particular worries...
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It's cold.
Colder than I'm used to this time of year. Usually, the sun still brings some warmth in early September, where the city never sleeps. Possibly it's because of the concrete holding onto the sun's heat throughout the day. Or the fact that it's a very cluttered place.
As the movers bring in the last of our belongings, I shiver. My jacket's thin fabric does almost nothing to shield me from the cold breeze of Whelvewood, Wyoming.
Whelvewood is beautiful. A massive contrast to the City of New York. But don't get me wrong, New York is lovely in some places, but living there for almost seventeen years, you see its ugly. However, Wyoming is fresh, beautiful, new.
"Senna, grab your bag, hun, and get inside," my father urges, walking past me with a box labeled 'Kitchen' in his hands.
I let out a heavy breath and watch as it creates a small cloud of fog. I follow it and trail my eyes among the trees—the sound of the movers truck rumbling down the road in the distance. With one last glimpse, I do as my father asked and roll my yellow suitcase behind me.
Again, Whelvewood seems to have beaten New York as I enter the house. Another difference from the small apartment we used to hold back home. Not only is it larger outside, but with having even more space inside as well.
The past week, my parents and I have been making this place feel like home. We rearranged some things like shelves and pictures to adapt to all the new space, and still, I feel like something is missing.
"Senna, dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go on and take a quick shower before coming to eat," my mother orders as I pass the kitchen entrance.
I nod my head in response and push down the handle to my suitcase. I struggle to carry it upstairs but manage to reasonably quick, a few drops of sweat rising on my forehead. I park it by my bed and immediately head into the shower.
I couldn't wait for a second longer to eat as we skipped lunch to help bring in the last of our stuff. I could feel my stomach growling and soon hear it talking to me as I put on my pajamas and fluffy slippers. The smell of steak and rice fills my nose, and soon my mother's homemade pepper sauce. It's one of my favorites, even with how intolerably spicy it is.
I quietly take my seat across from where my parent's plates are. It's awkward. Usually, they ask me how my day was, but they know I wouldn't answer how I used to. The sounds of our utensils scraping and scratching as we cut our stake fill the kitchen. I hate it—the silence.
I want to ask about their day to end the awkwardness, but I stay quiet. I've grown accustomed to keeping my mouth shut over the past couple of months. I have nothing to say. Nothing I think worthy of conversing about.
"You start school tomorrow," my dad starts and waits for my reply, but I don't.
"It's a good school," he continues. I hear him shift, probably to look at my mother for some encouragement.
"This is your last year. You need to do your best if you're going to get into a nice college."
My mother's stern tone does nothing to deter me from eating.
"I want you to make some friends. Maybe even join a club."
My dad's next line, however, makes my movements pause. Tentatively I meet his worried face and glance at my mother to see the same expression—a look of absolute concern that I wished not to notice.
I get that they worry for me, but I'm fine. Making friends, though, is not at the top of my priorities. Nor is joining some stupid chess club, bowling team, or whatever they have here. I won't do it, and they can't make me.
"Do you have your things ready for tomorrow?"
"Yes, Ma," I reply, now pushing my rice from side to side, my appetite suddenly lost.
"Don't play with your food," she scolds.
I huff and push my plate forward, "Can I go to bed now?"
"Yeah, go on and get some rest," my father answers, and I quickly make my way upstairs.
I can hear my mother complain about me not cleaning my dish, but my dad consoles and tells her that he will do it. I'm grateful that he does because she'd probably come into my room and tell me to do them.
I slowly put away the last of my stuff and then shove the suitcase under my bed. I pass by the desk chair that had my clothes set for the morning and make my way to the window. It was a bay window that I adored very much. It outlooked the front of our house, and the view of the woods instantly calms me.
I move the decorative pillows to the side and make room for me to sit. I find my head to rest itself on my knees and watch as the cold winds blow the trees ever so often. I could get used to this. This place is so serene, and I don't think I could ever get tired of it.
A knock on my room door startles me. I turn my head and call for my dad to come in after he makes himself known. He awkwardly makes his way towards me and takes a seat. I watch as a small smile crawls onto his face at the view. I follow his lead and admire the impressive scene as well.
"I know things have been tough with everything that happened back in New York..." flashes of people dressed in all black fill my vision, "...but this is a fresh start."
I close my eyes and gulp, biting back the sadness. My moistened eyes continue to follow the wind, and my dad continues.
"Promise you'll try and make some friends. Being alone is only going to drag you into a dark place, and I don't want that for you. Sienna, you can't keep going like this."
I can feel his troubled eyes inspecting me. Meeting them, I promise him that I will, and he pushes a strand of my curly thick brown hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead. He's right, but I don't know how to get out of the dark place I'm already occupying. I felt him release a sigh of relief, and it immediately makes my stomach churn in guilt.
"I love you, Senna. You're my little girl," he states in the efforts to remind me that he cares. Pulling me into a hug, he rubs my back comfortingly.
"I love you too, dad."
"Get some sleep now. You need to wake up early," He commands in a stern voice, but it doesn't fit his character, and so we both begin to laugh softly.
He gets up and turns on the lamp on my desk and makes his way to the entrance of my room. "Goodnight," he says in a low voice before turning off the room light and closing the door.
Left with only my lamp to help me see out into the wild, I turn my sights to the sky. How beautiful earth can be, I think to myself as I gaze upon the moon and stars. Many thoughts and questions fill my mind, but one of the most prominent is my wonders of how the world can be both beautiful and ugly.
