The Middle of Nowhere

The Middle of Nowhere

It was the Middle of Nowhere; nothing but yellow grass, rolling hills, and endless blue skies broken only by the few straggling trees that managed to grow against the constant gales. Any car doors left open and unprotected from that wind would suddenly find themselves unattached and whipping through the air like old fall leaves. Prairie dog burrows were scattered across the ground like freckles.

I stared up at the house before me. It was small compared to the one back home; only two stories if you counted the basement, and a mile away on each side from the nearest neighbors. The siding was must've once been a pristine white, but was now a light shade of brown. I licked my cracked and bleeding lips.

That was another thing about the Middle of Nowhere: the air sucked any moisture in your body right out, leaving you feeling like dried out leaves.

My mother glanced at me. "How about this one?"

I sucked my bottom lip, running my tongue over the raw and sore skin. My sneakers kicked up dust in the dirt driveway as I shifted from foot to foot. "Too small," I said.

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the surrounding land. The wind picked up and I shut my eyes to shield them from the dust blown up from the road. Opening my eyes to slits, I looked down at it swirling around my ankles and mismatched socks. Mom looked back at me, her short brown hair licking at her forehead. "I don't know," she remarked, raising her voice to be heard above the wind. "Seems like a lot of space for the dogs to run around in."

If they don't get blown away first.

I shook my head, my ponytail lashing at my cheeks.

The real estate agent suggested we take a look inside. My mother agreed whole-heartedly. I had to be dragged in by the wrist through the scratched and dented front door.

The house was smaller inside than it looked on the outside. We shuffled along the cramped hallway until we reached a room no bigger than the entryway back home. It was painted a dusty white, a common theme in the Middle of Nowhere.

"This will be your room, little girl," the real estate agent said to me, a fake smile plastered across her face. I did my best not to show my look of abject horror.

At the agent's insistance, I walked into the square room, my dusty sneakers squeaking against the wooden floors. The sound echoed in the room's emptiness, unhindered by furniture. I turned to my mother, but she had already gone, probably to discuss the age of the kitchen appliances with the agent.

I walked over to the one rectangular window in the room and pulled up the crooked blinds. From the dusty glass, I could see grassy hills, a blue sky stretching from one side of the frame to the other, and one dirt road leading to nowhere.

No, I thought, eying the trees bent by the relentless wind, it's not leading to nowhere.

It's leading out of it.