The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,4
to scream, “This is my fresh start, you asshats! You can’t ruin this for me!” But they did. There’s no coming back from such a dismal introduction. Maybe if I’d been witty and confident, I could’ve put Chad in his place, but those were not qualities my fifteen-year-old self possessed.
For the record, when the popular boys start to stick their tongues in their cheeks and make lewd hand gestures when you walk by, the popular girls automatically dismiss you as subhuman as well, as if my Walmart clearance rack clothes didn’t already assure them of that fact. No one ever stopped to think that I didn’t live up to that name. So much for Molly Ringwalding my life.
Things only got worse when Chad started calling me a “hot piece of Ash.” Any chance of altering the course of my destiny completely died when people found out my mom was a cocktail waitress at the Six Pin Bowling Alley. The good news is that I channeled my angst into my schoolwork, which later resulted in a partial college scholarship. Unfortunately, I only got one year under my belt before my mom developed lung cancer.
She hung on for four years, during which time I took courses online. I finally managed to snag a bachelor’s degree while working three jobs to keep the rent paid on our trailer and food in our stomachs. Sammy helped as much as she could. It was a lot of hard work for both of us.
Mom died when I was twenty-three. I could have moved out of our place and found a roommate somewhere nicer, but staying at Shady Acres only made me hungrier for the future I wanted to create for myself. I didn’t want to settle for something a little better. I was after a major, life-altering change.
Besides, our trailer was the only connection I had left to my mom who was my last known living relative. I don’t know if my dad is dead or alive. When he found out Donna was pregnant with me, his family up and moved to another town without leaving a forwarding address. Mom didn’t bother looking for him, which quite frankly she should have, if for no other reason than for financial contribution toward my existence.
Even though life at Shady Acres was less than ideal, we made good memories here. We played poker at our little kitchen table; we lay on the couch with our feet in each other’s faces dreaming big dreams; and we decorated our tiny Christmas tree like it was destined for the White House.
If you’ve never been dirt poor, it’s easy to say that life isn’t about monetary rewards; that it’s not about where you live and the kinds of clothes you have. But when you’ve never had those things, it’s hard to believe that money has no real importance.
The day I move out of this trailer park won’t just be my victory, it’ll be my mom’s as well, because I’m going to do all the things we ever dreamed about.
Chapter Three
January 10, 2006
Dear Molly,
You want to know why it’s so cheap to live at Shady Acres? There’s no heat! Mom and I put some plastic over the windows to try to keep the freezing air out, but we still have to wear winter coats when we’re inside.
I’ve been at my new high school for a week and I’m still eating lunch by myself. TBH, the loneliness sucks so bad. I’d rather be back in Illinois where I had friends. Life here totally bites. People look at me, but no one ever comes over to say hi. I might as well be invisible.
Except Davis. He smiles at me every day, and it’s become the moment I live for. He was the only guy who didn’t laugh when Chad called me FelAshleyO. I don’t want to be all overdramatic about it, but I think I’m in love. Davis is the nicest, cutest, and coolest guy in the whole state.
It’s bath day,” my supervisor, Wendy, says as soon as I arrive.
“I’m on it,” I tell her as I punch the time clock on the wall. As an assistant supervisor, I don’t usually bathe the residents, but when we’re short-staffed like we are right now, I do whatever needs to be done.
While I’m friendly with the staff at the nursing home, I’m the only unmarried one among them. Our lives are so different that I haven’t made any close friends here.
Once upon a time, I would have never