• There were hot tears streaming down my face as I rode away in that old black pick-up truck. My mother, my life, and everything else that mattered were gone as that car turned the corner.
    It was hard turning away when you suddenly walk out on from everything you knew and loved. I wouldn’t say walking out, rather dragged out, but what choice did I have? My mother was dead, my house was destroyed, and I would trapped in the middle of nowhere within the next few hours.
    My life had been completely spun off-course as soon as I had come home only to find men in heavy fire suits battling the red flames that were consuming our apartment complex; four burning stories of ancient plywood, crumpling to the ground. My mother and I had lived on the fourth floor.
    When I got to the hospital, it was already too late. My mother was suffering from third-degree burns along her back, and had broken almost all her ribs when a piece of burning plywood fell on her chest. The doctors were unable to stabilize her as she was bleeding badly internally, and even after CPR, nothing made my mother’s heart beat again.
    Now after weeks of being in state court, it was decided that I would leave New York and leave to stay with my closest known relative, my Aunt Jo, on her farm in Maine. Since I had absolutely nothing, they would send me to my wealthiest relative, and Auntie Jo made not that much for all I knew, but I’d rather stay with her anyway.
    I sat silently in the backseat of the pick-up truck so to avoid unwanted conversation with the driver, Auntie Jo’s hired help Samuel. Samuel was a burly country boy with sandy hair and pale green eyes. Sam had just gotten out of high school, but had no interest in college, I hardly knew any country boys who did. They would be farmers, simple people with no major goals in life. Country people annoyed me. I got out my iPod (something I had had with me during the fire), played some rap music, and ignored the world for a few hours.
    One long car ride later, I got out of the pick-up truck and walked up the long dirt driveway to Auntie Jo’s house. A second later Auntie Jo had poked her head out the door. Hey Chloe, good to see you, I know you must feel awful about the fire and all, but let’s get your stuff into the house okay?”
    I nodded but said nothing; I couldn’t stand people who treated you like you were ten years younger than you really are. Auntie Jo was the one relative who called me Chloe, my mom and everyone else didn’t like the name, mostly because I didn’t look like a Chloe, instead, my mom insisted on calling me by my middle name Jacqueline, or Jackie for short. Unlike everyone else, I liked my name, even if I didn’t fit the stereotype. Everyone assumes that a “Chloe” is preppy, blonde, and tan; a popular kid, the cheerleading captain. I am not that Chloe.
    Me? I don’t know, that’s just not someone I’ll ever be. I’m the exact opposite of a Chloe to me. I have paler skin, almost an eggshell color, and really thick, straight black hair. It’s not dyed either, naturally black. My eyes are not shining bright blue like Barbie-doll Chloe; my eyes are deep dark indigo, just like my father I’d never known. I was too skinny to be attractive, and my figure in general was just too bony. I’d often felt like the human paperclip. I didn’t wear preppy clothes like “Chloe” either. Instead, I preferred my graphic tees, ripped jeans, and my DC’s to Abercrombie and Stilettos. I never had ever fit the definition of “Chloe” but it was still the name written on my birth certificate.
    I hoped that maybe here in Maine, I could make a fresh start and make friends who would call me Chloe instead of Jackie. I was looking forward to that.
    ***
    I sat down on my bed and stared around the room. Pretty plain in general, not much color on the walls or furniture; it would look better when I finished unpacking my things. I didn’t have much, just a few pairs of clothes I’d bought recently, my iPod, some books, and then there was Sunshine. Sunshine was something precious to me, a gift from my mother from when I was a baby. Sunshine was a stuffed lion, a worn out, tattered rag of a doll that was as old as I was; almost fifteen. I found it so ironic that the firemen managed to pull this out of the flames, but couldn’t save my mother’s life. I threw Sunshine on my bed and put the clothes away in the drawer. Then I sighed and sat down in the white egg-chair in the corner of the room.
    Auntie Jo came into the room and had a compassionate smile on her face. “Hey Chloe, I just wanted to ask you if you wanted anything,” she said softly. Just then an idea popped into my head. “Auntie Jo, does spray-paint work well on walls?” I asked randomly. Seeming slightly confused of the unusual question she hesitated before answering. “I guess so, but why?” she asked confused. “I was thinking of spray-painting the walls, and then putting up some posters and maybe getting some new pillows and blankets for the bed, sort of a mini-makeover,” I answered briefly. She seemed to take a sigh of relief as I finished my sentence. “Well, I don’t see why not, this dingy room could use some redecorating,” she smiled and then pulled out her wallet. “Here’s some money for the paints, then once it dries, we’ll go buy some throw pillows and blankets to match. Sound like a plan?” she asked again with renewed energy. I nodded. She got up and practically skipped out of the room.
    It wasn’t hard to find a hardware store despite the general remoteness of the area. I walked into the store and quickly found some purple and black spray-paint. I used Auntie Jo’s money to pay for it and headed back to the farmhouse.
    Before even attempting to start, I covered all the big furniture with old fabrics that Auntie Jo had given me to use. I moved everything that was small enough out so I would have to worry about it. I put on goggles and a mouth mask and set to work. I didn’t plan on covering all of the white walls with paint, but instead just began streaking the wall with purple and black. I even painted the back of the egg chair. Then I got a fun idea, I took some balloons I had found in the attic and filled them with some black acrylic paint. With everything else covered, I threw the paint balloons on the walls and ceiling. It gave the room an artistic touch; I liked it.
    About three hours later, I returned to the room with Auntie Jo. She was impressed with my paint work, and could wait to go buy the throw pillows and blankets. However, now I would have to wait for the paint to dry. I sat down on the couch in the living room bored out of mind. Just as I flipped on the flat screen TV, Auntie Jo came into the room. “Hey, Chloe, get your coat were going out for a bit. I’ve got a surprise for you.” She smiled and grabbed her purse from the closet.
    Aunt Jo and I got into her banana-yellow Volkswagen bug and sped off down the dirt road. Aunt Jo was young, so much younger than my mother but they looked alike. She looked just like my mom when she was in her twenties like Jo was now. Tall and thin, slight laugh lines around her mouth, and tawny hair that was pulled back in a long braid. She had bright golden streaks running through it, something that differed from my mom, and she had shiny “Chloe” eyes.
    “Jo, where are we going?” I asked. Aunt Jo didn’t mind when I called her Jo. “Well, I said it was a surprise didn’t I? If I told you, it would ruin it,” she smiled. I sighed. I hated not knowing where we were going, it bothered me when people hid stuff from me, and I can always tell when they are even when they won’t admit it. It doesn’t stop there either, I look into it, and I pry and really try hard to make them tell me, and if they won’t, I’ll find it out somehow. My mom used to tell me all the time to be a detective or a spy. I liked the sound of that.
    We were going 75 down the vapid road out in the middle of nowhere. I was thinking to myself, where were all the cops? I sat and listened to the rock channel on the radio. I had decided to give on rap music since my mom had died, it was her favorite and it would only hurt my heart. Plus, I guess I could just relate easier to rock than I could to rap these days. I had been annoyed so much by rap lately; it wasn’t as appealing as it used to be. Rock seemed to comfort me more and it made me feel powerful. “You like rock?” asked Jo as a song ended. “I guess so, it’s better than some music,” I shrugged. “Your grandma used to listen to the original rock bands like Elvis Presley, she adored him,” she went on while looking out the window. A new song came on the radio and I instantly liked the song. “Jo, what’s the name of this band?” I asked urgently. “Oh, that’s Shinedown, their alright I guess, I like the Foo Fighters the best personally, but everyone has their favorites,” she pointed out. Shinedown, got it, as soon as I got the chance I would get their album at the bookstore. I loved them already I was on my way to making progress after the death of my mother.