II

My uncle is not as he seems. He smiles too much for his own good. A mystery of goodness packed into one is what this man is. Jermaine Davis is a mischievous man. He speaks much, but not too much. He is always around even when no one has called for him to be there. He is different, but not as what people would agree with me on. He is somewhat like the old me. Young and carefree. He is not a bad man. He is attractive, but works as a farmer here in Jacksontown. I have encouraged him to do better, but he refuses to listen to what I have to say about a lot of things.

"This place is just wonderful, isn't it?" My mother mentions as she strides over to me. "Don't you just get butterflies everytime you see it?"

I take a look at my surroundings. There is nothing to get butterflies from. The roads are dusty and the houses--more like cottages--are small, fitting at most a family of four. I can spot barns that are miles away. The village has changed very little from what I had remembered it to be.

I shake my head, answering my mother's quite arrogant question.

"Oh lighten up darling," she nudges me on the shoulder and I shake her off. I take my bags and drag myself to the porch and into the house.

Once I get inside, I drop my luggage at the door and begin to wander around the barn-like house. The house is different from before. It is much cleaner than what is suspected on the outside. It has two stories and a farm situated at the back, which houses no animals.

I begin to look for a room that suits my taste. One that is small and distanced from the rest of the house.

I begin to walk up the stairs. There are two rooms, which seem very much distant from the two downstairs. One of the room's doors is wide open and is able to cast a shadow of a figure inside.

"Uncle Jerry?" I whisper as I walk into the room. The figure flinches and disappears in an instant.

"Oh, Stella-Rose," my uncle emerges from the room, flustered. It seems as if he cannot meet my eyes. "What's the matter?"

"I am looking for my room," I answer matter-of-factly.

He looks a bit relieved at my response, for his features shift and he looks at me in the eyes.

"Follow me this way." He escorts me to the room with the closed door. It is the farthest from all the rooms in this house.

Just how I wanted it.

The room is rather large. The bed is situated in the center of the room with a desk cornered by the wall. I take a seat on my bed while uncle Jerry leaves to get my things from where I left them and is back in a couple minutes. When he returns, he makes the effort to join me on the soft mattress.

"How do you like it so far?" He bothers to spark up a conversation after sitting in silence for five minutes. "It's your old room, just bigger."

I choose to not answer his question, for there is obviously no reason to. Instead, I feel the soft linen spread across my new bed in my old, but newer looking room.

He gets up from beside me on the bed and gives me a pat on the shoulder.

"Lighten up dear. Smile," he advises. "This place is not terrible."

I look up at him with a rather blank expression. "Okay."

He must think of me as some child. "Be sure to get some rest. We leave for church early tomorrow morning."

I watch him walk toward the door and out of the room, making sure to shut the door softly. I am left alone once again. Alone with my thoughts.

I look around my room. The walls are a light blue. My lips twitch. Getting up from my somewhat new bed, I grab one of my suitcases and begin to arrange my clothes into my closet.

"Do you like it? I had them re-arrange the place for you a couple months back."

My mother stands by my door with her arms crossed.

I ignore her statement and continue to place my hoodies onto the hanger rack in my closet.

"It would be nice if you could come with me to visit our neighbors," she says and I instantly shake my head.

"I'm going to shower now," I say in response and walk into the bathroom connected to my room and the other on the opposite side.

"Alright," my mother agrees. "Get settled. We need to be ready for tomorrow anyways."

I close the door before she can say anything else.

I turn on the bath water and let it fill the tub until full. I strip from my hoodie and the rest of my clothing. I allow my short hair to fall to my shoulders and I step into the bath.

The water is warm and tingles every inch of my body. I allow my head to dip down until there is no longer air surrounding me. Just water.

The murder of my father was not easy to get over. I still am not over it. And of course, I cannot forget it. It happened quickly like a swift change of breath. His heart just stopped and he collapsed onto the floor. In this very room.

It baffles me, for he was a healthy man. There is no way he could have just fallen out of nowhere. It was planned.

With the situation of losing my father, there also came drastic changes to our family.

My mother began to date months after his burial, causing us to drift from one another.

As for me, I felt no more emotion. I lost friendships that were dear to me and the boy I loved had left me, but I felt no such pain or sadness towards it. I let them go, along with things that I had treasured, as well as my life. The girl in which people had seen me as was now disintegrated into someone I cannot even exemplify.

But I cannot recover. I can, but it seems as if I have chosen not to.