Mmmmmm.... More Draft summarys?

Prompt: Summarize this incomplete draft in great detail: I. Small droplets of water slowly trickled down on the window. The noise of the weather a soothing calm. The lights passing by quickly, flashing a brief white or orange. The interior dry and comfortable, albeit there’s a noticeable light odor emitting from her clothing. The back seat was cramped, filled to nearly the brim with boxes. Behind the vehicle was a tow trailer, following behind them at a steady pace. The roads were empty, say a few fellow vehicles on the road, shining their bright white lights ahead of them, temporarily blinding the driver, which was her father. It’s been quite a while since they left home, and it seems that the trip would take much, much longer. Now, she has brought a few carry-on pieces with her: a smartphone she received before the trip, a small notebook, some cash, and a mid-sized box. The box laid on the floor in front of her, protecting it’s contents with it’s wooden frame. She found something quite important in that box, something she held dear to her. The box itself was full of old photographs, a piece of barbed wire, small notebooks, some medals, and dog tags. It’s what the family called the “Military Box” and is their most prized asset, seemingly more so than where they came from. Every year there was a tradition to tell her a story from the box: her forefather’s fought in the world war’s, frightening places where the air crackled, the sky turned black, and their feet were muddied. These brave men went because they were quite proud of their own country, they had something to die for; their families. It was a hero’s tale passed down to the generations. They came with a vision from Denmark or Ireland, escaping the absolute turmoil from their home, far away from their own traditions. They found opportunity in the new world, it was quite tempting for them. They settled in, creating agricultural colonies, and over time dispersed away, with only a remaining few left from the line. Her Father said that she was one of them, an Andersen, which made her proud. With her own Father in mind, he followed the footstep’s of his own father a mere few years ago, albeit it was quite different. As he said, his adolescent years were, and I quote “quite weird”. He played in a garage band at one point, but it didn’t give him any form of fulfillment. He thought of doing his band career full time, and made an attempt to do just that. It didn’t last long, only releasing two albums on various formats and then ceasing their short contract thereafter. His entire band was aimless, going from mediocre job to even worse job. He had a realization one day: if he went into the Navy, and he does well; then, they will help him get back on track. It seemed intriguing at the time, and even through his marriage and his daughter’s birth, he stayed. He ended up in Iraq when his daughter was only two years old, coming home on occasions, and eventually leaving. As for his daughter, who’s sitting in the back behind his? Her name is Riley Jennifer Andersen, usually referred to by her first name. She was born eleven years ago on January 22nd, according to her birth records. To her, life was perfect where she came from. Every year was something special to her, something she held dear to her heart. She was raised there, skating on the ice, drawing on the walls, forming various friendships, and becoming best friends with a girl named Magaret, or Meg for short. She loved Meg, so much so that even saying her good-bye was difficult. She was her lifeline, and she lost it. The box was the only reminded of her old home she had. It was quiet there, peaceful even. There’s nothing to worry about, only the weather forecast and school. She spent her days outdoors in woods, at the lake, on the playground, rain or shine, hot or cold. She especially enjoyed the snow, and where her family is heading, it doesn’t snow as much. They call this place “San Francisco”, a town known for buildings upon buildings tightly wounded together into cramp corridors, with a bridge made out of gold. This contrasted sharply with Minnesota, with it’s ever familiar wide open spaces, surrounded by beautiful forestry, and all of it was gone. Maybe they would stay in a gingerbread house, or a dragon’s lair? She wasn’t quite sure, but she wanted to remain optimistic. But, there was only so much hope she could carry on to a town known for earthquakes, horrible odors, and tight corridors. She shifted slightly in her sleep, waking up to the dark orange glow of the sunset. Her Father seemed to have been driving for a long while, only stopping to get a cup of coffee. The window reflected her streaks of short blonde hair, which reached to the tip of her ears. Her bright, large blue eyes reflected the light of the early-morning sun, watching the rain cease. Her own head rounded perfectly with a slight bump, forming her chin. She thought she looked a bit like her own mother, except much, much younger, who was still asleep right in front of her. Riley thought about the day of the week, it’s Saturday, and they might not go to Mass tomorrow. It’s what kept her grounded in some sort of familiar tradition, something her forefather’s did. They spoke in some strange language known only to the priest. She went to confession weekly and listed her sins. She would have knelt down and taken the Host. And, she would hear the conversations of her parents discussing the matters of life, and the Pope on occasions. They didn’t seemed to like him much, but the church relied on him to keep it stable, or else it would fall into disrepair. She understood it in some ways: don’t sin, do good, pray daily, and read the saints. It felt warm in their even on the coldest of days, and she felt as if she lost it. The priest would never see her again, and she doesn’t know if San Francisco even has a church like hers. Her father claimed to have found one in town, giving her at least some hope to avoid the ugly buildings that her parents seem to despise. Then there was hockey. Her mind became fixated on the sport; it was her lifeline. She was introduced to hockey, as I said, back in Minnesota. Her parents bought her hockey skates for Christmas, introducing her to her Father’s life-long hobby of hockey. He adored hockey, maybe a bit more than the Lord himself. He watched every game, followed the score, knew the names of each player, and owned some paraphanillia from their local team. He was said to be playing hockey since age ten, back when he lived closer to Canada than to Minneapolis. He joined a small team, made friends, and then moved away due to financial circumstances. He wanted his own daughter to have a similar interest, and he’s fortunate enough for her to have received it well. The family remained in the car for the rest of the morning, driving through the hilly terrain, passing by large screaming signs, and watching the forestry blend together in a blur. The sun shined brightly inside the car, giving the air a slight warmth. The cramped interior gave Riley a bit of unease. It was almost time for lunch, they all wanted to stop for the time being. A short trip to the local, seemingly rustic chain of country stores and diners that dotted the interstate, named Cracker Barrel. Riley was intrigued by the vintage wares surrounding her, and with a hint a envy thought to herself, “We don’t make things look this good anymore.” They soon went back onto the road, spending hours in the green sprawling hills, later shifting the brown and eventually flattening out. That night they stayed in a small, modern motel; it’s presence know by a massive sign in the sky, glowing brightly like the sun. Speaking of the sun, it’s own sun was surrounded by a blue backing, and below it some lettering spelling out Days Inn. Supposedly, according to her Father, they were more reputable than some of the local options, and cheaper too! After their short stay, it was time to head on the road again. Riley began to tire of the cramped interior, shifting her body quite often, wiping away the dust on her yellow jacket, and watching the world go by from her back seat. Soon the landscape shifts again, from long sandy planes to sprawling hills, changing it’s color from brown to green and seemingly growing ever slightly, and then flattening itself, and then coming back up once more. Finally, she see’s the bridge from a distance, but was disappointed that it wasn’t gold, and instead shined a red hue. The towering structure intimidated her. She imagined that it had authority over the entire city, guarding it’s precious town by toll booths, which her Father seemed to absolutely despise. Finally, they seemed to have arrived, leaving the long journey behind them. The roads were narrow and cramped; the vehicle crawled tightly around them. The town wasn’t what she imagined it would have been. Instead, rows of drably colored houses lined the street, wooden poles held up masses of wires, and the absence of forestry bothered her greatly. Still, she believed the house would be up to her expectations. She was greatly disappointed. The townhouse was painted a drab, faded blue. The door seemed to have aged quite poorly, creaking loudly when she opened it. Inside the building seemed quite more worrying to her. The small dining room emitted an odor of must and mildew. The floor was covered in plastic, left there for the time being. Then, she saw something quite shocking; a dead rat, lying on the floor. She envied the rat, wishing to take it’s place. Still, she wanted to remain optimistic, and made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, which hers is on the left. It was tight and cramped, smelt of smoke, and seemed worse for ware. The small window looked outside towards the drab blocks of houses, a scant few trees, and the ceaseless noise of vehicles passing to and fro. She still wanted some hope, and headed downstairs to meet up with her parents, who were arguing about the moving van. She remained on the stairs and listened in. Her Mother, named Jill, argued with her Father, named Bill: “Jill, the moving van won’t come in to town until Thursday.” Jill sighed. “Thursday? Everything we have, the furniture, books, the TV, Riley’s stuff. It’s all in there.” “There’s some of her stuff in the trailer.” Bill patted his wife on the shoulder. “It’ll come on Thursday, I promise.” Riley came down the stairs and interrupted her parents argument, picked up a stray hockey stick, crumpling a piece of paper, and throwing it onto the floor. Then she slapped the piece of paper into the fireplace. Immediately her parents joined in, her Mother pretended to be the goalie, while her Father pretended to be her opponent. There was cheerful laughter and insults thrown about, Riley felt home once more. Then, it ended suddenly, as quickly as it started; her Father received a call from the investor. He left the building with the phone in hand, quickly saying his good-bye before disappearing. Riley felt immediate disappointment, but still, she didn’t want to lose any sense of optimism she had. Immediately, she says. “Well, we passed by a pizza place. I would like pizza.” “That sounds delicious!” her Mother exclaimed. Soon, they returned home with a large box, and immediately Riley became disappointed once more. There was broccoli on top of it, of which she absolutely abhorred. She complained. “Mom, there’s broccoli on my pizza!” “You don’t have to eat it, you know. I think it’s fine.” “Fine?” Riley grimaced, muttering to herself. “Broccoli on pizza; first the Hawaiians, and now San Francisco.” “I heard that. Besides, you just said; ‘pizza’, not a specific type of pizza.” “Well?” and she went back upstairs, hiding in her room while her Mother put away the pie. Riley prepared herself for bed, brushing her teeth with newly bought brush’s and paste, bathing herself with also newly bought shampoo and conditioner, and asking herself. “Why didn’t we bring shampoo and toothpaste from home? I want my vibrating toothbrush back.” She had a thought for a moment. “What is Brang?” She knew somewhat of what it was, her Father’s newly founded company, funded by the military, primarily engaged in online shopping, and was the driving force behind the move to the town. She went back to her room and pulled out the sleeping bag, laying it carefully on the floor, ensuring that no dust would settle there (as if she already hasn’t cleaned it enough.) She looked out the window, everything was dark with only a few stray bright white lights, exposing every crevice underneath it. Such lighting, from what she heard, was only used in “dangerous areas”, not a place she would want to be around. A few fast moving vehicles pass by, along with the occasional siren wailing loudly before fading away. A single stray pop startled her, forcing herself to hide in the bag. She overheard her parents discuss something downstairs, and she decided to head to the stairs again, listing in once more. “Jill, just got a call from the moving van. They won’t be here until Tuesday.” “Next week? Well…” “Yes, I know dear.” Riley returned to her room, hiding in her sleeping bag and making a vain attempt to block any noise. It didn’t seem to work, it only sounded muffled this time. She heard the door creak slightly, an orange ray of light shined in the crack, widening and revealing her mother, who enters the room, kneeling herself down in front of her. “Riley,” she said. “you know, it’s been quite difficult for us… I did forgot to kiss you goodnight.” She pecked her forehead. “Moving van won’t be coming until Tuesday unfortunately. Well, I’m just about to say, I’m so happy for you. From all the confusion, you’ve stayed out happy little girl.” She stood up and headed towards the door. Riley asked. “So, how’s Dad doing with Brang?” “Oh, he’s quite busy, I guess. Brang’s been hard on him, we’ll probably have money problems over the next few months.” “Will I be able to go to school?” “Of course, sweetie. Well, goodnight.” “Goodnight.” and she closed the door. A ray of bright light shined through the small window, waking Riley from her slumber. She brushed her teeth and put on the same clothes she arrived with, heading downstairs and grabbing her cyan backpack, excitedly finishing her sugary cereal and then heading out the door. Her parents said their goodbyes, making up monkey sounds with their mouths, amusing their daughter. She headed out onto the street, checking the slip of paper she received a few weeks ago, before the move. Just a few blocks down the street, turn right, and it should be there. She knew she made it when a mass of kids passed by her, going through a large open gate. She stepped inside and stares at the towering building. The concrete structure, painted beige with hints of a dark green, adorned with blocky carvings of working men of industry, and displayed a single analog clock in the middle of it; intimidated her greatly, along with the mass of students swarming into the building. She waited for the mass to simmer down before entering. Her foot touch the concrete floor and she walked along the cramped hallways, passing by the green steel lockers, and headed towards the office to ask about where she should go. They gave her directions to the lockers and her classes, and she followed them diligently, putting her belongings into one of the lockers and heading into a small classroom. She passed by two rows of desk before situating herself directly in the middle, the only empty spot in the entire room. “Seemed that no one wanted it.” she thought, and sat down. The bell blared, and everyone soon fell silent. The teacher, named Mrs. Sanders, cheerfully introduced the class. “Good morning class! So, today we have gotten ourselves a new student! Her name is Riley!” She turned to Riley. “Riley, can you please stand up?” she obliged, looking up with confidence. “Well, my name is Riley Andersen. I’m from Minnesota, and now I live her.” “And how about Minnesota? Can you tell us something about it?” Riley felt a bit uneasy about it as she laughed, but she knew she meant well. “You certainly get a lot more snow than we do!” “Yeah, it gets pretty cold. The lake freezes over and that’s when we play hockey. I’m on this great team. We’re called the Prairie Dogs. We go out on the lake every weekend… well, we did… ‘til I moved away.” The class murmured and seemed to stare at her. “We used to play tag… and stuff… but everything’s different… now… since we…” She sat back down, tears flowing down her delicate cheeks. It seemed that all of it has passed away, now only a memory. She placed her textbook as the teacher demanded, passively reading various lines of text, only vaguely recalling “world war”, “trench”, “treaty of verscilles”. She has realized her parents seemed to make a mistake. The final bell blared. The wind seemed slightly stronger now, the country flag swaying slightly, right above the main doorway. Riley walked out of the building, taking the route back home. She enter the house, heading straight for her room, and laying down without saying a single word. Now, night time fell once more, her parents bought food from the local Chinese restaurant, and sat down on the table. Riley came down, wearing the same clothes as earlier (her parents half-expected her to change), and grabbed a paper plate and put some food onto it. Her appetite was low, but she didn’t want to disappoint her parents. So, she forced herself to eat, listening in to a conversation about the green and blue trash bins, recycling and trash respectively. Her Mother decided to ask something. “So, how was the first day of school?” Riley didn’t respond, believing her own Mother to be pestering her. She did it again, and Riley remained silent. Still, her Mother wouldn’t give up, and asked one more time. Finally, her daughter responded. “It was okay, I guess?” Her Mother was suspicious of the tone of voice, and cleared her throat, signalling her husband on the other side of the table. He stared into space, seemingly distracted by some thought. She cleared her throat once again, no response. Finally, in a tinge of irritation she slapped her hand on the table, closest to him. Finally, he budged. He turned to his daughter, asking. “So, Riley. How was your first day of school?” and his wife sighed in disbelief. Riley knew what they were doing, they wanted answers, and they wanted it now. Her Mother decided to tell her something. “Hey, Riley. I’ve got great news! I found a junior hockey league, right here, in San Francisco!” Riley feigned ignorance. “And get this: tryouts are tomorrow, after school! What luck, right?” “That sounds fantastic.” She answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes at her own Mother. “School was great, alright!” Her Father stared at her, preparing himself. “Listen, I don’t know where you got this new attitude. But, I don’t appreciate it when you-” “What do you want from me?” “Listen, and I said, I don’t appreci-” “Listen old man!” and then there was silence. Riley stared into her Father’s eyes with great hatred. His eyes focused onto hers, seemingly demanding respect. “Listen!” Exclaimed her Father. “I don’t know where got this-” “Just. Shut. Up! I hate you!” He got up, staring down at his daughter. “I don’t appreciate your attitude young lady. All I asked of you was where you got it from.” Riley felt intimidated by his presence. His tall, bulking frame towering over her. She knew his own history, he was a Lieutenant according to him. She knew he dealt with men significantly older than her, who also disobeyed him. She felt a pang of defiance. “You’re an old man! You made me come here! That’s it! I’m done with this family!” He remained silent, not even moving any muscle on his face. “School was great, I want to join hockey! I hate you, just leave me alone!” Finally, he said with authority. “That’s it. Go to your room! Now!” Riley shoved her chair back, stomped up the stairs, and slammed her door. Then, there was silence. A while later he entered her room, more calmer than what seemed to be a few hours ago. “So, umm…. Things got a little out of hand downstairs.” She remained silent. “You want to talk about it? Come on, where’s my happy girl?” He knelt down beside her. “Where’s my…. Monkey! Ooh ooh ooh!” still, she remained silent, not even letting her eyes move. He sighed in disappointment and left. She went back to school, unable to shake off any feeling of listlessness. Every one felt foreign to her, despite Mrs. Sanders best interest. Her teacher explained that she was from Lousianna ten years ago, and moving in with her parents at eighteen was quite difficult for her. “And I thought San Francisco was the worst place ever. But then, I began to absolutely love it! Riley, it’s just a matter of time before you begin to see what wonderful things this city has to offer!” “Yeah…. Like concrete and crime?” Riley seemed to know about the city more than she thought she did. “Well, not exactly. There’s museums, a beautiful bridge, the Fishermans Wharf (which I admit, has excellent food), and plenty of other things to do!” “Is there hockey?” “Well… we could look it up on the-” “I know… my Mom told me about a team. I don’t know.” Riley left before even bothering to finish her conversation. On the walk home from school Riley began to notice slight details on the street. Every few blocks there’s a large mural of blocky, un-dechiperable letters. They appear on ocassions, and what other kids have said, it’s a local gang. On the street law enforcement watch the crowd, probably ensuring their safety, of which she’s thankful for. There’s street lamps every few blocks. The hill seemed to become slightly steeper the farther she walked. And, at certain points there are camera’s, watching the movements of absolutely everyone, and are usually ignored. She spent the day sitting on the floor, scrolling through pictures of her hometown, Minneapolis, and her suburb, Bloomington. She stared at her house’s entry on a realtor’s website, reading through it’s history. Bought in 2002, sold in 2015. They sold the house only a mere few weeks ago, she’s already agitated. Even if the house was gone, she still had Meg. So, she decided to initiate a video call with her. She answered quickly. Her wavy red hair bouncy around with her, her glasses shifted slightly, and she seemed quite excited to see her friend again. Meg, as she’s usually called, asked excitedly. “Do you like it there? Did you feel any earthquakes? Is the bridge cool?” “Yeah, I guess…..” Riley seemed irritated. “I guess it’s cool.” “Oh, I’m so jealous, like, my Dad wants us to stay here because of ‘liturgy’ and ‘family business’ and blah blah blah! I mean, like, I would mail you a gyro or something, but dad said it wouldn’t work.” “So, what happened with the playoffs?” Riley immediately asked. “Oh! We got this new girl on the team, she’s so cool! We can pass the puck to each other without even looking, it’s like mind reading!” Riley had a pang of irritation, “I gotta go!” and then she slammed the laptop shut, ending the call. She felt as if the bridge between her and Meg were burned away. There was nothing left in Minnesota. School still remained a lonely endeavor. She sat down alone at lunch, contemplating her actions, wondering if she should apologize to Meg for the abrupt ending. “No!” she thought. “She replaced me! Does it matter at all?” No one paid any attention to her, and it seemed that she preferred it. Each class to her felt slow and painful, taking it’s sweet time to explain such supposedly simple concepts: sentence structure, multiplication and division together, important leaders in history, and various other topics she vaguely remembered and had a test on the following week, if she ever stayed for it to happen. That night her Mother finally decided to drive her to the local hockey rink, which was located a bit close to the bridge. From the parking lot it could be seen from a distance, noticeably towering over the hills, dotted with orange lights, and the wires swaying lightly from the breeze. They make their way from the well lit parking lot to the cold interior of the rink, surrounding them with green and white brick, and the noise of clacking sticks and coach demands reaching the entrance. Riley and her Mother sat on the bleachers. She took out her equipment and put it on, ignoring her mother’s encouragement and heading out onto the ice. She looked back at her mother, seeing her hold up a phone and putting it back down, and then waving at her. Riley scoffed and continued onward. She did some drills, many of which she managed to fail, confusing her greatly. She knew how to play, why wasn’t she succeeding? She questioned herself. “Stupid Riley, I thought you liked hockey.” and continued to fail, over and over, falling, tripping, and missing the puck. She glanced at the stands, taking particular notice of a feminine figure. Said figure had dark skin, frizzy hair, and seemed to be of middle-aged, writing on her clipboard. Riley didn’t think much of it and continued on, failing miserably at each task, and if that woman was writing about her, she’d better hope it meant absolute failure. Every single failure mounted her frustration. She couldn’t believe it, she was failing miserably! Finally, when the skrimish came, she ended up tripping, falling onto the ice before she even slapped the puck. Her eyes welled up, and while she made attempts to convince herself otherwise, hockey can’t be done in San Francisco, even with a dedicated building. She immediately threw her stick, headed back to the bleachers, took off her helmet, and demanded. “Let’s go!” “Are you not going to finish-” “I said let’s go!” “Hey, it’ll be alright. Let’s just-” “Stop saying everything will be alright!” and then she left. Her poor Mother standing up and following her. She laid down in her bag, watching the window attentively, and wondering to herself. “Did I burn all the bridges down? Everything I do seemed wrong. What am I doing? Riley, what are you doing? Can you even control your emotions? Seriously, don’t imagine them as a bunch of little people running around, pushing buttons inside your head. I just remembered that, when I was like, five! I made that…. And Bing Bong, when I was five! I’m a big girl now, I don’t need fantasies!” And she closed her eyes, ignoring her parents loud discussion on financial woes. She had a strange dream, it felt as if she went back into the past. First, she returned to school without any pants, her teeth fell out, and the congregation mocked her. Then, a dog came in, what was she thinking? Finally, Bing Bong started dancing around. He was that purple thing, with a trunk of an elephant, ears of a dog, and the vocal chords of a dolphin, prancing around as if she wants to play, oblivious to any changes that happened around her. It soon shifted to the rainbow unicorn dancing to some obnoxious melody, suddenly interrupted by a massive clown. Oh, how she hated clowns, poor girl was frightened by one years ago, and she still remembered him, with a bit of exaggeration of course. She woke up, sweat pooling around her. Her clothes were somewhat damp, and she asked herself. “Am I stupid or something?” She wandered around the room, checking the clock on her phone: 5:45 AM. She usually gets up an hour earlier. To her surprise, she hears her Mother rambling wildly to someone on the phone, asking various questions about the van’s location and approximate deadline, and demanded refunds to no avail, because the service was already finished. Riley began to pace back and forth, questioning herself. “I guess I am stupid. What am I doing here? I mean, I guess I want to go home. Might as well rent an elephant, right?” she chuckled to herself. “No, we’re taking the bus dimwit! Bus?” Immediately she opened her laptop, waited for it to boot, and searched for bus tickets going back to Minneapolis. She had to escape, even if there’s no one there to support her. She could still survive out there, maybe get into an orphanage, or stay at Meg’s house, underneath her bed, forever, or at least until the authorities ship her back home. Or, they would call CPS and take her away to some cruel lady, whom she would have hated more than her own parents. The blue light glowed in her face, and it seemed there was nothing to prevent her from getting what she wanted, except, she had no money. The website only accepted card. She had to find some, there was no turning back after this. She thought about it for a moment, remembering that her mother left her purse on the table last night, and she has a tendency to leave her belongings in the same spot, primarily because, as she would say; “I can’t remember where I put it, and because I’m partially blind, I’ll put it right there.” or something of that nature. Riley headed downstairs quickly, rummaged through the purse and took out a white card, quickly heading back upstairs before her Mother caught her. Then, the ticket was purchased, eight at night, and she would have to leave early and kill some time. She prepared herself, packed everything she would have needed: clothes, cash, and the laptop. She had to make a plan, and quickly thought up of one: Go back, get some cash, probably stay at a hotel, find Meg again, stay with her, and then do some paperwork. She began to realize that it was impossible for an eleven year old to even begin to do paperwork, let alone understand it, but it didn’t bother her. “I’ll do it when I get there.” she muttered to herself. As soon as 7:30 AM struck, she left her house without saying a word. The station was only a short distance away from the house, but she would be wandering the streets for a long time, and she didn’t want to do that. The homeless population around that portion of town were egregious, always begging for cash. She promised them some but would immediately declined, never to bring them up again. The sun casts rays of dark bronze, brightening up the sky ever so slightly as she walked along the path. The roads began to fill with vehicles, seemingly funneling into one road, which was her school. She contemplated on going back before continuing on in the opposite direction. She knew of a library around the corner, it would allow her to kill time before making her way to the bus stop. Her Mother began to call, and she promptly ignored each one, silencing her phone and putting it away. She walked past the colorful mural that was on her right, ignoring every vehicle passing by, and stepping onto the concrete stairs and heading inside. With a soft clack she walked through the mid-sized building, searching through the oak shelves various titles she’s heard of but never understood. Advertisements for various services were posted on the ends of each shelf. She took a gander around, walking through each aisle diligently, hoping none of the camera’s would catch any her features. She hid her short locks of hair in her black jacket, titling her head downwards and forcing herself to stare at the floor. Suddenly, someone came up to her and tapped her shoulder. She jumped a bit, walking back slightly from the older gray haired woman, who asked if she was lost. “No, no I’m not.” she said, and then asked. “Do you know of any books about lost children?” “Why, of course dear.” She answered in a calm, hushed voice. “I’ll show you around, we’ve got quite a few of them.” The nice older woman led her through the aisles, sifting through each tome slowly, carefully taking out a yellow tome, titled: “The Lost Children of America: How they Found their Way Home.” Riley grabbed the book, skimmed through a few pages, and with a disatisfied look replaced it. “I want something… something about dead children.” “Oh my, that’s a bit much for a ten year old like you. Maybe something else?” “Ummm… I’m eleven.” “What’s your name, sweetie?” Riley had to lie, she didn’t want this woman finding out. “Rachel.” “Oh, my granddaughter is named Rachel.” Riley’s lips curled into a slight smile, wondering to herself, “I guess I’m Rachel now?” Soon, the older woman sifted through the tomes once more, grabbing a dark red tome from the shelf, titled: “Innocence Lost: How Missing Children lose their Lives.” Riley’s interest was peaked, immediately grabbing the book from her hands, taking it to the round oak table set in the corner, and reading through it. Immediately, the language was more complicated for her than she would like to admit. The pictures on some of the pages made her muscles tensed, especially if it involved any sort of blood, causing her to become nauseous. She old woman asked if she wanted to replace the book, but she remained adamant, reading through each line as carefully as she could. Then, she asked, “Do you have any maps…. Of Minnesota?” “Minnesota? Oh no, we don’t have maps of Minnesota, but, we do have maps of the United States.” “May I…. am I able to return them to another library, or send it back by mail?” “Of course you could send it back.” The old woman hands her a slip of paper with the library’s address printed on it. Riley headed for the counter, checked out both books, shoved them into her backpack and left. As she walked the ever familiar streets, covering her nose to block out any foul odors coming her way, and attempted to ignore the homeless population she walked by, whom they begged for anything, just anything, just to let them survive. She’s heard stories about the population; giving them any form of cash would lead them to head towards the nearest store and pick up some alcohol, smokes, or even go to an illegal dealer and pick up some illegal substance, hiding themselves in the alleyways to ensure that they won’t get caught. Riley felt intrigued by one old light skinned man. His weary eyes glanced at her pleadingly, his mouth shifted a bit, and he said, “Kid, do you have any cash on ya’?” “Ummm…. No?” “Kid, come here. I need some cash for something very important. You see, I served in the army during World War 2, I need a home, and Obama won’t give me anything.” “Well…. I’m sorry about that.” And she left, the man’s wrinkled head implanted into her mind, unable to rid of the thought of absolute shame. He suffered for this country, and now he’s suffering on the streets, begging for change, for absolutely nobody but himself. She went back and threw five dollars into his bucket, exchanging a brief thank you before heading back towards the bus station. The station’s blocky architecture and glowing neon lights seemed to obvious to her, as if it was a beacon in the drab, gray sea of ancient, decaying architecture. The foul odor emitted from various homeless pedestrians lounging about, watching their glass slates, eating what seemed to be food from the trash, and an empty milk jugged filled with amber liquid. She hid herself underneath the hood, covering her eyes from the bright flureoscent lights above her. She glance at her phone, swiping away each missed called from her Mother and checking the time; seven-thirty. Thankfully, she was surrounded by windows on three sides of the interior, watching the sun die down, casting rays of burnt orange, turning into a light magenta, darkening slightly when Riley’s bus arrived. She was relieved, as the ever present paranoia of a mad man with a knife slitting her throat and letting her corpse to rot sent a shiver down her spine. She boarded the bus, carefully watching each step, ensuring herself that she would not fall off and hit her head. She tipped the driver and made her way down four rows before taking a seat to her left, moving to the one closest to the window. Her eyes stared down at each detail of the bus, it’s steel finish covered in a thin layer of dust. The seat, while covered in fabric, felt a bit too firm on her back. The air conditioner above her blasted freezing air onto her head, and while she was quite used to the gold, it was still somewhat of a bother. The two front doors closed, and finally, with a small jolt the massive vehicle began to move. Riley watched the street slowly pass by, and immediately she had a thought, “Wait, I can’t go back. I won’t have nothing there. I’ll be nothing.” Immediately she got up, exclaiming, “I need to get off! Stop!”. The driver slowed down steadily to a crawl, shifted to brake and opened the door, letting her out. She headed for the nearest sidewalk, hearing behind her the move shift slightly, moving away from it’s last stop. She carried herself home as fast as she could, passing by the veteran, whom she paid for earlier on. Each new step began to burn her frail legs, but she couldn’t stop, believing to be running the risk if she did. She passed each house, crossing the street, and finally returned to the blue Victorian. She clutched her eye and slid it into the lock, swiftly opening it, revealing her parents, who seemed to be arguing on her whereabouts before she arrived. They embraced her, asking of where she has been. “Please…. I know you don’t want me to…” “No honey….” Said her Mother. “But…. I miss home…” Riley titled her head downward, her eyes watering profusely, “I miss Minnesota…. You need me to be happy, but I want my old friends…. And my hockey team…. I wanna go home…. Please, don’t be mad….” II. Rain steadily poured down, tapping on the window lightly, leaving the air gray. Looking at the living room from the kitchen, facing towards the window, there’s an olive green couch on the left. Across from the couch is a fireplace sandwiched by two bookshelves, each of which has three shelves in total. A large tube television sits on the left of the face, angled slightly for supposedly better viewing. The shelves themselves were filled with a myriad of books, ranging from novels by Tolstoy to Dostoevsky, to guidebooks on gardening and house repair, and the old children’s books Riley used to read when she had a personal library in her bedroom. The living room lights were off, and Riley sat on the couch with her legs crossed, staring blankly at the screen. It seemed today’s show was the Weather Channel, promising more and more rain. Her Father was in the kitchen, sitting at the wood oak round table, typing away on his large laptop. Her Mother was in the kitchen cleaning every detail, ensuring that the pink tile remained it’s bright hue, cleaning the beige walls with a damp towel. She had an eye for details, commenting on the chair being not as green as it used to be, “I’ll clean that for you.” she said, forcing her husband off his seat momentarily. She switched to her right, tapping a button on the CD player, placed on the second shelf of the three shelf construct, and inserted six disc’s worth of Mozart, Beethoven, and Tchaikovksy. It all seemed quiet inside, say for the rain and the quiet tapping of her Father’s keyboard. She was at peace for the moment, everything felt normal after that van came two weeks ago. It felt somewhat like home, but it wasn’t the same. The cramped spaces made her thankful that she didn’t have any siblings to share it with, or else her Father would have been in financial trouble, according to her Mother. Riley decided to head upstairs to her room momentarily. Everything in the house seemed to be designed for tight quarters, as even the stairway took a u-turn instead of a straight shot upwards. She didn’t seemed to mind that, taking a left after finishing the staircase., and entered her own room. The slanted ceilings still gave her a sense of claustrophobia, even after at least two weeks to familiarize herself with the room. There, to her right his a four drawer oak drawer on, farther from the window. To her left is a small white vanity with an oval mirror, covered in stacks of books, with her laptop on top of it. Her bed was right beside it, the footrest facing her right. There were stars all over the ceiling emitting a dim green glow. This was her room, it was her sanctuary. Something she felt proud of since coming in to San Francisco. Her Mother called her down for dinner, and immediately she carefully dashed down the stairs, sitting down between her parents, her back facing the living room. Her Mother decided to make Pasta with homemade Alfredo sauce, topped with chicken, and served with a small side salad. “Italian is quite expensive around here. I mean, Olive Garden is charging sixteen dollars for a a single plate, just for fettuccine alfredo! Chicken costs another five extra! So, I went to the store and bought some ingredients, milk, eggs, toilet paper, everything we need. Then I made this!” “Wow,” her husband said, closing and putting his laptop behind him on the shelf. “pretty good honey.” “Well, everything’s quite expensive around here. Gas is like, what, almost four a gallon? Heard they charge taxes here.” “Don’t worry, we got the money.” “Yeah, but I’m a little concerned about that.” Her husband lifted up his face, his eyes widened slightly, “What is it? Inflation, right?” “Maybe, but we’re paying…. At least a million for it. And our mortgage, probably through the roof at like, five thousand?” “Yep, somewhere around there. Thank goodness the military helped funded this weird little venture.” “So, how’s Brang’s been up to recently?” “Pretty slow start,” he puts his fork on the empty plate. “and just like every startup, it’ll get somewhere…. I promise, I hope. I mean, e-commerence isn’t something that your average Joe could do over night, there’s some struggle associated with it.” “Yes, a struggle, but we have Riley here.” She pats her daughter lightly on the head, “She almost ran out of the house weeks ago, remember? She even stole my card,” she turned to her daughter, her voice became stern, “and spent twenty dollars on a bus ticket, and then came back.” “I thought you weren’t mad at me?” She asked. Her Mother sighed, “Well, I did say that, didn’t I? Doesn’t mean we weren’t planning to reprehend you for what you did that day. We almost lost you.” “Mom, I’m fine. I’m right here, in the house, safe and sound.” She almost said it with a slight tone of glee. Her mother sighed deeply, turning back to her husband, “I have my doubts about this ‘Brang’ you’ve started up. I don’t want Riley to not have any opportunities to do anything, like play hockey. Oh, I almost forgot to tell her.” She turns back to her daughter, “Riley, would you like to join a junior hockey league, again? I-I know it sounds redundant, but, hear me out on this. Their trying out again.” “Okay.” She answered, her eyes still glued to her plate. She faced her husband once more, “Bill…. I don’t really know about this city. Are you sure we could even live out here, in this… I don’t want to say it in front of her…. Kind of…. I’ll tell you in private.” “Alright honey, alright.” He answered, getting up and washing his plate, carefully placing it on the triangular dish rack, and heading back to grab his laptop and sitting on the couch, restarting his furious typing. Riley followed suit, heading upstairs to her bedroom, and her Mother remained on the table, listening to the pleasant background noise of Mozart she put on, then the machine switched to Tchaikovsky once Mozart finished his piece. Riley prepared herself for bed, going to the bathroom to bathe, brush her teeth, and put on her night wear. Then, it was off to bed, turning off her hockey lamp on the dresser and covering herself, thanking God for the rain ceasing, as tomorrow was Mass. The family drove off towards Shoreline Highway, driving a few lights down until they pass a large street named Lincoln way. Riley felt a pang of familiarity about this particular street. It’s been a while since they went to Mass, the moving and settling in seemed to be quite difficult for her. Soon, they passed by rows of trees, driving pass Fulton, the road changing it’s name to Park Presidio. Her Father briefly rambled about Little Russia (as it’s called.) He’s meet some Russians before, they were the nicest people he’s ever met. While he had objections about their Orthodoxy, it wasn’t much of a deal to him. As long as they get their job done, he was fine with them. They turned right on Geary, going down a few block before reaching a large white parish, with blue signage displaying it’s name: Star of the Sea. They parked behind the parish and walked in. Immediately, Riley felt some sense of familiarity in spite of the cyan blue walls. The massive, rounded architecture towered above her, somewhat intimidating but more comfortable, unlike the other buildings around town. The family lit up a few candles in the foyer for departed grandparents and cousins, sitting down near the back of the parish, standing alone. Mass only began to start as a few older men and woman quietly walked along the alleyway and sitting themselves down on the dark wooden pews. The small crowd of families and elderly settled in as the congregation sing along with the organ, which can be heard behind them. The candles softy radiated in front of the priest and the deacons, covering the white, carefully crafted table setup with a dark orange, reflecting off the golden trims and walls. The priest momentarily singed alone in Latin, followed by a brief burst of choir, repeating the pattern few times, reading each prayer line by line. Riley knew of it because of a book in front of her, following along the best she could. Her Father remained focused on the Mass, while her Mother flipped through the pages of the green book, skipping ahead a few pages before returning back to the current line. The clergy knelt down briefly, standing up and crossing themselves. Riley followed along; crossing herself top to bottom, left to right. Her hand remained opened during when she crossed. The service felt as if it went on forever. The priest would swing incense, sing, kneel and pray. There was a brief homily, primarily discussing the Gospel of Matthew and Jesus’s suffering on the cross. Most homilies she actually paid attention to were about suffering, how mankind has fallen away from God, and the absolute punishment he’ll receive if he doesn’t turn back. Riley paid attention for once, unsure of what to think of it. It wasn’t of much importance anyways, as the priest shortly returned to more singing, swinging of the cantor, and kneeling. The congregation stood up, forming a small line to receive Eucharist. Riley stayed behind her Father, and as soon as he received his she knelt down, crossed herself, and the priest placed a circular wafer on her tongue. She quickly swallowed it and headed back to her seat, listening to the soft choral song circulating through the air. The service continued on until it finally ended. The next day she went back to school. The cramped hallways and corridors, the estranged student body, and the imposing building made her a slight uncomfortable. Mrs. Sanders imposed onto the students a new assignment: the history of World War One The classroom collectively groaned, complaining about the subject being an absolute bore, and they would rather play video games than read books, any books at all really. The teacher took it all in, remaining silent as the class quickly quiets down, and then tells them, “Open your books to chapter 10.” As soon as it started, it was finished. Riley carried her books in her backpack, having been quite used to the weight, and sat alone on the bench, watching everyone else mingle among each other, gleefully speaking gossip about just about everyone, including the incident that happened two weeks ago. Riley ignored them, focusing on some camera staring down at the small crowd. It seemed slightly older, with it’s thick, blocky frame, and an also thick wire going into the wall. She’s been noticing these things as of late, they seemed to be everywhere around town; at the traffic light, the street lamps, restaurants, school, and even at the grocery store. Thankfully she never noticed them in the bathroom, at least giving her some deserved privacy The next Saturday morning Riley sat in the car, watching the drab townhouses blur past her, listening to her Father discuss confession in the afternoon, and how the family would spend some time around town, just to check it out. Her parents discussed some sort of redwood forest north of the bridge, and decided to keep driving north. They paid the towering bridge’s due, the landscape shifting from drab, lifeless houses to a thankfully lively green, swaying gently in the later summer wind. The vehicle exited Redwood Highway, driving underneath the bridge and into what seems to be a small town. They were surrounded by large green hills, dotted with houses, coloring portions of said hills gray. The wooden electrical poles were angled slightly, the mass of vehicles taking a left after the stoplight, the family following suit. They drove through the tight suburbs, passing by houses settled on hills, steadily driving what seems to be upwards, leaving the suburbs and finally into the forest. There was a sign, Muir Woods, and they headed right, driving their way uphill through dense forest and open plains, passing by the occasional substation and finally taking a left on Muir Woods Road, parking the car and taking the long walk towards the visitor center. It was a small red building. There were signs that said Restroom, a booth to pay for entering, and a small, separate gift shop building just ahead of them. Her Father paid and they went in. They walked on the wooden walkway. Her parents discussed various matters related to finances, monetary success, bills, and their daughter. Riley ignored it all, preferring to stare at the towering redwood in front of her. She curiously reads a sign warning of stepping on the tree’s shallow roots. The air was cooler in the forest than back in town, reminding her of Minnesota in some ways. She used to hide in the park alone on summer days, occasionally picking up rocks and sticks, watching bugs walk past her, and letting the sun touch her delicate skin. Those days are long passed now, there was no forest where she lived, only densely packed concrete structures with only a few carefully planted trees every once in a while. She thought of the snow for a moment, also remembering the days of being in the forest alone, sifting it with her hands and feet, creating small snowmen and throwing snowballs at the trees. She seemed to never have made any friends until she met Meg back in her pre-school years. She stopped hiding in the forest soon thereafter. She made a few friends after that, many of them didn’t seem to know her as well as Meg. Her eyes stared blankly at the woods, her parents discussed finances in the background, and it seemed that all went silent. It could have been Minnesota again, she wanted to go back there, daring to take the all by herself, but realizing that she would have abandoned everything on both sides just to get what she wanted. She only wanted to go back, not to leave her parents in a state of worry. They still have a sense of dread about the town itself, as she’s required to ask for permission to walk outside, and if she did, their would be rules attributed to it: Don’t talk to strangers, don’t give the homeless any money, don’t look at anyone, and get home before dark. Her parents finally seemed it was time to leave, heading back to the visitor center and taking a quick peek at the gift shop, browsing it’s selection of cheaply made yet pricey goods, purchasing a small magnet and finally leaving the area, driving back to town. Her Father complains about the toll due, his wife ensuring that it only happens a few times. They head to Star of the Sea, parking the vehicle and quickly making their way inside. They sit on the pews nearest to the wooden confession box, seemingly examining whatever sins they performed. Riley rummaged through memories from the pass two weeks, separating various sins from venial to grave. It seemed that she doesn’t have much to discuss, except maybe the bus incident, but she thought the attempted trip was correct, and albeit the departure time was miscalculated out of desperation, it could have been done at a much later date. Her parents went first, kneeling and greeting the priest and confessing themselves as a couple, and then it was her turn. She knelt down and greeted the priest, sitting down and closing the door of the booth. The priest slides open a small opening, listing in. She says a prayer, “Bless me, Father.” crossed herself, and explained various minute sins: Throwing fits, cheating on schoolwork, and being disobedient. The priest prays the Act of Contrition, penances, and thanksgiving, and then the family left. Monday, Mrs. Sanders assigns the class another study assignment, this time of World War Two. Next week they will study the Korean War, then Vietnam, then Gulf and finally Iraq, then they move on to the next unit, as Riley has heard. The students collectively groan once more, and sifting through their books, their eyes droop low and their heads hit the desk, waiting for the class to end. Riley sat alone at lunch, staring at the variety of students still yammering on and on about needless gossip. She remembers those days, when back home she would also sit alone, listening to the student body make ceaseless gossip. It seemed to be quite common, no matter where one went. Even across geographical boundaries they still discussed the same exact subjects, blurted out the same exact memetic joke, and otherwise didn’t focus much on school work. She then remembered one time when some large boy sat on the water fountain, broke it off the wall, and his parents were forced to pay for it. She had to admit, the chaotic nature of the student body was quite humorous. They didn’t seem to care about anything, only if it gave them something to post about on the Snapchat or whatever it’s called, then it would become a major concern. She didn’t use those websites, her parents told her that she wasn’t old enough yet. It wouldn’t be until she became of age that she could finally access those forbidden websites and gain knowledge of what the other’s her age were doing. That night her mother took her back to tryouts again, explaining to her daughter, “Riley, make sure you don’t get mad again, alright?” “Alright Mom!” She actually seemed quite excited to go back, hoping it would at least bring back the semblance of familiarity to this strange town. They headed inside the building, passing by the green and white bricked walls, into the rink, and sat down on the bleachers again. There, she saw the dark-skinned woman, the one she saw last time. She wrote something down on her clipboard, and it was quite tempting to ask her a question. Riley asked her Mother and gained her approval, heading towards the woman and asking, “Ummm…. Hello? Are you a coach here?” The woman paused her writing for a moment, her face a mixture of friendliness and stoicism. She answered, “Yes I am. I guess you’re here to play hockey?” “Of course… I used to play hockey in Minnesota. I used to play on this great team, the Prairie Dogs, and we were great! We won almost every single game, it was great! Ummm… I guess I helped a lot, I- I probably did contribute to most of it?” “I’m just here to watch, that’s all.” “Oh, okay… I guess I’ll probably see you around again?” “Maybe?” Riley didn’t want to be late for tryouts, and said goodbye and headed back for the rink. The Coach began to write down on her clipboard as Riley performed drills. She began by writing down a description: “dirty-blonde hair, cyan eyes, likely ten or eleven years old.” Then she describes her performance: “dedicated, serious, determined, aggressive.” Riley came back from the rink for a brief break, and the Coach asked, “What’s your name?” “Riley. My name is Riley Andersen.” “I’m Michelle.” Then she went back onto the rink. Michelle writes down more details: “Her name is Riley Andersen from Minnesota. Played for Prairie Dogs, likely from Minneapolis. Last time I saw her she had a meltdown and threw her helmet onto the floor and demanded her mother for her to leave. They did and then they came back.” Riley returned once more, and was asked, “Where are you from?” “Ummmm…. I’m from Minnesota. I guess I’m from Minneapolis, a place called Bloomington.” “Thank you.” Riley returned once more, and Michelle wrote: “Confirmed from Minneapolis, lived in a suburb called Bloomington. Her Mother is watching me with some intent, but is not concerned. Riley is likely to pass tryouts and join the Foghorns junior league team.” She took out the written notes and placed them carefully into a file, placing it in her bag and continuing to watch the rink intently, jotting down her observations, packing up and leaving the rink. Riley felt proud of herself, finally passing tryouts without throwing another fit. The group head into a small conference room, being rewarded with psuedo-contracts, being told that their jerseys would be delivered to their house within a few weeks. Riley felt a sense of pride, something went right in this town, and she wants it to last forever. Her Mother made a quick trip to the sporting goods store, buying new gear colored teal, as it was a requirement to match the team colors, down to the skates themselves. The days go by faster than she expected. School, in spite of it’s loneliness, went quite swimmingly for her. They even went on a field trip to the local aquarium, watching sea lions and otters, whales and sharks, and various beautiful swim swim about in a large tube. The family remained in their house. They primarily ate at home, not wanting to already spend their precious money on needless consumption. Her Mother began to contemplate on returning to her old career, heart surgery. As she explained it, she adored learning about the intricacies of the heart, spending countless hours studying the organ in great detail, overcoming her absolute fear of blood, and was greatly rewarded in the process. Riley wanted to be a hockey player, it was a far off dream, but it seemed possible. Her Father didn’t know what he wanted, and ended up in the military. It wasn’t a complete dead end, it got him out of a hole and at somewhere. Suddenly, he received an email, and immediately he checked it. “It’s from an investor!” He exclaimed, “Monkey, we’re finally rich!” “Really?” She screamed out, her lips curled into a large smirk, “Are we going to a better house?” “Ummm….” Her parents scratched their heads. This house required a two-hundred thousand down payment, minimum, and is currently around five thousand a month. They whispered to each other on how to approach it to her, and finally said, “Well, you see Riley. This house is costing us a lot, and we’re going to be here a while, quite a while. At least we’ll pay off the mortgage faster, right?” Riley’s lips suddenly turned into a frown. She lowered her head and went up to her room, softly closing the door behind her. She laid on her bed, turned off the light, and thought, “My parents made me come here. I can’t believe I didn’t leave soon enough… I guess I have a hockey team now, and I should be grateful for that. Besides, I wanted to leave this house and get another one, but no, it’s too expensive and we’re here for a while.” Her parents were quite surprised at her reaction. “Bill,” she said, “did we upset Riley again?” “Well, yes. I guess our little girl is still adjusting to this place, just give her more time.” “But I don’t want her to leave us again. Remember last time?” The sits down on the table, “Almost two months ago she nearly left us. We nearly lost her over this.” “Yes, but she’ll get used to it. I mean, look at the opportunities around her! It’s everything a girl could want, access to the best restaurants, fun things to do, and great schools, all around her.” “When she’s older.” “Yes, when she’s much older, not right now. I wonder if she made any friends? Maybe I’ll ask her.” He went up the stairs, but his wife called him, “Bill, not right now. Leave her alone.” “Right, right.” He came back down and sat himself at the table, “We’re doing quite good right now, I’ll be able to rent an office as soon as this guy sends in the money.” “Well, and I’m going to be quite honest here… I miss Minnesota like her.” “I do too, but there wasn’t as many opportunities there for my industry, IT, than here. It’s practically a gold mine over here, we’re like settlers digging for gold, except if gold is investors and stocks and the settlers lived in townhouses and driven cars.” They both chuckled lightly at the joke, “Hope Riley would adjust and it would all be okay.” His wife’s eyes began to water, she lifted up her glasses and wiped them away, thanking him and going upstairs, softly closing their door. He remained silent on the table, getting up and walking towards the living room window. The television tonight discussed various events happening across town: robbery, auto theft, murder, and an occasional kidnapping. He chalked it up to the news media being sensationalist, over blowing various events out of proportion, and hyper-fixating on particular stories and ignoring others. He watched the window carefully, watching blue and red lights blur past him, hearing the siren blare loudly before disepating. He heard a distance pop, some yelling, and then it all ceased. He checks the window by lightly tapping on it, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief. He closes the curtains and walks towards a small corner of the living room. There, he placed a statue of Mary behind a candle, an Icon of Christ right beside her, and a rosary laying down beside them. He lit the candle and grabbed a small red booklet that was right beside them, reading each prayer quietly. He grabbed the rosary and sifted through the beads, performing a prayer for each one. Outside, the streets remained silent, say for a few slight sounds of vehicles passing by, the occasional chatter, and a siren or two. The flags on the other houses remained still. He finally blew out the candle, headed upstairs, and closed the door softly. III. It was Sunday again, it was Mass time again, and Riley didn’t seem as interested, which was quite usual these days. The family walked past the dark oak pews for a few rows, before settling in the middle of the hall. They felt more confident than last time, knowing at least some of their fellow parishoners that attended Mass with them. One of the men they knew was named John, a middle-aged fellow who went to church with his wife, Amanda. They seemed quite nice as far as Riley is concerned. The service went by quickly: the singing, chanting, swinging, praying, and then the eucharist. Once the serviced ended the congregation headed their way towards the adjacent building, walking down the tight hallway and passing by various classrooms filled with younger children, whom were coloring, playing, or singing. Riley felt envious of them. They make it to the gymnasium, and in it, a table holding a few plastic platters of store-bought pastries and some drinks. There’s a few rows of round tables dotting the interior, with an equal number of soft chairs for each one. Her Father sat down with John, and they began to discuss some relatively important matters about the pope. It’s primarily about the strange comments the pope had made regarding the Latin church, and the likely stance would be it’s erasure from existence sooner or later, at least that’s what they believed. Riley didn’t seem to care much at all, listening in to various conversations from other adults: crime, schools, other children, internet habits, emotional control, the poor infrastructure, and economics. It always seemed to land on money, “My Dad came here for money.” she thought. She decided to interrupt her Father, “Dad, do babies go to hell when they die?” This was quite a shock to him. He excused himself for a moment, “Riley, don’t interrupt someone when they’re talking to someone, okay?” said in a calming voice. “Okay.” “And, as for the ‘babies going to hell’ thing? Ummm….” he remained silent for a brief moment, seemingly thinking to himself how to answer such a difficult, heartwrenching question. His Wife suggested to him that he shouldn’t give her the answer, “But she was too specific.” He told her. Finally, he decided to answer, “Actually, it really depends on who’s telling you about it.” “I got it from… the priest?” “I guess he still believes in Limbo. So, I’ll explain to you about Limbo; it’s a dark place where souls who either didn’t believe in God or… children, who were born with the original sin of Adam, end up when they die. God is compassionate and merciful, so I don’t really believe that he would just send small children to the burning pit…. Like those bad guys you read about in school.” “I guess that makes sense. What’s original sin? I heard it before, right?” “You should have told during catechism, and I’ll explain it again. Original sin is when Adam, the first man, fell down from heaven after eating the fruit Eve gave him, which was the temptation Satan, the serpent, told her to eat. He disobeyed God and gave mankind original sin. That’s why when you were born we baptized you as quickly as we could.” “I heard it’s guilt.” “Well…. Yes, we’re guilty of what Adam did back then, but you’re baptized, and if you die today you’ll go to heaven.” “And what’s heaven?” “Ummmm…. Actually you go to purgatory first, then heaven. So, you pay the priest some money to shorten your time in purgatory, then you’ll go to heaven. And as for heaven, it’s a…. A place where you…. Take a break, I guess?” “Really? I thought it was some sort of paradise?” “It is… and it’s rest. We’ll be resurrected at the end of time.” “What’s the end of time?” “After the reign of the anti-christ.” “Oh, that guy?” “Yes, him.” Her Father patted her on the head, and Riley decided to pace about the gymnasium, spotting only adults sitting among themselves, chatting away about various topics she doesn’t even begin to comprehend. Soon after the hour was done, Riley picked up a few cookies to take with her, and then they said their goodbyes and left. The rest of the day was spent at home. She watched the window in her room for any cars speeding past them, paying especially close attention to any flashing lights passing by, hearing the occasional distant pop, and listening in to a conversation from someone down the street, screaming at the other person in some Asian language. There’s a lot of Asians on this street, many of them quite wealthy because of their own personal start up. It’s as if everyone and their dogs decided to depart their homes in order to amass a hopeful fortune within San Francisco. The couple fought against each other, nearly throwing a punch to until they decided to silence themselves, returning back to their house next door, and never coming out for the rest of the day. Riley never got to know any of her neighborhoods in spite of being there for quite a while. Halloween wasn’t too special, only going to the local trunk or treat event at the nearby baptist congregation (her parents never allowed her to walk the street during that time, even back in Minnesota.) Thanksgiving seems to be coming up, which usually involved having the extended family over, being outside in the cold air and hoping that snow would fall any minute by then. They would set up tables and chairs, a fire pit, some ingredients for s’mores, and would spend all day outside. Here there seems to be nothing of that sort, only miles and miles of concrete, shabby houses, businesses, and seemingly terrible people, worse than what she encountered back home, and all because her Father thought he found figurative gold here. Her eyes well up with tears at the thought, “I should have went on the bus.” She whispered to herself, “Maybe I should have left and called Grandpa to come pick me up, I guess. Well, except for that vacuum cleaner.” She slid down against the wall and sit on the floor, hearing only the sounds of her Mother banging some pots downstairs. Her Father seemed to finally rented an office for himself, as he’s been absent significantly more often than she was used to, but it would soon become normal. She remembered the days of her Father’s military career. He left for months on end, returned home for a few days, and then went back. One day they received a letter in the mail. It was a notification from a field hospital, letting them know that her Father was undergoing a surgical operation. Her Mother was in tears that day, she can’t seem to forget that as much as she would to. Soon enough he came home and never left again, describing the situation to his wife. He lost a foot, and had to get an amputation and then get it replaced. She was thankful that he didn’t die during his time. Riley headed downstairs slowly just in time for dinner. Her Mother made spaghetti for dinner, which wasn’t something Riley seemed to prefer much, but will do for tonight. She sat down on the table after grabbing a bowl, putting her fork into the pasta, and asking her, “Mom, where’s Dad?” Her Mother just sat down with her plate, looking up and answering, “Well, he’s at work honey. I know it’s been quite hard for us as of late, these bills need a lot of money to pay. He’s been working nearly everyday, you know that, right?” Riley nodded her head, “And, he’s been helping us a lot, and I’m grateful for it. He’s been doing well for himself, even at the cost of spending time here, at home, with his own family. I guess he likes it better there.” “He went to work the moment we got home, I guess he does like it more than us?” “No honey, he doesn’t actually love his job more than us.” She takes a bite, “He’s just quite busy these days. Running a business is quite a lot of stress on someone. Remember when your grandma used to run a small clothing shop back in Minnesota?” “Oh yeah, wasn’t that somewhere in the middle of nowhere?” “Springburrow, yes. She made all those by hand…. It pains me that we don’t even make our own clothes anymore. You’ve grown up around hardy people, and I guess that makes you quite hardy yourself, am I correct?” “Oh yes! I guess it does?” They laugh a bit, acknowledging themselves. “She used to spend all night on the loom making clothes to sell, and no one really bought it. It was too expensive and they had to shut down, because you couldn’t buy more than one without spending over a hundred for them. They were excellent quality and would’ve lasted forever, but no one bought them, or at least barely anyone did. Being in the countryside didn’t help matters either. It’s either Walmart or bust for them, nothing else, and probably the local thrift-store or Goodwill or something like that. Good things take time, bad things don’t. It’s actually pretty simple when you realize it.” “Are you giving me life advice?” Riley paused eating for a moment, “Because if you are, then I’m probably unimpressed.” “Everything feels… fast here. Much, much faster than I thought it would have been.” “Mom, are you going on your tangents again?” “Oh no honey, I’m not. It’s just… I’m going on a tangent- alright, I’ll go for it. Time repeats, or at least it rhymes, which I heard from somewhere. Every century there’s wars, always wars.” “Like World Wars?” “Yes, like the World Wars! Except, the third one will kill us all, if it happens… I don’t like talking about death much… but, remember your grandma’s funeral?” “Yeah.” “So, time inevitably ends, right? You die, that’s a well known fact. The Bible has revelations, end of time. Christ comes, time ends, eternity. Heaven is eternity, and…. God is eternal. Well, we won’t last forever, only for a brief moment. I mean- I’m just rambling to my only daughter, right?” “Jesus comes back, right?” “Yes, he does, eventually. We have progress, which is good… and I guess, bad. Your Father, he seems to be, and he told me, ‘doing the same thing over and over again with nothing happening’, calling investors, signing paperwork, getting out their product, everything.” “At least we’re making money.” “Of course, we’re making money. We’re making more than we’ve ever did back in Minnesota, but it feels the same here… but worse. The crime, prices, even the culture here…. It feels, more….” “Bad?” “Yes, bad! It’s not as if somehow everything became better. It’s been a struggle ever since August. It’s November now, it’s going to be a lonely Thanksgiving. Hopefully your Dad will have a day off that day.” “Smaller plates then?” “Yes, much smaller than usual. And no going outside, I don’t want to lose you again.” “Mom, I’m fine.” “I know you are honey, but I don’t want to have you running away, or getting kidnapped, or worse.” Tears well up in her eyes, “I’ve heard stories about little girls being… it’s horrible…. I don’t even want to think about it…. I don’t know why….” “Mom, it’s alright, I’m fine. I’m still Riley, I’m still here.” “I know y-y-you are…. But…. Just the thought….” She wipes the tears off her face, “Of losing you, breaks my heart. This city is much bigger, probably more vicious, than the small suburb you grew up in. I don’t want to lose you, and I know…. I would have to let you go one day, but…. You’re only eleven, and in two months you’ll be twelve, then thirteen…. What am I going to do when you’re thirteen? You’ll be experiencing puberty by then, and…. You’ll turn sixteen and you’ll get a job…. And then you’ll go to college and get married and leave me for good…. It’s hard….” “Mom, don’t cry.” “I-I-I-I’m not crying….” Her eyes well up again, and she wiped some of the tears off her face, “I guess I am…. But me and your Dad have been…. Maybe…. Not to say we’re going to divorce, but…. You know the reason why I take you to hockey practice and not your Father?” “Ummmm…. Why?” “Well…. Because he’s always busy. I know you’re close to him on some things, like the military stories and the discipline (and I know you have a lot of it instill in you), and especially pushing yourself, and you’re a girl. You’re weaker than him on so many levels, especially physically. It’s just how God made you, you’re not meant to carry a burden, he is. I remember when you were little you wanted to help out at the garage sale once, sorting everything out until you were tired (as tired as a seven year old could be.) He had to take you to bed, that’s how exhausted you were. I sometimes think of you and hockey. It’s a hard sport, especially because you’re playing with checking allowed, right? What’s checking anyways, is it like, hitting someone?” “Yes, it’s hitting someone. And…. I don’t know, I just want to try my best, like at school! Yes, they give me homework but I always try my best, that’s what Dad told me.” “I know sweetie. I know he tells you to do your best, but….” “Mom, don’t worry. I’m fine.” Riley washes her plate and places it on the rack, heading back upstairs and softly closing the door. Riley laid down on her bed, thinking to herself once more, “Mom said that this city is bad. I guess I was right when Dad came here only for the money, but what do I know?” Her eyes closed, the world darkens, and she quickly heads to sleep. The day is Monday, and there is no school. Her Father went off to work, and her Mother decided to bring her along to the local university.