How to Be a Goth in Five Easy Steps - Chapter One

"Um, is there something I can help you with, hon?" a little old lady at the front administration desk inquired, as she quit typing something with her keyboard for a couple of seconds.

"Um...yeah...for starters, don't call me hon!" Cade thought in the back of his mind. "I need a withdraw signature form so that I may get the ball rollin," was all he opted to say out loud, however.

"Withdraw forms? What for? You're not thinking about an equivalency degree, are you? Not everyone accepts those, you know! It's much smarter just to stick it out and get your diploma!"

"Equivalency degree? What are you talking about? Do you ask this to everybody that comes in for a withdraw form; and why the hell do I actually have to stoop to your level to explain myself? My dad got a new job up in Spokane. The new company that just hired him is gonna pay to move us up there, and I'm transferring to a school up there to finish my diploma!"

"Oh? Well, at least it's a relief that you're gonna finish. Do you know what you gotta do to complete this form?"

"Not really. What, do you think this is, like, a routine procedure for me? What do I have to do to complete it?"

"You first have to take it to the library to make sure that you don't have any outstanding charges, and check in any books that you might have checked out on your account. Then, you gotta take it to the secretary and lunch ladies to make sure you're all clear there. Second to last, you're gonna take it over to the counselor and get her approval for your transfer. Finally, you must get this signed off by all of your teachers and turn in your textbooks. Once this is has been signed off by everyone, the last steps are for you and one of your parents to sign it, and to bring it back here before you take off. You got that?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll do it as soon as possible if it means not having to deal with bitches like you anymore. I'll have it back to you by the end of tomorrow, since, of course, that's my last day of class, and we're leaving two days from now."

"Okay. And Cade, I wish you all the best of luck, wherever you're going to finish school."

"Thanks. I realize that that was extremely forced, and you've rehearsed that for all of the dropouts and this school's outcasts that just happen to transfer elsewhere, but thanks."

Walking out of the office, the six foot-tall Junior with short blonde hair, and donning a simple pair of blue jeans, well used Converse high tops and plaid button down shirt was well more than eager to get this all over with, and begin the new life he had in store; big city life, new people, new things to see, and most importantly at that point in time, a whole new high school with a new set of classmates. Being that this was his free period, Cade decided to begin the process immediately. One building over from administration stood a small office building which housed, amongst others, the offices of the Principal, Vice Principal, and the person he was on his way to see; his guidance counselor for the last two years and one quarter. Having the form ready to be checked off and approved, Cade prayed that he would be getting in and out as quickly as possible, with minimal cliché comments and remarks in between. However, he had braced himself for the worst.

"Um...yes, Cade; what can I do for you?" the woman with long black hair asked in a cheerful tone, peering over from an email that she was typing to another fellow staff member.

"I've got one of these, and you're the first person I am coming to in order to get this all figured out." He handed her the form. Right then, Cade observed his counselor's facial expression going from jovial, to that of someone looking puzzled or worried about something.

"Withdraw form? You mean, we're gonna lose you, kid?"

"Uh...yeah! It seems that way doesn't it? But, it's for the better; my dad got a new job with a really reputable and well paying firm. It's the first time he's excited to be working for a company. And best of all, we get a moving company to do all the really hard work for us, and the company is paying for all of it!"

"Well, that's great to hear that things are looking up for you and your family, Cade. But, before I sign off and give you the okay to withdraw from Columbia High School, it's my job to talk with you about your intentions for your future after this."

"Okay. For the last fucking time, I am NOT dropping out of high school. Go ahead."

"Alright. First, for confirmation's sake, you're leaving Columbia with an intention of finishing your diploma. Is that correct?"

"Of course I'm gonna finish my diploma! All I'm doing is relocating with my family!"

"Okay, okay, Cade. I am sorry I asked this; you're not the first one to take that question the wrong way. But, where did you say you're moving to again?"

"Spokane."

"Really? That's gonna be quite different than living here in Richland. Do you think you're gonna adjust well to living in the big city?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've lived here in Richland nearly all my life, but then a couple of times I went to Spokane and really liked the atmosphere and all of that. I am pretty sure that I'm gonna love living there."

"Well, that's good. Do you know what part of the city you're gonna be living in?"

"I don't know anything about the area yet, though my dad told me that him and my mom just closed a deal and bought a house in a neighborhood called Hillyard. And I was told that as soon as we get there, I'll be transferring to Hillyard High School, which is really close to where we're going to live."

"Hillyard? Did I ever mention to you that I just happened to not only get all of my schooling done at Eastern Washington University, but I lived in Spokane and taught in almost all of the schools in the Spokane Public district over the course of fifteen years?"

"No, I didn't know what, but what does that have to do with me going to Hillyard High and living in the Hillyard neighborhood?"

"All I can warn you about, Cade, is to be very careful when you're walking home when it's dark out. Compared to all of the others, Hillyard is probably one of the worst parts of the city in the terms of crime, gangs, and the abundance of drugs. And as for Hillyard High, let's just say that the term "school of hard knocks" is an understatement."

"Well, it's a big city; what do you expect? How can this school be any worse than any of the others in Spokane. And probably what you mean by it being a bad school is that there are a lot of poor people and ethnic minorities that go there; generally anything but pretty rich white kids. I am sure that there are just as many drug, violence, and gang problems at the high schools everyone says are really good, as there are at Hillyard."

"Oh, no, Cade. They all might have some problems with those things, but it's been proven that Hillyard not only is worst for these things, but even had the lowest academic performance records. Would you like me to pull up the statistics for you?"

"Uh...no, thanks; I'll take your word for it, Mrs. Carroll. But you know what? It's the closest one to my house, which means that it's the school I've been assigned to go to, so it looks as if I am going to just have to stick it out for the remaining year and a half I have left of high school. And hell, I might even make friends with someone who has something else to talk about besides their overpriced sports car their parents bought them, the sound system in the car, their new jeans they just shelled out a thousand dollars for, getting shit-faced at a party, or their latest conquests."

"Well, I am really glad to hear that at least you've kept with you the concept of always trying to look on the bright side of life. But, do you have any plans to go to college when you finally do get your diploma at the end of next year?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna go the first couple of years at one of the community colleges in Spokane, and then I am going to look into either one of the colleges around here, or I might do online classes for the last couple of years, so that I'll be able to work full time."

"Do you know what you wanna do with your life after high school?"

"Something not involving hustling, telemarketing, or the preparation of burgers and fries. Actually, as of recently, I have been giving that a lot of forethought, and I came to a conclusion that my calling is to become a music teacher. The study of theory, playing music, and getting to know artists old and new always has been my passion. I've even made a goal to start or join a band when I get to Spokane, but I know I need something to pay the bills."

"Music? Why is it that I've never known that about you, Cade? It's my job to get to know every student that takes classes and works towards a diploma here at Columbia High. Why is it that I've never known this about you? That's, like, a hidden talent could take you really far!"

"Well, for starters, when I get started talking about something I know a whole lot about, it's really hard to shut me up. Therefore, because I know the potential, I keep it to myself at the risk of boring or annoying somebody that doesn't want to talk about it. And second, it's not really a hidden talent; I've jammed with some of the teachers here. And I even played in the orchestra and jazz band, and have spent a lot of time studying music of all kinds. And what's this all of a sudden with you actually pretending to give a shit?"

"Yeah, I know that, Cade. Every quarter, I receive your grades, and I see that you've never even gone so low as an A minus in those classes, or in your English classes for that matter. I just didn't know if that was not just because you always make good grades, or if it was something you really enjoy. What do you play? Do you compose songs, or do you write lyrics, too?"

"Yes. It seems as if every week, I produce at least a couple of new poems, which could be just verse, but a lot of times are lyrical. I go through musical autobiographies and magazines like water...at my own free will, and I spend a lot on CDs. Not to mention, I am usually am up into the wee hours of the morning writing on either reading something to do with music, or sometimes playing one of the instruments I play."

"Oh? What do you play?"

"Or should you have given me the 'and you actually think I care' option? I have been playing the bass for about ten years, the drums for three years, and the saxophone for about five and a half."

"That's kinda cool, Cade. You gotta keep on that! Follow your destiny, and that will come in great handy when you start teaching in a few years down the road."

"Yeah? Well, that's the plan anyways!"

"Good. But, I guess I won't keep you for too long. It's just my routine procedure, when I get a student coming to me with a withdraw form, that I ask them such questions. However, given that you've now supplied me with good responses, I feel very comfortable signing off these forms and sending you on your way." It was at that moment that Cade handed over the forms, and Mrs. Carroll finally signed on the line in her designated space. "Here you are, Mr. Wolenski. And remember what I said, keep your head up, keep working hard, and follow your dreams and aspirations."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much. Okay; one down, umpteen more steps to go!"

By the time the conversation with Mrs. Carroll came to an end, Cade's free third period was almost over, which meant that the all school lunch break was just a few minutes away. Getting mighty sick of about ninety nine percent of the same mundane federally funded food that was served in the school cafeteria on a daily basis, he yearned for something a little tastier. Nevertheless, he still did have to make his rounds to the cafeteria and get his form signed off by one of the lunch ladies. Much to his surprise, the visit with Geri, the school's friendliest and most seasoned lunch lady, was very brief; not because she wasn't in the mood to chat, but because there were a lot more finishing touches to be applied before lunch could be served to all the students.

Walking out of the lunch room, Cade produced a set of keys from one of the front pockets of his jeans, and checked his watch. As he unlocked the driver's side door of his older dark blue Ranger pickup and set his backpack on the passenger seat, he had forty five minutes to drive wherever he desired, get his food, eat it, and get to his favorite fourth period American Literature class. Turning the key in the ignition, Cade deactivated the emergency brake, shifted to first gear, and proceeded to drive off campus and towards George Washington Way; probably one of Richland's busiest streets at any given time.

Coldplay's Parachutes album hummed out of the speakers on the doors and the dashboard of the truck. As he breezed down the street at school zone speeds, en route to Subway, his chosen destination, Cade kept on thinking of the fact that in a few short days, the passenger side of his cab, would have a few small things inside, possibly his younger brother, Quentin, currently a seventh grader, and the trunk would be full up with various musical instruments, amplifiers, and other accessories. He kept on thinking of the fact that he had never driven such a long distance before; not to mention, while carrying so much extra cargo. However, after living in the small city all of his life, and after getting to know what the city had to offer and what a lot of the people were all about, Cade was eager to pack it up and drive the nearly two hundred miles up north to the big city. It was then that Mrs. Carroll's remarks about him moving into the Hillyard neighborhood and especially the ones about him being assigned to go to Hillyard High began to play back on repeat in the back of his head. At that moment, he also pondered all of the possible outcomes that could be in store; after all, according to Mrs. Carroll and a few of his mom's co-workers who also once lived in Spokane, everything about going to Hillyard was the complete opposite of the "good" schools like Columbia.

"Is it more like a war zone? Should I be careful not to look at someone the wrong way in fear of getting my ass kicked? Is it a lot like those schools you hear about on the news where the kids have been caught bringing guns and have sometimes shot it up? What exactly makes it so bad compared to the others?" By the time that he parked in the parking lot and walked into the restaurant, countless hypothetical questions arose in Cade's train of thought. Then again, the instinct he harbored to think outside of the box kicked in at just the right time. Time and time again, Cade remembered hearing a lot of people rant and rave, describing a school like Columbia as one of the absolute best around, in respect to its test scores, the minimal violence, drug problems, and gang activity; not to mention, the fact that the school had the best looking student body and atmosphere. On the other hand, in putting all of these positive attributes together, in Cade's mental observations, it made for an uppity student body, a thick cloud of smug wafting through the hallways and seeping into the classrooms, and the fact that if one was not in whose who, and could not afford all of the things that the "in-crowd" had, one was seen as nothing. It was at that moment that, while he had the typical jitters about making a transition to not only a new school but in a whole new landscape and environment, Cade was growing more and more excited about seeing what was waiting for him. He might've been transferring to the "school of the hard knocks," as Mrs. Carroll so aptly put it, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about inhaling copious amounts of smug, like he had been for the last two years and one quarter.

"And would you like to make that a meal today?" the young girl in the green uniform and visor inquired, as she stuck a few napkins and Cade's freshly-made foot long Italian on white into a clear cellophane bag.

"Um...I don't want to make it a combo, but could I just get a medium drink with that?" Cade answered back, reaching in his front pocket for his wallet containing a few bills. Wanting to be able to just sit in peace before he had to make his way to American Literature, of which he loved everything about except for some of the classmates he had to work with, Cade then handed the cashier a ten dollar bill, and stuffed the change into his pants' opposite front pocket. After the journey down George Washington Way, Cade found himself worked up over the events and his ponderings of the day. With a little more than 25 minutes left before he was due back to class, Cade returned to the cab of the truck, lunch in tow, and shut the door. Needing to alleviate a little bit of his stress, Cade reached into the Ranger's passenger side glove compartment and produced a little slice of his favorite occasional indulgence; a pack of Marlboro Light 100s. Opening the pack, he took one of the all white cigarettes out and pursed the filter between his top and bottom lips. Returning the half full pack to the glove compartment, Cade punched the lighter in the instrument panel. Once it was ready for him, he lit up, and took a couple of drags as he once again started the ignition and drove off back to the campus.

Cade returned to the Columbia High underclassmen student parking lot, just as he took the last drag of the cigarette and extinguished it in the truck's ash tray. Still with twenty minutes to spare and no desire to mingle with his other fellow classmates, Cade locked his doors, and switched discs as he began to eat his sub briskly, but still slow enough so that he could actually taste it. With Zoso now blasting out of the speakers, Cade savored every bite of his favorite sub, and every sip of his cup of iced tea. Finally, with fifteen minutes to spare before he would have to be in his seat and ready to go in his next class, Cade turned off the truck, set the emergency brake, locked everything up, and made his way back to the campus' main building.

Needing to exchange his two books from first and third period (he had gym class second period), Cade entered the main building on his way to the foyer of which his, amongst other juniors' lockers were housed. Simply wanting to get over to his locker, make the exchange, and make his way over to his next class, Cade turned the corner to the right row where his locker was, only to discover one more hurdle too many to jump over; Megan and Alli, two well-adored and well-off daddy's girls were carrying on a seemingly endless conversation about a party from the weekend before, their latest shopping trips, and some other things that he never really could comprehend. Cade couldn't really care less about ninety nine percent of what came out of the mouths of any particular member of that very exclusive clique; however, for the fact that Alli was situated against his locker, hindering him from being able to open it up and do what he had to, it temporarily changed everything.

"Um, Alli; I don't mean to butt in on the story you're telling, but you're on my locker, and I gotta get in to grab my books and go to my next class!" Cade requested, defiantly. While this was said in a friendly manner, Cade sort of could predict, but never expected how the next few minutes played out.

"Uh, no; you're rude, you fuckin' creep!" Alli blurted out at a volume that was quite possibly within the earshot of anyone within a half-mile radius. "You don't interrupt someone when they're speaking; and last time I checked, it was a free country, so that means I can be here whenever I damn well please!"

"Could you just step aside for a minute? I need to get my books, and I've gotta get to class! Is it that hard of a concept to wrap your head around?"

"No, it's not; you're just bein' fuckin' rude!"

"Whatever; can't you quit thinking of yourself for a minute so I can do what I need to? Then, I'll get out of your way, and you can flap your gums to your heart's content!" And then, to add insult to injury, one more person entered the scene of whom Cade surely would not miss once he relocated; wearing jersey number sixty six, and adored as the school's star quarterback, it was Alli's boyfriend, Aaron Davis.

"Uh, what'chu doin' here ya fuckin' faggot?" Aaron exclaimed, once again loud enough to wake the dead. "Not only is she way outta your league, she's mine; so quit hittin' on her!"

"Seriously, what in the hell have you been smoking? I know she's out of my league; hell, I wouldn't even touch her with a ten foot pole; why would I hit on her? Hitting on her? Dude; I walked over here to get my books for my next class, she's leaning against my locker, preventing me from doing that. I asked her to move off of it so I can do what I gotta do and go, and she creates a big stink. It's not really my bag." At that precise second, the last thing that Cade needed was for Alli to throw in her two cents yet again.

"I was gonna move for him; but he's really being rude. He's a creep, baby!" Alli cried, as "her man" proceeded to put his arms around her, and planted the first of many kisses for that session on her metallic-looking glossy lips. Right then, Cade began to grow quite nervous about getting to class on time. Still without making the book exchange, the five minute warning bell sounded off, now with Megan gone, and with Alli now completely blocking his locker, engaged in a full on make out session with Aaron. That is, until Alli looked over, seeking out the last laugh.

"Um, what the hell are you doing standing there, you fucking pervert? Why are you watching." With Cade not saying anymore, Alli and Aaron then decided to finally move over a couple of inches, now leaning against some other poor sap's locker. Trying not to look at the side show attraction to his right, Cade cracked his combination, made his exchange, then ran off to American Literature, taught by his favorite teacher, Mrs. Warden.

The class was just as normal as he expected; in the back of the class, there sat the a few members of the group known for scoring high on drug and breathalyzer tests, but not on their report cards. On the side of the class were a few more of the "holier than thou" popular types; the kind that only picked up books to make the grade, and only would do, see, buy, or listen to something if it was trendy. And then there was the circle on the opposite side that made up the rest of the twenty four students in that class that period; those who either loved to read, were passionate about books, writing, or other forms of art and/or something to do with computers, and would much rather spend the night at a Shakespeare play or book circle, or all night LAN party instead of a keg party. Many others lumped all of these folks under the "Geek" umbrella. However, despite some differences in interest, all of these said people always had cohabitated peacefully; many times they would work together during group discussions, and some from, say, the computers camp would hang out with the "book huggers" as they so aptly dubbed themselves, outside of class and were good friends. Now, Cade, while a self-proclaimed book worm, never really hung out with many of them, because spent a lot of time practicing and playing music, but he had respect for all of the rest, and even had gotten to know some of them a little bit.

"Mrs. Warden, I've got a little something to hand to you before class starts. I'll need it before I leave to go to my next class," Cade mentioned as he set the very partially completed form down on her desk.

"What is this, Cade? Wait...withdraw form? I thought you were going to leave when the semester ended! This means that tomorrow's your last day?"

"Well, tomorrow's the end of the first quarter, isn't it?

"Yes. But, this breaks my heart to see you going so soon! You've always had the one of the best grades in all three of the classes you've had with me. Whose going to bridge the class when it gets dead, and kill the curve when we have tests?"

"Well, there are plenty of people in this class that really like the stuff we read and study, so I am sure somebody will take my place in no time flat."

"True. But, this means I gotta jot down your grades and you gotta turn in your books. But I'm only gonna do this on one condition, Cade?"

"And what is that, Mrs. Warden?"

"You have to promise me that no matter how busy you are, no matter what you find yourself up to, or whatever, you must keep in touch with me? Deal?"

"Of course it's a deal. But before I forget, here's my books that I had checked out from you. This means that you can check off that I did that, too."

"Yes. Yes I can. And on the final note in this regard, I am looking at your grade to jot it down, and you're leaving my class with a ninety six point four percent, which is well above the line for a solid A from me. Nicely done, Mister Wolenski!"

"Thank you very much. But hey, between you and me, of all the people that I've met here while going to Columbia, I never made any true friends besides you; you're the only one I am genuinely going to miss."

"Well, that feels really good to hear that. However, in that regards, I really hope that the people in Spokane, and the big city will be a lot kinder to you, and that you will deservingly expand your circle and build yourself a good support system. You are one great musician, and I know that in teaching, composing, and everything else, you'll go very far because you give everything one hundred and ten percent. Don't ever let anything stand in your way."

"Yeah; that's the plan anyways. But, I think I should take my seat now. But oh yeah...one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Well, I was really looking forward to reading the Hemingway shorts and the book A Farewell to Arms that you had on the syllabus. But I promise you that when I get to Spokane, I'll read it and email you back to tell you how I liked it."

"Ah. Good. I am pretty confident you'll like it. However, if you really want a good one, you gotta try The Sun Also Rises."

"I'll make a note of that."

At the tail end of that conversation, the beginning of period bell sounded off yet again, and class got under way. This was the ideal time for Cade to leave the class anyways, as they had just finished reading their second novel of the year, Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Although his true passion lied in music and everything about it, Cade also was a closet classic literature enthusiast, spending a lot more of his late nights, when not composing music, with his nose in something from generations past. On that token, Cade also not only made good friends with Mrs. Warden because she was very open minded and a true friend and mentor to him, but also because the conversations that she lead in the class about classic literature, controversies around certain pieces, and anything else in between, never failed to be thought provoking and daring. Just recently, as a matter of fact, the class, in light of something that, surprisingly, made the national news, and all of the debate talk radio and cable television shows, the class just, a couple of days ago, had one of the most lengthy, lively, bold, and thought provoking conversations that Cade had ever helped carry on in a group.

A few weeks back, the story surfaced in every newspaper in Washington, Idaho, and Oregon, of Huckleberry Finn being recently banned from yet another school district's curriculum and libraries. The premise? Because the book served as being anything but sensitive in the treatment of the touchy issue of racism, especially in the use of "that dirty N-word" as Mrs. Warden called it, that flowed liberally out of the mouths of southerners back in that time. Some people in the class agreed with the ban of the book, because they saw clearly that the book was very brash and insensitive towards the African American community on a lot of levels. Cade, with the assistance of a few other fellow "nerds" did their best to play devil's advocate by countering with the concept that the book was not intended to promote racism, or just to be as vulgar as possible with the use of such horrendous words, but rather to blow the racism epidemic so out of proportion in a satirical sense, coupled with the use of irony and a protagonist that was obviously uneducated in several respects, that people would see how stupid the segregation and bigotry of the time really was. Quite a few people, including Mrs. Warden bought it, including one of Cade's group members, who just happened to be African American, and actually had enjoyed reading the novel. However, some people gave Cade the classic eye-roll, or tried to split hairs with his logic. On the other hand, most of them who begged to differ didn't know what they were talking about, and only took the content of the novel at face value.

"Alright class; remember to please have the book finished by tomorrow. We'll talk about it in class, and then when we come back after the weekend, I'll be assigning the paper on it, and you'll be taking the test. Have a good rest of the day everyone!" Packing up his things, Cade, now with his back pack one book lighter, walked out of the classroom, off to finish his other two classes, get his needed signatures and turn in his books. Two hours later, he had done just that, and informed both his Geometry and Chemistry teachers that tomorrow would be his last day at Columbia High School. Neither one seemed horribly heart broken, though both did give him the form letter "I wish you the best of luck" blurb as he prepared to leave following the day's lesson. Now, with all of his books from the second half of his day turned in, and with two more signatures and grades; a C+ in Geometry and B in Chemistry less to worry about, Cade weaved through the crowd of students of various ages, out the door, and toward the parking lot where his truck sat waiting for him.

Stepping off of the sidewalk and onto the asphalt of the underclassmen's parking lot, the scenery all around him was relatively typical; students in groups climbing into each other's cars, bound for fast food places, or sometimes each other's houses. Some of the more popular kids popped their hoods and trunks, showing off new features inside their cars, especially upgrades to the sound system. And of course, what high school parking lot wouldn't be complete without young (heterosexual) couples showing some flashy public displays of affection in the beds of pickup trucks, in the driver and passenger side seats, and sometimes in the backseats of parked cars? Nevertheless, as always, Cade dodged it all, ready to get home and continue to pack up some of his stuff, and get it ready to be put in one of the trucks.

A few yards away, Cade took his set of keys out of his pocket, approaching his Ranger yet again. But as he made it to the door, he noticed somebody beat him there with the keys, and the evidence was painfully obvious. Sometime between when Cade drove back from Subway and had gotten out of his sixth period Chemistry class, somebody had come along and deeply gouged the words "COCKSUCKING FUCKING FAGGOT" into the paint job of the driver's side door and part of the panel of the truck's bed. Infuriated, and now realizing that it would cost him a pretty penny to get it fixed, there still wasn't much else he could do about it. After all, if he was to call the police, there would be absolutely nothing they could do, and the chances of whether they would care were slim and none. Calling the insurance company might get him a little help in getting it done, but there would be way too many hoops to jump through, and his rate would skyrocket. And worst of all, Cade had a very good idea of about three or four people, based on their disposition and unwarranted animosity against him, that just might've done something so vile and vindictive. Though trying to take things as a mature adult, he could not jump to conclusions, and was forced to bite the bullet. Still seething with anger, though, Cade got in once again and drove off, this time bound for West Richland, the little tiny Tri Cities offshoot that he and his family had called home for well more than even the duration of his life.

Going the now reduced speed down George Washington Way, en route to the turnoff that would take him to West Richland, Cade made a stop at a red light, waiting to make a right turn. As he waited for traffic to clear up before making the turn, Cade felt the need to relax yet again, pulled another cigarette from his glove compartment, then opened the window, lit up, and took drags as he steered with his left hand and shifted with his right. Being what time of the day it was, it was never possible to expect to hit a green light, but rather have to stop behind a line of cars every few yards or so. Now having made a turn on Van Giesen street, one that was also the main road in West Richland, Cade stopped at yet another red light, shifted to neutral, and took a few more hits off of his cigarette. Just at that moment, Cade overheard a very loud engine, which sounded like it was approaching the light in the lane opposite to him. The engine yet again revved and a loud horn honked. Cade thought nothing of it until he peered over and had a look at what just pulled up next to him. It was an older black lifted Chevrolet pick up truck with giant filthy monster truck-style tires and with dried mud adorning about half of the body. Cade still couldn't piece together who it was, until he noticed a Columbia High parking permit hanging from the rear view mirror, confederate flags waving atop, a decal declaring "REDNECK" across the top of the wind, and a young, unshaven male wearing a camouflage hat and donning a white sleeveless shirt in the driver's side and a similarly dressed companion on the passenger side. It was then that Cade now had a very good idea who added the new decorations to his truck.

"Hey, cocksucker, nice paint job!" the passenger, who was a puppet of the driver, screamed out the window. "It's really fitting for a faggot like you!"

"Yeah, it's great, you fucking creep! Still, what kind of man are you that you've gotta speak for your little buddy whose driving the truck. If it wasn't for him, you'd be totally different, and you sure as hell wouldn't be talking to me like that; mark my words."

"Yeah, I would, 'cuz everyone knows you're a fuckin' cocksuckin' faggot! Why else did me and Daniel here take the time to let everyone know it!"

"'Me and Daniel?' Seriously, Clay; I know you might not really care about school and all, but how in the hell did you end up passing middle school English. Your grammar is uncannily horrible!"

"Whatever. Well, enjoy sucking dicks and taking it up the ass tonight, ya fuckin' faggot!"

Right then the Van Giesen light turned green, just as Daniel began to rev his engine yet again. Being smart, and a little bit afraid of what he would do to him should he get too close to him while in motion, Cade let him pass, flying down Van Giesen, weaving through lanes at freeway speeds. As he pressed on the gas and began to drive, progressively shifting to fifth as he gained speed, Cade drove within the speed limit as he turned up the volume of John Coltrane's My Favorite Things, an album that always managed to stay inside of the truck's glove compartment.

Daniel, of whom had always loathed Cade since early middle school, and Clay, as of the eighth grade, were two people Cade had grown accustomed to being abused by; mentally, and on a couple of occasions, physically. In a nutshell, the two were best friends, and in their free time, they would drive out a distance to go hunting with big guns for whatever was in season at the time. Both took the label of "Redneck" in stride, and held sacred all of the things that gave southerners a bad name; being racist, staunchly homophobic, and holding true to the ideal that women were not mates, but rather property. There were very few African American and Hispanic students that went to Columbia High. Though of the few that did go there, both always had gotten away with and were never even reprimanded for referring to said students not by name, but rather with "filthy wetback" and "lazy nigger," amongst others. Daniel, especially, held very firm what was manly and feminine, and believed that men and women should only adhere to these guidelines, respectively. For men, the right interests were football, hunting, four by four racing and mud play, and the occasional fishing trip. In every case that Daniel met another male who, say, didn't like sports, listened to the wrong music, or didn't dress like him, automatically would find themselves on his bad list right next to anyone of African or Spanish-speaking descent. But while the former would be called "wetback," "spick," "beaner," "border jumper," or "nigger," the latter would have to withstand the labels of "faggot," "homo," "cocksucker," "fudge packer," and be informed on countless occasions that they would be "burning in the deepest pits of hell in no time flat, only after dying of AIDS," as he would so often put it. Certainly, this was not someone who Cade had ever acquired a taste for, and was counting his blessings that they would never come in that close of proximity of each other ever again after tomorrow.

Tonight marked the second to last night that would be referring to his final destination, the Beaten Path Trailer Park, as his home. Aforementioned younger brother Quentin, his mom, Kimberly, and his father, Paul, had lived there for a very long time. The neighbors had never really been that nice, and a couple of houses down, there lived a middle aged man of whom Cade's family knew used and sold marijuana. Several of those along his street, at least a couple of nights a week would be throwing loud, alcohol-fueled parties deep into the night, though the local police never really seemed to care less. But on a different token, Quentin and Cade were routinely ridiculed by their peers, and in some cases looked down upon by teachers because they not only lived in a trailer park, but because the family didn't have even half of the money of other kids that went to Columbia High or Lincoln Middle School, where Quentin attended. Kimberly and Paul alike had been praying for the last few weeks that all went through smoothly in all the transitions, all of the moving, and especially that the students, teachers, and the environment would be a much more positive one for their sons.

Still thinking about all of this in the back of his mind, Cade finally made it all the way down the street to his family's mid 80's blue and white double wide. Knowing exactly what to expect, Cade didn't even ask questions in the back of his mind about the full size Dodge truck that was parked in his normal space on the side of the road. He had been informed the night prior that two guys from the van line would be coming to start wrapping up the first items, and getting them ready to be put in boxes and loaded into the 18 wheeled moving truck. Early in the morning after Quentin and Cade's last day at Richland schools, the family would be packing into their vehicles and making the two to three hour journey up to Spokane. However, the moving truck would not be making it to their new house until the day after that. Not to mention, Paul and Kimberly still had to sign the last forms for their new house and mortgage loan, and would be spending that entire day taking care of such business. Therefore, they would not be moving into the house that day, and the boys wouldn't be registering at their new schools yet, but rather would be staying at a hotel for the night. That day they would be arriving in Spokane and staying in the hotel, Cade and Quentin planned to go exploring a little bit, and actually spend some long overdue quality time with one another. The family of four was very close, but quality time with one another was very rare, and was done at different designated times.

"Hey, Ma, I'm home!" Cade exclaimed as he turned the key in the lock and cracked open the front entrance. Almost like clockwork, the family Beagle, Todd, came running over, very excited, rolling over for his always expected belly rub. Cade set down his things and, like always, bent down to satiate this request that Todd had come to expect.

"Hey, honey!" his mom began, in pretty good spirits. "How was your second to last day at Columbia?"

"The class part was decent, but there's now one more place I'll be going when we get to Spokane that I didn't expect."

"What's that?"

"The paint and body shop."

"What? Did something happen to your truck?"

"Nothing happened that I did. But I parked it in the student parking lot after lunch and went to my last three classes. When I came back, that little redneck bastard that beat the living crap out of me last year and got away with it saw fit to key into the driver's side door and part of the bed, very deep into my paint job nonetheless, 'COCKSUCKING FUCKING FAGGOT.'"

"That is bullshit, Cade! Did you tell anyone?"

"It was at the end of the day, and I know that the principal and everyone else I would have to go to would've been gone. And frankly, what would they do; they'd just tell me I didn't see with my own two eyes who did it, so I can't make assumptions. And the same thing would've happened if I called the cops."

"I never thought of it that way, but still, how do you know for sure it was that little fucker Daniel? And frankly, how on God's green earth does he get away with doing shit like this?"

"I don't know. But I know for sure that it was him, because as I was driving home, he pulled up right beside me, and his little friend admitted that they did it, amidst several times of calling me a 'fucking faggot' and a 'cocksucker,' then telling me to 'have fun tonight sucking dick and taking it up the ass.'"

"Oh, that's just beautiful. Great words coming out of his mouth; his parents must be so proud of his much extended vocabulary. But even if he hates you for no good reason, what he did was totally uncalled for. Maybe your dad will be able to help you out. Paul! Paul; could you come here a minute?"

Out of the master bedroom, where knick knacks and things were being wrapped in paper and bubble wrap, a six foot tall man with dark hair, gold-rimmed bifocals, and still in his work clothes, stepped out into the living room, noticing that his son was home. "What? What's going on? I'm helping wrap up the little figurines on the shelf in here!"

"Your son has been the victim of somebody else's shit yet again at that fucking school!"

"Why? What happened?"

"Well, you remember that little bastard, Daniel, who last year beat the shit out of Cade, unprovoked, and incessantly saw fit to call him the filthiest of names, all without any discipline?"

"Yeah? What did he do now? You didn't provoke him or try to throw a punch at him, did you Cade?"

"No, this time it wasn't physical abuse. After Cade parked when he came back from lunch, Daniel took a key to Cade's truck and carved the words 'COCKSUCKING FUCKING FAGGOT' into the driver's side door and part of the bed, which is really visible and obvious."

"Oh, that's nice! What kind of fucking school is this, where this kind of crap is not only ignored, but is seen as perfectly okay. We're gonna have to take that to the body shop to get it repainted, it looks like. It'll have to wait a little bit, though. I mean, how bad is it?"

"Cade will show you."

With that, Cade and Paul walked out of the house, so that Paul could see just how bad the damage was. After this was seen, both came back in, so that everyone could get a little bit more packing done, as the start of the big move was only a couple of mornings away. Paul kept the door open of their bedroom, so that he might talk to his wife, who was relaxing, and half heartedly watching CNN. Cade stepped out of their living room, and down in the hallway where three doors led to three different rooms. To the right of him was he and his brother's bathroom. Straight down the hall was their dad's office. Then, on the left of him was he and Quentin's room, of which was open, and hip hop music at a moderate volume permeated out of. Cade walked in and set his things down, only to find his little brother in the midst of packing up some essentials.

"Hey, Cade! How was your day?"

"Um...positively shitty! Did you just hear what happened to me today?"

"Not really; I was in here putting stuff in boxes. What's up?"

"Remember that little bastard that beat the shit out of me last year? Daniel?"

"How can I forget? Daniel's brother and sister both go to Lincoln, and their both major bigots with violent tendencies; quite sickening."

"Yeah, well, while I was in class, he and this other little fucker named Clay saw fit to key into my truck 'COCKSUCKING FUCKING FAGGOT.' Looks like you and me will just have to put a tarp over everything over the bed, and hope nobody gives us any dirty looks as we drive up to Spokane."

"How in the hell does the little bastard get away with it? If I did something like that, they'd throw me out faster than he could scream 'Hail Hitler!'"

"Beats me, man. But hey, how was your second to last day at your own respective shithole?"

"Just like you described it, bro; same old crap, different day. I think you and I are most definitely in the same boat in hoping that our new schools are a lot better."

"Well, you especially better hope Hillyard's a lot better than Columbia, because from the sounds of it, I believe that's the one you'll be going to when you're ready for high school."

"Yeah. Mom called the school district up in Spokane today, and she found out which middle school I'm gonna be going to."

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"Garrett Junior High."

"I haven't heard anything about it. But did your counselor have anything to say about it when you talked to him and got your withdraw form?"

"Actually not. I really have no idea what to expect. All I can hope for is that people are more accepting in the city."

"Ah. I have an idea of what to expect...at least from somebody's really slanted perspective."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Today when I went to go get my withdraw form during my break, the first person I went to go talk to and to sign my form was Mrs. Carroll, my counselor. Apparently, she taught in Spokane for a few years, so she thinks that she's like this all knowing expert about the school system there, including which schools are good, and what ones to avoid. For the bulk of our conversation, she went on this huge diatribe of how not only Hillyard High is so horrible because of the drugs, the bad kids, the gangs and the fights, but of how the neighborhood that we're moving into is, in so many words, 'ghetto.'"

"Wow; she actually told you this, point blank?"

"Yes. Almost verbatim, nonetheless. So, with her review, I am expecting that it's not going to be anything like going to Columbia. However, even though there might be a lot more stoners and gangsters, I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm really gonna like Hillyard."

"I'm kinda thinking the same thing, man! I mean, it sounds like there are gonna be a lot fewer preppies that go to Hillyard, which means quite possibly, that money and looks will not be a deciding factor in someone's status; people may actually be accepted for the people they are. It would be a culture shock, but for the better!"

"That's true. But just curious; are you riding with me up to Spokane, or are you gonna ride in the van with Mom and Dad."

"I was hoping to ride with you; as long as you aren't gonna have a lot of crap in the cab."

"I won't. So, should I take that as a yes, you're riding in the truck with me."

"Yeah; of course."

The conversation carried on, as both brothers proceeded to pack up the little things that they wanted to carry themselves, rather than leave for the moving men to handle. With both being musicians, a lot of space in their bedroom had been taken up by various musical instruments and amplifiers. And now, the bulk of what would be packed in the back of the truck would be these such things. Being especially careful, Cade unplugged his bass amp, wrapped up his cables and secured his prized Honey Sunburst Music Man Sting Ray and silver Ibanez Sound Gear in their proper cases. The same was done for his well used Yamaha saxophone and its own accessories, and every piece of his matching cherry red Tama and Zildjian drum kit, of which he carefully disassembled. Meanwhile, Quentin rounded up all of the pieces of his acoustic and electric guitars and trumpet.

Both brothers had picked up music on their own accord at a young age, and grew very passionate about it soon thereafter. Cade began playing on a rented upright bass in his elementary school orchestra, but then opted to switch over to bass guitar as he became more skilled. This love increased when he found a used Ibanez four string under the Christmas tree when he was ten. Later on, a member of their extended family passed away; besides some money for all, Cade inherited their drum kit, and Quentin his Epiphone acoustic guitar. Both taught themselves how to play with the use of books from the library and in playing favorite songs by ear. Cade, of course, now had become fluent in two instruments, while Quentin had begun to compose his own songs for the acoustic guitar. A year or so later, he began integrating power chords and distortion into his songs when his parents gave him his now cherished teal Epiphone Les Paul for his eleventh birthday.

As both "did their time," as per the boys' personal descriptions, at Lincoln Middle School, there grew the desire to learn how to play brass instruments, in order to play in the only band their school funded; the all school brass and wind ensemble. Both with a deep affection for jazz, both Quentin and Cade sought to play instruments that were prominent in many variations of jazz. Over one summer, each, both brothers selected their instrument, took lessons, and practiced relentlessly in order to get good by the start of the school year. Quentin, inspired by one of his true musical role models, Miles Davis, opted to pick up the trumpet. Then Cade, who always had studied the compositions of the likes of Sonny Rollins, and loved albums such as Saxophone Colossus, made the decision to pick up the saxophone.

Even in hopes and dreams for the future, both Cade and Quentin knew that it would all revolve around music. As he mentioned to Mrs. Carroll, Cade was working to become a high school music teacher somewhere down the road. Quentin, on the other hand, planned to major in business and minor in music as an undergrad, then achieve an MBA thereafter. His goal was to someday open up his own record store.

"Cade! Quentin! Wash up and come out here; dinner's here!" both overheard their mother's familiar voice coming from the dining room through the door their soon to be former bedroom, as they had just barely taken the last posters down from the walls. The siblings, for the last few years, slept in bunk beds, which preserved space for their instruments, amongst other things. Moving into the new house, which only had two proper bedrooms upstairs, had a carpeted one thousand square-foot basement, complete with climate controls and cable hookups. Naturally, this was the much bigger space that Cade and Quentin would be sharing yet again. However, this time, both were ecstatic when they learned that with all of the extra space to share, they would be getting their own separate full size beds out of the deal. "Alright boys, if you're so busy getting ready to move, your dad and I can eat your share of the pizza. And boy, it sure is good tonight!" With that, Cade and Quentin knew that this was a good time to stop, not because they thought their mom was serious, but because they had both worked up quite an appetite for the two large pepperoni pizzas and breadsticks that had just been delivered a few minutes prior.

*****

"Dear Journal:

I write to you at approximately three thirty in the morning. Seriously, neither Quentin nor I can sleep, even though both of us should; especially me. After all, in a matter of about four or five hours from now, Quentin and I will be packing our instruments and other things into both the family van and in the back of my truck and be making the journey up to Spokane. Quentin's at his computer, chatting with a couple of online friends and getting wired on a glass of Mountain Dew. And I am up here, writing to you, during probably the final night that I will be sleeping in this bunk bed. Turns out that after so many years, with all the new room we're going to have in the basement, Quentin and I will have our own beds...although we still will be sharing the space downstairs in our new house. It just feels so funny, because it is now officially all over for both of us within the ass backwards Tri Cities school system. It just felt so funny walking into our bedroom, only to find nearly everything in boxes, ready to be packed, except for two duffle bags containing our respective changes of clothes, our toiletries, a reading book, and a couple of movies to watch tomorrow night when we're staying in the hotel. All of our instruments are in their cases, and are going to be packed in the back of my truck, and covered with a tarp; not just for extra protection just in case it gets nasty as we're driving, but also because I am trying to do all that I can to avoid getting dirty looks or unwanted attention in wake of having said obscene statements gouged into the driver's side, of which I won't be able to fix for a little bit of time. Still, now that it happened, and now that the whole horrendous ordeal that was going to Columbia High is water under the bridge, I will just say that that's going to be one hell of a story to tell, should any of my new classmates ask me what happened when they see it in the student parking lot. All I can do now is laugh about it, not get pissed, and brush any bad thoughts off my shoulder. All in all, though, I not only think, but know that going to Hillyard is going to be a much better experience, even if I really don't end up making a lot of good friends; at least people are going to talk to me and probably be friends with me, and my teachers will treat me like a person. But in regards to the last day going to school in Richland, the day was nearly how I completely expected It to go; as was for Quentin, as per the conversation we all had at the dinner table earlier this evening. Quentin got a lot less fanfare than he actually expected, especially since, as he described it, generally anyone who is seen as acceptable in his classes were very fake, shallow, and insincere in every possible way. Hell, according to Quentin, the only people that actually acted halfway upset, or even said anything to him about the fact that it was his last day and that they would miss him, even though most of them were quite possibly full of shit, were five of his six teachers. All of them remembered that he was leaving, and gave him the form letter, 'we wish you the best of luck' bullshit, and sent him on his way as they signed off of his withdraw form and took his textbooks off of his hands. However, he had a particular Earth Science teacher of who had a very obvious preference of which students he respected. And certainly, for the reason that he did not partake in any of the school's sports programs or have a big full rack that look nice peeking out of a low cut shirt, Quentin was generally scum in his eyes. Therefore, he was indifferent to the idea of Quentin requesting his permission to withdraw from the school; hell, in the back of my mind, from what I've been told, I'm pretty sure that the bastard was happy to see Quentin leaving. None of his classmates actually said anything as he finished out his last day there; Quentin quietly turned everything in and made his way out virtually undetected on their radar. And then, come to think of what went down on my last day at 'good ole' Columbia High, I was seriously hoping for the kind of day that Quentin had, except with none of the fanfare from teachers; except, of course, for Mrs. Warden. It is pretty dead obvious to the naked eye that most all of the rest of the teachers that I was taking classes from loathed me so much that in some cases, it looked as if some were holding back tears of joy as they signed off my form and checked off the box saying I returned my textbook in acceptable condition. Nevertheless, ALL FOUR OF THEM gave me the "well, we hate to see you go, and it's been a pleasure to have you in our classes," line. In every single one of these cases, it took everything I had not to either completely tell them off or puke right then and there. And then, if that wasn't bad enough, amidst several of my classes having small end of the quarter class parties, my 'darling' classmates made me want to get the day over with more and more by the second. It's not bad enough that for the last two and one quarter years (and of course in some cases the last five and a quarter, and even last eleven and a quarter, as I went to middle school and/or elementary school with some of them) that on a day to day basis I have withstood their filthy names, ridicule, spreading of rumors about me (including the one about me being gay and having a thing for a particular well loved popular male classmate), humiliation in some cases, and overall treated as if I am some disgusting piece of garbage that they just throw away. However, just to add more wood to the fire, these same exact people, who have managed to make my life a living hell over the last few years and managed to keep my blood pressure way above normal as well, actually acted...I shit you not...as if they were sad to see me go, and as if they had really gotten to know me and were going to miss me! Seriously, what the hell, man? In trying to actually act halfway interested, they were sickeningly sweet in asking soon to be very cliché questions such as "Where are you going?" "Why are you moving to Spokane, when you've lived here for so long?" and my personal favorite, which was, surprisingly, asked of me quite a few times, "Do you ever plan on coming back to visit your friends in Tri Cities?" Once again, it took everything I had not to completely lose it, and fall into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. However, while I wanted to be the vindictive shit and let out all of the horrible, vulgar thoughts floating around in my head at the moment, my conscience kicked in right at the last moment and told me that it wouldn't exactly be the best idea to stoop down to their level. After all, for all of my life, I have never had to insult, belittle, or humiliate others to feel better about myself; and damn it, I wasn't about to start now. I have so many hurtful memories from going to Columbia, and you probably can't imagine how much I was praying and kissing God's feet when my dad came home that night with the surprise news that he just happened to get the job in the city, of which we had all made the conclusion about that there was no way in hell that he would be getting it. All I do know is that, like I said, nothing can be as bad as spending your high school career at Columbia High School; even if the school was built in the heart of the ghetto, or if it just happens to house a lot of kids my age in gangs and girls who are currently pregnant with their second or third children. Even if, on a daily basis, I stood witness to people snorting lines of coke in the locker rooms before gym class, I am damn near positive that it would still be better than the Nazi camp-like shit hole that everyone says is so good. And hey, if they say this is such a great school, I sure as hell would go to what they call a "bad" school any day. All I can say is, bottom line, everyone in my family has needed a fresh start for a while; and not just the fact that the atmosphere and school system has not been good to either Quentin nor I. For the last few years, my dad has had a hell of a time holding down a job for very long; not because he does a piss poor job, but because every single one of them has seen fit to lay him off right before he would be planning to get tenure and/or climb the ladder within the company. Back in the day, my dad always has sort of had this problem, sort of like Quentin and I, of being able to make friends, and be social. On the other hand, it wasn't for the same default reasons as Quentin and I, but being that my dad's been laid off about five different construction companies around here. But maybe since I've never really spilled too much about the rest of my family, maybe I should fill some of the blind spots in for you. Anyways, ever since he was twenty one, shortly after he and my mom got married, my dad, originally thinking about going the traditional route and doing the slow moving college thing, opted to go the other route and learn the trade of construction and carpentry. After jumping through all of the hoops and graduating, my dad went to work in his trade, building houses, doing general contracting, and whatnot for firms, which built stuff in not only Tri Cities, but also in other places in the vicinity. The thing was with these companies, though, that the pay wasn't half what he was originally promised, and the fact that shortly down the road, the firms actually began to cut hours, so he would never bring home a steady amount that we all could plan on, or whatever. But when I tell the other part of the whole story, people immediately assume it was because my dad did a piss poor job, or that he was antisocial. My dad always did a very good job; hell, he even loves the work that he does within the construction field. However, while Quentin and I would at least attempt to be friends with people that went to our schools, only to be shot down, my dad never really tried to do this at all. It wasn't that people loathed my dad at his work, and it wasn't that he didn't work well with a lot of these people. It was only that my dad really had no desire to hobnob with the vast majority of his co-workers, because he knew that a lot of them were into some bad things, partied way too much, and even some had some lengthy criminal records. Therefore, while he didn't judge or keep his distance, my dad would work with them, but would generally keep to himself the vast majority of the time. While he saw nothing wrong with this, and despite the fact that he did get along with his co-workers when he had to, his bosses always gave him the same lame ass excuse; 'You're not a team player.' This, of course, was followed by being informed that the company had become low on work, and that his position had been eliminated. As a result, while he took the idea with a little bit of hostility at first when my mom brought it up, my dad began to come to terms with the fact that possibly some people could convey his refusal to really put himself out there and make friends with his co-workers as being anti social. So, now that he not only scored a kick ass position, working for a company that gets hired to build state and huge federally funded projects like schools, city halls, amongst other additional public and private projects, and that we will be starting anew in a whole new town and a whole new atmosphere, my dad made a vow that he, too, will be turning over a whole new leaf, becoming the personable, social butterfly that he's always wanted to be. And then, there's my mom, who will be starting out doing what she has been doing for a long time now; cashiering at a department store. However, when we get all things settled, and my dad starts making the really good money, she's either going to go down to working part time or quit all together, then go back to school. Contrary to popular belief, if was not my mom's choice, or lack of judgment in making her choices in life that brought her to this point; that is, being in her late forties and working the front end at a shitty department store. Actually, my mom finished, out of approximately five hundred people in her graduating class, number eight; in other words, pretty damn good. Based exclusively on her hard work, my mom scored a full ride scholarship to go to school to become a nurse. However, while she was ecstatic, she learned that the position involved a lot of heavy lifting and running around. And, since cerebral palsy limits somebody's ability to do these things, and it gets much worse as a person with it gets older, my mom, unfortunately, had to give it up. My mom has been working since the age of seventeen; and has never even backed down ever since. Hell, in the roughest time of their marriage, before my dad got his first job working in construction and was flipping hamburgers to make ends meet, my mom, while pregnant and taking care of Quentin and I before we were old enough to go to school, was selling Avon cosmetics and things out of the house. My mom sure as hell doesn't want to quit work; she just wants to do something where she can actually sit down, because standing like she does for long periods at a time really does take a toll on her body. She doesn't know exactly what she wants to do, but she does know that very soon after my dad begins his job, and it's secure, she will be eager to tell her boss the good news. So yes, a new leaf turned over for all of us; I just hope nobody's will turn brown anywhere down the road anytime soon. BUT HEY...it's now almost five in the morning, and I really must at least rest and take it easy before I get behind the wheel later on. All I can say is, thank God for caffeine! The next time I write, it will be either tonight in the hotel, or maybe in a couple of nights when we get into the new house. Until then, take care!"

When Cade finally finished penning everything that was on his mind, he peered over to the clock on the nightstand to see that it read 5:01 am. It always was a thing that never failed to relax him, especially when it was too early or late to play an instrument. Also, whenever he couldn't sleep, Cade always had, ever since he got his first fancy hardcover journal for his eleventh birthday, used it as an effective most of the time sleep aid. This time, however, effectiveness was not the case. Given the circumstances; in being so excited, and eager to wake up, pack into the vehicles and start driving, neither one of the boys could fall asleep. Quentin poked around on some online forums, reading, replying, and leaving messages for people that had incited flame wars, expressing hostile thoughts about one of Quentin's favorite rappers. Both brothers then quietly carried on a conversation about this.

It always had annoyed both brothers, and even their parents, when other people would express ideas such as it being somewhat weird that both Quentin and Cade shared not only very similar interests, but also tastes. After all, both listened to every music under the sun, studied music extensively, and immersed themselves into different cultures surrounding respective genres. And as mentioned before, both also wanted to make music their lives; Cade, going to school to become a music teacher, while Quentin already planned to go to school, with the end result being him opening up his own record store. Both shared these tastes, religious beliefs, and could easily hold down long, stimulating conversations, along side the typical brother to brother subject matter. On the other hand, while both had a lot of similar tastes, Quentin had a little more hip hop and rhythm and blues in his collection, and Cade had a little more of a fancy to alternative and independent rock music of all shades. This also could be evident in taking a look in their bedroom closet and walls. The posters on the walls touted scenes from movies about hip hop culture, color photos of various rappers, groups from different sides of the spectrum under the alternative rock umbrella, and those advertising movies like The Wall and Empire Records. Then to the closet, Quentin's side housed a lot of button downs and jeans, but then also a couple of baseball caps, and several tops and bottoms from brands like Fubu, Enyce, Rocawear, and South Pole. Cade's side also had jeans and button downs, but blended in were flannels, rock band shirts, and his favorite corduroy jacket (that he was told he could not wear to Columbia because it posed a safety threat to others), which had been adorned with not only patches of his favorite groups, but also with metal spikes and studs, as kids had begun doing during the early days of punk.

"Quentin! Cade! Are you guys up?" followed a loud knocking on the opposite side of the door, right as the clock hit 7:36. Quentin came to the door. "Hey, hun! Are you guys ready to start packing it up? We gotta hurry, 'cuz we're leaving at about 9:30. Our appointment with the title company is at two thirty in Spokane, so we really gotta get a move on. Both brothers predicted the morning would be hellish. Without wasting any time, both of them started bringing instruments out of the room, and gently setting them in the bed of Cade's truck. Soon enough, all of the things that everyone intended to pack and bring to Spokane themselves was packed either in the bed of the Ranger and under a tarp, or in the back of the minivan. Cade's watch then hit 9:02.

"Hey, Mom; do you think I'd have the time to make some coffee and get it in my system before the moving men get here and we take off?"

"Cade, honey; the coffee pot is packed; we can stop somewhere in town before we get on the freeway and leave this town for good. And hey, it's not my fault that you two stayed up all night, and you now feel dead inside!"

"Ma; we couldn't sleep. Both of us were so excited. That happens when I'm eager to do something.

"I know, I know. But I still don't get it; your dad and I slept just fine, and we're just as excited as you guys are!"

"Alright; you made your point!"

Finally, at 9:18 am, a smaller box truck, but not the 18-wheeler that would be carrying the contents of their former home to the new home in Spokane, parked on the side of the road. Out of the cab poured three younger, bulky men in matching white van line uniforms and baseball caps. Everyone shook hands and made acquaintances, but knew full well that everyone that day had work they had to do. As the three men began bringing in brown boxes and packing tape, all members of the Wolenski family filed out of what was their home for nearly all of their sons' lives. A lot of memories clung themselves onto the walls of that house. In a way, while nobody in the family was going to miss the Tri Cities in any respect, they would miss this house. After all, it was, amongst other things, the first place that Paul and Kimberly purchased together as a married couple. It was the place where both boys grew up not only as people, but also learned everything they knew in playing and getting as good as they were at that point on all of the instruments they played. It was where Todd lived all of his life thus far; except for the first five weeks when he was too small and immature to be weaned away from his mother. Most of all, it is the place where the entire family went on their roller coaster ride of ups, downs, triumphs, tribulations, extreme highs, and rock bottom lows. Still, no matter what, this had been home for nearly seventeen years (Cade would be turning seventeen ten days thereafter), and it would be sorely missed. Then again, in moving to the big city, all of them knew that there was a lot more to look forward to than just making a much bigger and more spacious house into a home.

"Paul, just make sure that Todd's on a leash and he's got his collar on. And don't forget a blanket so he can be comfortable!"

"Don't worry, Kimberly; I got a blanket, and I've got him right here.

A few things were packed into the trunk section of the van. The backseat, however, would serve as a temporary palace fit for a king; or at least in this case, a Beagle. Everyone bid their final farewell to the place that each member had sufficiently out grown over time, in more ways than one. Cade then helped his mother into the passenger side of the van, while Quentin brought a basket of toys and water dish and set them in back for Todd.

"By the way, boys," Kimberly began, in addressing both of her sons.

"What is it, ma?" Quentin questioned.

"Just wanted to let you know that you are not to panic when we get to the new house. I found a buyer for you guys' bunk beds. They gave me the money, and, while the moving men are doing their thing, they're coming to pick it up. The first thing we're doing when we get there and get to the house is find you two beds."

"Excellent! Are we both getting full sizes?"

"Of course; you two are nearly grown men; there's no way in hell that I'd get you little twin ones."

"Sweet!"

Everything was finally packed, and the family was ready to roll. While Paul had made the drive several times, Cade, on the other hand, had never driven such a long distance in the year that he had his driver's license. Paul, trying to alleviate some of this anxiety, simply instructed his son to follow them in the van, but just be careful driving up the highways, which had speed limits of seventy miles per hour the vast majority of the time. With that, everyone was in their vehicles, ignition was on, and they were rolling, for the last time, out of the Beaten Path Trailer Park. Moment by moment, the van and truck inched closer to the freeway entrance, ready to blast off into a whole new land...that is, after some well-needed caffeine.