9 Move

The following weeks to Diane's fight with her mother were spent in solitude. She scoured the internet for houses to buy. Many of the houses she wanted were already taken. That's when she stumbled upon a beach house. It was supposedly built on a leveled out platform near a beach. Seeing that it was a town away and that it was still not sold, even though the post had been up for 2 years now, Diane immediately took it. She didn't even bother to visit the house, have a tour, and make sure that she loved it. She just rushed the applications and filled out the paperwork. Diane had already put her house up for sale, but no one had come yet. She wanted to move out as fast as possible, to leave away the guilt of the words she'd screamed.

When the day came for Diane to move, there was no one there to see her off, because there was no one who cared about her anymore. When she reached the house though, her hopes and dreams of a modern looking beach house shattered. The house was made up of old and weathered looking wooden boards. The roof had red tiles that were turning brown. The porch seemed ready to fall apart when she took a step on it. The windows were stained and tinted green. It was a disgusting sight, but Diane didn't care. She'd already signed the papers, and she thought it was probably possible to renovate it to look brand new and very clean.

She took a deep breath, ready for horrible stenches to hit her nose when she entered the house. She slowly climbed the stairs, and steadily turned the doorknob, her face as far from the door as possible. But the scent she'd expected didn't come. Instead, a lemony scent wafted from the house. Cautiously peeking into the doorway, she gasped. The inside was completely modern looking. There were gray ceiling fans hanging in the large living room. The beige couches were lined up in a perfect L shape, one side exactly twice the length of the other. The kitchen had black marble countertops, with clean cream colored cabinets beneath the counter. The small kitchen island had a small white rice cooker. The floor had clean white tiles about a few inches wide and long each. The dining room had a wooden table with a purple tablecloth spread over it. Six cushioned chairs surrounded the table, and a chandelier hung above the table. She walked to the first-floor bathroom in a daze, awed by the difference between the exterior and the interior design. The bathroom had white tiles on the floor, each about half a foot long and wide. The walls had flower designed tiles that rose a yard up on the wall. The rest of the wall was plain white. It had only a sink and a toilet, both white as the tiles. There was also a cabinet above the toilet and under the sink, and the mirror above the sink opened.

Diane took off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and walked upstairs to check out the two bedrooms and a bigger bathroom. The bedrooms were each as large as the dining room and the kitchen combined, about ¾ the size of the living room. The walls were plain white and looked newly painted. Each bedroom had two closets and a huge window, either overlooking the beach or the road up front. The bathroom had the same design as the bathroom on the first floor, but it was changed so that the sink was bigger, there was a shower, and a bathtub. Walking downstairs, Diane muttered to herself, "Why did no one want this house? This is probably the dream house for any person!" Then, laughing, she remembered the exterior. They probably ran away in terror from the wood, tiles, and windows.

The next few days, her boxes arrived, her beds arrived and Diane started to repair the house. She started to get comfortable but she did have to drive longer to reach work. Yet that was the only negative thing about the new town she lived in, Fallsburg. The beach was beautiful, she could finish dinner and walk along the beach, watching the sunset. Red streaks of light spread across the sky every night, along with the golden light of the retreating sun. The light pink left behind would be engulfed by the dark blue and purple of the night. Stars would appear, and Diane would leave. She'd chosen to sleep in the bedroom with the window facing the beach. She could hear a late night jogger run outside every night. She'd never talked to him, but she'd watched him run.

One night, she decided to stay out late. The cool ocean breeze was blowing her hair towards the left. She ran her hand along the ground, her fingertips just barely a centimeter into the sand. Without meaning to, Diane had traced out the words "I love you" into the sand.

"Who do you love?"

Startled, Diane looked up. "I don't know," she responded, looking at the runner for the first time.

"Really?" the jogger asked. "I think I know someone who would love you."

Diane didn't know who or what he was talking about. She just stared at him. "Who?"

"Look at me. Look at my eyes," The jogger said.

Without knowing why, Diane did. And she blacked out again.