The sky is a legion of dark clouds producing large rain drops that beat down relentlessly on the windshield of my car as my wipers slide aggressively back and forth. Despite their desperate attempt to keep the rain at bay, my view remains partially obscured making this trip on the freeway a hazardous one. But, I was wary of the trip before we even left.

To others the rain is an annoyance; a reason to cancel plans; a reason to stay inside. To me the rain has a calming effect, or, rather, a numbing effect. It serves as a reminder that the universe has the power to make other people miserable, if only temporary, and I take peace in that fact.

This morning we abandoned our home in Arizona to return to the town I grew up in in Louisiana--the town I've detested since we left it eight years ago.

My father's soft snoring in the passenger seat next to me makes it obvious that he doesn't dread returning to our old town nearly as much as I do. I offered to drive because I needed to focus on something. Had I been the one in the passenger seat, I would need a tranquilizer.

The GPS warns that we're about twenty minutes away from our destination and my stomach turns as I grip the steering wheel tighter. I'm tempted to roll down the window and give the rain its best shot at drowning me as I take the exit off of the highway.

I hear shuffling next to me and quick glance over at my father letting out a yawn. He stretches and takes in our surroundings before his eyes set on the GPS.

"Wow, we're almost there," he comments.

I don't respond, but I feel his eyes on me and hear him sigh. He turns around and pats our dog Atlas on the head. "That was fast, wasn't it Atlas?" He asks, knowing he'll probably have more luck getting a response from him right now.

After a moment of silence, he takes a deep breath, and I know I'm about to get hit with the speech about how this move is necessary for our "healing and acceptance."

"I know this is hard for you, Zorya. Believe me when I say it's no walk in the park for me either. Your mother was the love of my life. Returning to the town where we met, bought a house, and built a life together... I thought I wouldn't be able to do it, but I've come to realize that, in order to move on, we have to overcome the things we deem too difficult and accept that this is the way things are."

I roll my eyes. "I know, Dad. You've said this before. And despite what you may think, it doesn't make this any easier, and it doesn't make this make any sense."

He shakes his head, letting out another sigh, before leaning against the window in resignation. He knows better than to push the subject with me.

Some may think I'm a miserable person, and they'd be right. I am miserable, and I have no problem admitting it. I lost my mother eight years ago to a car accident. She was the world to me. While Dad was out working day and night getting his company up and running, it was just my mom and I. We did everything together. She wasn't just my parent--she was my best friend. She was my world, and the universe ripped her away from me.

So, yes, I'm miserable. I had one light in this life, and in an instant it was extinguished.

I make a left turn and a million memories come rushing to me all at once because the town center has remained virtually unchanged. The same businesses from eight years ago occupy the brick buildings lining the street. All except the dry cleaners that used to be on the corner. Now it appears derelict and abandoned.

We drive past the skatepark I used to frequent practically all of 4th grade. My best friend at the time, Ronan, had finally got his older brother to teach him how to skateboard and he graciously bestowed his knowledge onto me. 

It's that skatepark where I had received a call from my Dad urging me to return home as quickly as possible.

It was that night my mom had left us.

I stop at a red light and watch the kids skating in my side view mirror. They all look so joyful and happy. The town skate park used to put a smile on my face too. Now it seems it's just a reminder of the worst day of my life.

I turn into our old neighborhood and a wave of nausea rushes over me. My unease must be visible because I feel my Dad's hand on my shoulder--his way of trying to comfort me. His effort is in vain, however, because he's the one making us do this in the first place. Not only did he deem moving back to our old town "necessary," he also bought a house in the same Godforsaken neighborhood.

Similar to the town center, the neighborhood has remained practically unchanged. We drive past the playground and the pavilion where I would ride my bike to meet up with Ronan and his buddies. The play equipment seems to have dulled, but that may be from my changed perspective, not from old age.

We drive past Ronan's house and I glance over at it. My dad notices and says, "the Moores still live here, by the way. I spoke with Robert not too long ago. Ronan was recently accepted into Harvard on a lacrosse scholarship. How cool is that? Maybe you two can rekindle your friendship. It would be nice to know someone at school, don't you think?

Yeah, there's two chances of that happening—slim and none. I haven't spoken to Ronan since we moved away. He was the only one there for me after my mother's passing besides my dad. I didn't have many friends as a kid, but Ronan made up for it. He was the best, but, now, after everything that's happened, I'm not sure any rekindling of a friendship is going to occur. Senior year will be a lonely one, but I'm content with that. Being alone is something I've grown accustomed to over the past eight years.

We drive for another minute before reaching our old house. A few people promenading the sidewalks glance at us as we drive past, probably wondering who we are. We drive past some houses with people standing outside. A few I recognized, but most I didn't.

I make a point not to look at my old home as we drive past it. I'm not sure I can stand the sight of it. My dad had told me that the house we're moving into is across the street and a couple doors down. He had asked me if I remembered the older couple that lived there. He said in the years we were gone they became empty nesters and decided to move closer to their kids in Georgia. Now their house is ours, and it's within viewing distance of the house that used to be ours.

See why I'm upset?

I pull into the driveway and put the car in park with a shaky hand. My dad opens the car door and wastes no time getting out. I take a deep breath and pry my hands off of the steering wheel before eventually following his lead.

The houses in this neighborhood are all structurally similar. If you've seen one, you've seen them all, and this one is no different. The acadian-style gives it a cozy appearance while still providing enough room to house a sizable family, and the multi-colored brick pattern paired with white stucco is appealing to the eye. Most, if not all, the houses are also water-front. The backyards each have their own docks that give you access to the river.

A look at the covered porch gives me a rush of nostalgia. Mom and I used to spend hours out on the porch in the rocking chairs. I'm tempted to turn and look down the street, but I resist the urge.

I open the back door of the car and let Atlas out to sniff around before heading to the back where my dad has the trunk open and has started to take things out and lay them on the ground. I begin to help him while having to consciously keep myself from turning around and risking a glance at our old house.

We stuffed as much as we could into the Chevy Tahoe, mainly clothing for the next couple of days, some snacks, and kitchen utensils. The rest will be arriving later in a moving truck along with my car. I had originally offered to drive separately, but Dad insisted that we needed to "make this journey together." I know he just wanted to make sure I didn't get in and drive in the opposite direction of this place, but it wasn't a battle I was going to win.

Dad unlocks the front door and we begin moving our belongings inside. As I'm carrying the last of my items to the house, I pause on the porch steps before entering. I take a deep breath before turning around and doing what I've been dreading the moment we left Arizona.

My old home is almost exactly how I remember it. Unlike most of the houses in the neighborhood, Its symmetrical and its made entirely of white bricks. The cover over the large porch is held up with large white pillars, two on each side of the brown front door. The only change I notice is the large live oak tree planted in the front yard, which is very hard to miss. The tree's volume makes it difficult to see in any of the windows.

Odd.

I guess the new residences don't play about their privacy.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye and my eyes shift to the left to see a young man exiting the driver's side of a vehicle parked in the driveway. His eyes lock onto me as he closes the door—at least I think they do. I'm not able to tell exactly from this distance. He crosses his arms before leaning back against the car, never moving his eyes from this direction. Now I'm sure he's looking at me.

"Zorya, everything okay?" Dad inquires breaking my concentration. I turn to look at him standing in the doorway and see he's also now staring at our old house. His eyes move back to meet mine and he offers me a smile. It's the same sad, pitying smile he always seems to give me nowadays.

"Come inside, Rya."

I take a quick look back at the house, but the guy is gone. Dad whistles for Atlas and he comes bolting up the porch steps and into the house. I follow and shut the door behind me.