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After an accident at seventeen takes her memory, there is something the adult Skylar Danes has to remember in her old hometown…but only her heart knows what.
A SMILE IN A BEAUTIFUL SKY
BY SHERELL CUMMINGS
“This could be good for you. Who knows? A new house, new school, new friends should give you a new outlook on things,” Uncle Max says, shaking my shoulders. We’d only met four months ago, and with everything I’ve put him through in that short period of time I’m surprised he still cares. “This is a good change. Hopefully, you’ll see that in a couple of days.”
I huff. Is anything ever a good change?
“Really? So losing my parents, selling my home and leaving my friends are supposed to be good things?” I ask sarcastically, looking around my room. “Wow, I so see your point.”
“Stop being a brat. Would you rather be in foster care, having to share a room with six kids?”
“Or more if you’re lucky.”
Cue the eye roll. He’s even more dramatic than me. “Whatever.”
“Good, then that’s settled. Come downstairs when you’re finished sulking.” Stepping through the bedroom door, he disappears with his words down the hall.
Everything from my old room is stacked in front of me in eight medium-sized boxes. My life is supposed to be different now. I’m supposed to be this new Sky, build new dreams and create new adventures, but all I can do is stand here and stare at these eight boxes.
Moving to the window, I view the empty street and freshly cut grass. The two-story yellow Victorian I’m currently standing in is beautiful, I admit, but it still isn’t my home.
When my uncle said I was moving to Anderson, South Carolina, I hated the idea of leaving behind everything I had worked so hard to build. We are made to believe that change is supposed to be good. But I don’t agree. You make plans and have these endless dreams built up in your head and then something bad happens and they all get taken away, as quickly as it takes to open your eyes. What’s left is the uncertainty of everything you once hoped, dreamed or even prayed for ever coming true.
After a while of standing there I abandon the unopened boxes and head downstairs to the living room. With its plain white walls and only a few pieces of furniture, it looks more like a bachelor pad instead of a three-bedroom house. All the furniture is old, brown or leather, and the seventy-five-inch TV mounted against the wall doesn’t help the imagery much.
I turn to the sound of the front door opening. My uncle walks in carrying the rest of my stuff. “I did as much as I could, but I’m not a decorating kind of man, so I’ll leave that up to you,” he says, dropping the bags by the stairs as he straightens and takes a breath.
“Really, you’re leaving me to decorate? I have never decorated anything but my room before and that was sticking posters up to cover the holes I accidently made with a pencil. I’ll probably mess it up.”
Picking up the bags, he continues up the stairs. “Well, if you do, we’ll just be living in a messed-up house. Hope you won’t be ashamed to bring any friends over.”
“Good thing I don’t have any of those.”
“Too bad,” he says, before disappearing from view. I roll my eyes and turn for the kitchen.
My uncle Max is great in the sense that I see him as more of a big brother instead of a rule enforcer. He’s a joker and tries hard to make me feel comfortable, seeing as I couldn’t remember much about him from when I was little. He’s my mother’s brother and the only family they could find that would take me. Not that I’m complaining, because so far he’s amazing.
When we got in this morning, he parked behind a red 2011 Honda Civic and before I even got out of his car he said it was mine. Days before we left Texas, he sold my dad’s old Chevy because I couldn’t stand the sight of it. I’m surprised he bought me that beautiful baby as a moving gift, and trust me, it was love at first sight.
I grab a water from the fridge and take a seat on a stool by the kitchen table. I would like to think if I’m anything, I’m a planner. I had my whole senior year planned out from the day I stepped foot in that building, to the day I would walk out in my cap and gown. I knew what classes I would take, what parties I would go to, even what I would wear on a day-to-day basis. That’s what my friends and I talked about since we were sophomores. How good it would feel to finally make it to the end, in hopes of starting a new beginning. Now nothing makes sense and I have to start from the beginning again, and as much as I was looking forward to senior year back in Texas, I’m dreading it now, because here I’ll be the new girl.
“All your crap is finally in your room. So what do you want to do now?” he says, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.
“Hey, can I have one of those?” I nod toward the beer.
“Ah, no. Do that on your own time, when I’m not around, like a normal teenager.”
“But aren’t parents supposed to encourage their kids to drink at home instead of on the streets with strangers?”
Don’t know who I’m kidding.
He chuckles with an amused look. “Really, after that party where I walked in on you a couple weeks ago?”
“You didn’t walk in…”
“You were hungover.”
“I was just tired.”
“There was vomit in the kitchen sink.”
“I didn’t do that, and that’s a very good example of drinking at home under my own roof.”
“Right…great example of getting drunk under your own roof with a bunch of strangers when I wasn’t in town.”
What he’s referring to is this pity party I threw and a bunch of strangers showed up who trashed my house while I was passed out drunk in the tub upstairs. It wasn’t one of my finest moments, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. I didn’t even invite any of those people—my lack of people to invite was the reason I was having a pity party in the first place.
When I finally woke up around two the next morning, I found my uncle downstairs brooding and pissed off. It was the first time I had ever seen him angry, and it was scary because he’s a really big guy. The house was trashed, a window was broken, and the front door was hanging on by the hinges. I burst out laughing. I was lucky he didn’t ship me off to social services that day.”
Meet Author Sherell Cummings...
Sherell Cummings is an IT Technician whose mind is consumed with what to write next. She and her fiancé, Jude and their two children live on the island of Trinidad and Tobago and when she’s not reading or trying to find time to write, she’s at work doing the regular nine to five.
Links to Sherell’s website, blog, books, etc.
Amazon Author Page:
Boroughs Publishing Group: