Avery, here. Before I post Resonance’s blog update I just wanted to apologize to you (and her) for my week-long absence. She’s been chomping at the bit to post (she’s oddly down with this blogging thing) and I haven’t been around to do it for her. But, I’m back, now, and she has a ton of new things to say to you. So, here you go–Resonance Murphy blogging on “The Move”:
I’m in Tyne. Just like that. I packed my shit into boxes, helped Mom do the same, and watched four guys load it all onto a truck.
It’s funny, I was thinking there’d be something to stop this, like some major embargo by Spider, or maybe my aunt finally driving into Mom’s head her theory that this change is all too soon. In my wilder visions, I thought maybe a massive sinkhole would suddenly open and swallow the entire town. None of that happened. In fact, nothing happened.
For a major turning point in my life, it was pretty blah.
Our house is in a relatively crappy section of town. Those pretty Victorians with their candy-colored shingles are a few blocks over. Because of the shitty economy mom lost her shirt on the house sale. Dad’s insurance wasn’t much and their life savings was even less. So, Mom and I live in the spartan section, where people built homes to be sturdy and utilitarian, and not much more. There are six other houses on our street, but so far I haven’t talked to anyone. It’s weird, I pictured this Mayberry-esque parade of portly old lady neighbors with tins of cookies or giant, unidentifiable casseroles. But, no one’s come. They must be cautious around strangers. Gotta give them points for that.
I managed to find a bar—a dark, dirty place where the drink choices are tap beer and rail booze served as-is in chipped glasses. The people in there mind their own business and don’t ask stupid questions like what a young girl such as myself might be doing there alone at three p.m.
Mom has started her job. She’s busy trying to deal with the switch to her new director position. She’s always been more of a hands-on nurse, and I think the upgrade to bossing people around (no matter how well she does it with me) is kind of hard for her. Of course, despite her long hours she still finds enough time to ride my ass without remorse.
And my future occupation? There’s not much to this place as far as finding job opportunities go. Aside from the harbor shops (ugh, retail) and the surrounding business district (ugh, filing), there’s only houses, schools and parks. There’s a giant forest at the northwestern edge, but I don’t do outdoors or bugs — not that I’d want to be a ranger or tour guide, anyway.
Yesterday, the dude at the bar says he needs a cocktail waitress. “But the pay’s shit.”
“There’s no drinking on the job.”
Then he added the clincher. “And you’ll have to get rid of those–” referring to my combat boots, –“and buy yourself a pair of nice pumps.”
How ’bout I just stay on this side of the bar, then? I’m much happier being a patron, anyway.
So, after scoping the town yesterday and today, I’ve decided the time’s not right for gainful employment. This place isn’t ready for me, and I’m sure as shit not ready for it. I consider trying not to set anything on fire out of boredom a full-time job, anyway.
As far as the rest goes — the town seems pretty okay. Not my dream location by a long shot, but not the freakshow I’d imagined it to be. No other weird shit has happened. I’m still having the dreams, but I’m pretty used to them, now. I guess that bizarre thing with the obelisk and that “coming home” feeling was just my mind trying to point me towards some sort of stability it’s been missing since Dad’s death, or maybe some weird sixth sense trying to tell me moving here could be a new start.
A new start, huh? That’s a thought. Can someone like me really have a totally fresh start? I don’t think my mom would see it that way. In her eyes, some things — or people, in this case — never change. She’s probably right.
Well, at least my adventures in fucking up have a new backdrop.