P retty Little Snacks , Chapter 1
On an otherwise boring Tuesday, when my mother woke me up early, got me into an airplane, and we flew across the country to a foreign land, I could feel my life being ruined.
We were still in the US, but most of the US is foreign to us New Yorkers. Oregon. Not Oh-regon or Or-e-Gone. Or-Eh-Gun. I found that out quickly.
But on that Tuesday, I went from being born and bred in my hometown, surrounded by friends and family, to cruising toward a dot on a map where I was probably gonna be the only brown girl around, even though technically I'm only half brown. My mom is full Puerto Rican. She still looked like the video girl she once was, and could probably still snag a gig in a rap video if she wanted to. But she kept telling me that ship sailed. Which doesn't exactly explain why I was cruising up a mountainside in a brand new Tahoe, massive trees on either side, rising skyward. No, for that, you have my mom's new ship to blame. Her internship at Pine Bluff General Hospital.
"Why are we here?" I grumbled, curled up as much as I could in the front passenger seat.
My mom frowned, hitting me with an eye roll so hard that I felt it.
"You know," she said.
"How about we go over it again?" I asked.
"Because you're smarter than that."
"I don't know about that. I used to be smart, you know, when I went to Bronx Science—"
"Your high school doesn't determine your intelligence."
"Definitely helps."
"I'm sure this school is good."
"No way it's not as good as—"
"You don't know that."
"I know it's not nationally ranked. I'm willing to bet there's not a whole lot of kids who hit up Harvard from here."
"So now you want to go to Harvard."
"I've always wanted to go to Harvard," I snapped. She knew. I knew she knew, and we'd talked about it. She just didn't like it or accept it because Harvard's Dad's school. Not hers. But Mom knew I was upset, and she pushed my buttons because she could. But Mom wasn't going to let me wallow, even though I totally had legit wallowing rights.
I went back to staring out the window at the endless passing trees.
"I hate this," I mumbled.
"Yeah, well," my mom said through a sneer, "what else is new?"
She flipped the radio on. Static. She rolled through the dial, up and down.
Christian Rock.
Country.
Those were our choices.
"Does this have Sirius?" I asked.
"Dunno," my mom replied. Then she cranked up the country.
"Great," I sneered, even though I knew my mom wasn't listening. "I guess I could use some redneck lessons before I get to town. Make sure I know where to hang my confederate flag."
My mom punched me in the shoulder.
"Not funny, kid," she said.
"Kinda funny," I replied, rubbing my shoulder.
"Nope. You haven't been to this town. You don't know these people. Don't judge based on shit you just made up because you're angry with me."
Shit , I thought. When Mom cursed, she was really mad. I knew I had to back off, regardless of what I was thinking or feeling. Mad Mom was bad news.
Considering conversation was done for the moment, I pulled out my phone.
No texts from home. All my friends there were in school already. Their lives were continuing on, and all of a sudden, I wasn't in it. I wasn't important any longer. They'd forgotten me.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
"It's going to be better than you think," my mom said over the twangy song's end.
I didn't know how to reply. I'm not sure there's anything worse than moving to a new town. Definitely not when you've spent your whole life in the same city, the greatest city in the world. But, when your mom says pack up, what choice do you have, right? It's the mom. It's her world — I just live in it. Didn't matter that I was leaving all of my friends behind, my life, my dreams. I had to sacrifice everything for her dreams, when, you know, I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be the other way around.
Sucks to be me, I guess.
But here we were, cruising up that mountain highway in our new Tahoe, the first car my mom ever purchased, the first car she'd ever owned. And, to be honest, the first car she'd really ever driven. Like, really driven, because we were Manhattanites. And those of us from the Island, we don't drive because we have subways. And taxis. And a host of other ways to get around to all the different places we needed to be. Not to mention just walking, dammit. But now, because we were in the middle of nowhere, we had to have a car. And not just a car, a Tahoe. A massive vehicle that had to be bigger than what we could possibly need. I could curl up in the front seat and take a nap. The interior was pretty damn close to our whole apartment.
But we were going to be living on a mountain, so we needed something that could handle the snow, and despite pointing out that the NYC cabs handle snow just fine and were Priuses, we got the behemoth. In red, its only saving grace.
Once we left Portland — you know, after landing at the airport and buying an entire car — there was nothing. Just trees. And no rain. I expected rain, but it was actually pretty nice, weather wise. A nice change from Manhattan, considering the city is universally repugnant in August.
And we drove.
And drove.
And drove.
Trees.
More trees.
Mountains.
And trees. Did I mention trees? I mean, I've seen a lot of trees before — it's not like I never left the city — but there's a different level of tree in Oregon than New England or New York. They're like, everywhere, and huge, and pine. All pine. No leaves, just pokey needles. And there weren't, like, small towns we passed through either. Or houses. It was nothing but giant expanses of wilderness that didn't seem to belong to anyone. Just, I guess, the wild. Or, you know, more probably, the government.
Finally, after we'd lost the country station, found a new one, lost THAT one, and found a classic rock station — still not disavowing me from the whole Rebel flag mentality — we got to our new home.
Pine Bluff, Oregon.
Not a city. I'm not even sure it hits town status. Maybe. I'm not exactly up-to-date on municipality requirements in the great state of Or-Eh-Gun. Maybe since I wasn't at an academically rigorous school anymore, I'd have the time to look into all that crappo.
As soon as we got to the town, my mom started talking again. Like, a mile a minute. That's pretty much her only speed. She just gets louder when she's mad or excited.
And I was as bummed as she was excited.
"Look at all the trees!" she exclaimed as we sat at the light on the highway, waiting to turn left.
And seriously, who has a light on the highway?
"So many trees," she continued unfazed by me not responding. "It's a little slice of heaven."
"Not sure I'd call it that, Mom," I said.
"Well, you don't like nature."
"I like nature, I just don't like this much nature. This is, like, aggressive nature."
The town of Pine Bluff just sorta sneaks up on you. You're in a forest on a two-lane highway, and then you come around a corner, there's a break in the ever-present evergreens, and you see a traffic light, a cross street, and a gas station. First sign of life for — and I swear this is true — two hours. Once you stop at the light, to the left is a town (of sorts), and to the right are houses and a sign with an arrow pointing to the Pine Bluff Country Club.
"There it is!" my mom shouted, pointing at the sign for the hospital.
I forgot to mention the hospital sign. There's also a sign pointing out that the hospital is to the left. Which is the whole reason why we were in that lovely town. Note, lovely is not what I actually mean.
The hospital. The stupid hospital. Pine Bluff General Hospital. Just rolls off the tongue.
"Let's go look at it," my mom said, and gunned the Tahoe through the barely green light.
It didn't take long to spot it. It was the really tall building in the town. The only thing over like, three stories. And up it rose. And rose. It was huge. Frankly, it looked stupid. I wasn't impressed.
"I'm not impressed," I said.
"What are you talking about?" Mom countered.
"The hospital."
"It looks great."
"It lords over the town like Sauron!"
"Oh wax your feet, Frodo. It looks like a hospital."
"Doesn't match the town."
"I mean, the town is pretty quaint," she said with a smile as we cruised past a small corner store, a large hotel lodge sort of thing, a diner, all the elements that make up the quintessential small town we all know and hate because small towns suck when compared to the glory that is New York.
"There's nothing here," I replied.
"There's everything!" my mom exclaimed. "It's perfect."
"You're insane."
"It's the American Dream here, Kayla."
"The American Dream is dead. Time magazine said so."
"Who reads Time anymore?"
"Doesn't mean they're wrong."
"Means no one knows what they're saying."
"They could still be right."
"I'm not even sure what you're complaining about now."
"Living in this dirt hole."
"There's no dirt here. It's all pine needles and manicured lawns."
"Lawnhole does have a bit of a ring to it."
"You'll love it."
"I won't."
"Be positive."
"I'm sure I won't?"
"Much better."
"Thanks, Mom."
We cruised up Main Street (and it's actually called Main Street. Like, seriously?), and past this massive German-looking hotel place, which, to be fair, seemed pretty posh. Turned by City Hall, which had the police station attached to it, and down that street, like, three blocks, which put us in range of the hospital.
Now, if I wasn't around my mom, I'd've been willing to say something nice about Pine Bluff General. It looked fine. There were some really nice grounds to wander about if, you know, you're recuperating. It looked modern, clean, well lit. I mean it was the middle of the afternoon, but it certainly seemed like they had adequate lighting around.
I can't help but look for adequate lighting. I don't like the darkness. I think it's because I'm such a city mouse. I don't really know what to do in the dark. Or the nature. Give me concrete, subways, and taxis, that's my kind of life, and that's the kind of girl I am. City-bred.
My mom just stared out the window, wide-eyed. I could tell she wanted to go inside, look around, introduce herself, meet the other doctors.
"Can we go home now?" I asked.
She looked at me. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, but I hoped she could see the logic in mine.
"This is home," she said.
"You know what I meant."
"I know what you meant," she smiled, and turned the Tahoe around in the hospital parking lot. "You notice no street parking?"
"I know," I replied, eyeing the giant mass of flat asphalt.
"I don't have to search for parking."
"Yeah, you get doctor parking."
"That's right. You know who doesn't have doctor parking?"
"Ghetto hospitals in New York City?"
"Exactly."
"You know who does?" I asked. "Columbia University Hospital."
"I wouldn't need a car if I was there," my mom said.
"Exactly. And no—"
"But we'd be living with Grandma and Grandpa."
"We did that for years," I said.
"And did you like it?"
"Yes!"
"Well I didn't," she snapped in the tone that made it quite clear I was to shut up.
Or else. I didn't know what the "or else" might have been, just that something would happen. I'd never really pushed things. I guess you could say I'm a good kid. Or, rather, I just don't get caught. Except that I'm a good kid. I'm kinda lame. Or I was. Until I got to Pine Bluff.