Page 9 of The Other Half

I nod, “You ever been to this side of town?” It’s a far ass cry from the country club shit she’s used to.

“It’s so dark I can’t even tell where we are, really.”

We begin to ascend the gravel road that scales the mountain I live on. I live in the holler, there are about twenty-odd houses and trailers haphazardly placed onto the side of this mountain. It’s a very impoverished area, even though there are neighborhoods like Oakley’s just minutes down the road. There’s a weird juxtaposition of wealth in this town. It seems you either have a lot of money, or none at all.

As we approach my neighborhood I can’t help but cringe at the sight before us. I’m trying to imagine seeing this place for the first time from her perspective. My mom keeps our home decent looking, unlike some of the surrounding ones that are so dilapidated that the doors are falling off their hinges and trash is strewn around their yards. But it still probably looks like a piece of shit to her.

Our house is a small wooden shack that was built when the town was first established, about a hundred years ago. Most of these houses were built so that mill employees would have somewhere to live within walking distance of their job. You can see the huge smokestacks of the mill from my front porch, the noxious smell of the fumes constantly permeating the air around us. Sometimes I get sick of staring at it day in and day out.

We reach my house and I lead her around the side of it to where my room is. I watch as she curiously eyes the small building. The white paint is chipping off in some spots, and one of our shutters is missing, but aside from that it’s well taken care of. It has a small covered porch, with two plastic lawn chairs and a small table. It’s nothing special, but it is my home and I’m proud of it. It was passed down from my great-grandparents, to my grandparents, to my parents, and eventually it’ll be passed down to one of us.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” I say, gesturing towards the cracked window of my bedroom. So far she hasn’t said a word, which could be good or bad, I’m not sure. I push the window open fully and crawl inside, then offer my hand to help her do the same. She takes my hand and I feel a weird jolt of electricity pass through my fingertips before she lets go. “So, do you wanna talk about what happened at home?”

She rolls her eyes subtly, “Not really. I’d rather just pretend that I don’t live there for a little while.”

I nod and turn on my tv, the screen crackles and slowly turns from fuzzy static to a sitcom with bottled laughter. Honestly, I had no plans as to what we would do or talk about once she got here, and now I feel a little bit awkward. She looks around my room curiously, and sits down in the rickety chair next to my desk.

“I like your house, by the way.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Really? But there are no gold-plated toilet seats here like you’re used to.”

She cracks a genuine smile at that. The way her smile creates one perfect dimple on the left side of her face nearly sucks the breath out of my chest. She’s pretty. Really pretty.

“Maybe that’s why I like it, it just feels…normal. And real. Like a real, happy family could live here,” she says wistfully.

I shrug, “I guess you could call us that.”

She studies my face, and I wonder what she’s thinking. “Tell me about your family,” she suggests softly.

“Well, my parents worked at the mill, until they had to do layoffs recently. My older brother, Nate, is twenty-one. Luckily he didn’t get laid off, so he’s pulling most of the weight now, until they can find new jobs. After I graduate I’ll apply there as well. I feel guilty for not contributing anything.” I pause, unsure of how many details I should divulge to this girl I barely know. I’m not sure why I even told her any of that. She’s easy to talk to. I usually don’t like talking to people much, but I feel more comfortable letting my guard down around her.

Her expression suddenly changes. “You’re not going to college?” Her eyebrows knit together nervously.

I can tell she’s genuinely surprised by this and is asking out of concern, so I try not to laugh or be a dick about it. “No. I can’t afford college.”

“Well, what about financial aid? Loans? Scholarships?” she suggests almost frantically, like she has some stake in the matter.

“It’s not in the cards for me. It’s fine.” I shrug, trying not to look directly at her because I feel nervous now.

She doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but she moves on. “So, tell me more. About your family, I mean.”

I clear my throat, thankful that she changed the subject. “Well, I have a little brother, too. His name is Liam, he and I are really close. My parents grew up here, they met in high school. My dad’s family has lived in Poplar Valley for many generations. I don’t know what else to tell, we’re just a typical family, I guess.”

She continues to study my face and it makes my heart beat quicken, so I stare at my tv instead.

“I’m really sorry that they got laid off,” she says in a sullen tone with a guilty look in her eyes. I shouldn’t have brought that up, it’s none of her business.

“It is what it is. It’s not your fault.” I reply, trying to sound casual. I stretch my legs out in front of me and scoot to the far end of my bed, leaning my back against the wall. “You don’t have to sit way over there, you know?”

“Oh…yeah,” she says, getting up and walking towards me. She sits down a few feet away from me with her legs crossed, her blonde hair creating a curtain between us while she watches the tv. I can’t help but stare at the side of her face. The more time I spend with her, the more interesting and attractive she becomes to me.

In the past when I was into a girl it was purely sexual, but with her it’s not like that. I think I actually find her personality more intriguing than her body. I’m used to having girls throw themselves at me, but I can tell that isn’t going to be the case here. I wonder what her type is. Probably frat boys, or maybe jocks, if I had to guess. Rich dudes obviously.

“That’s a nice drawing,” she says, nodding toward one of the pieces of paper taped to my wall. It’s a drawing of the mountain view behind my house.

“Thanks, I just finished it last weekend.”

“You drew that?!” She asks, turning her head to me swiftly with wide eyes, “Oliver, it’s incredible. I had no idea you could draw like that.” She silently studies the picture again for several seconds and then turns to look at me, “Now I see why you wanted to choose a harder painting for our project.”

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