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“Seems like a wise move.”
“It was a shame in a way, because she was one of the younger members of staff, and we probably could have become friends… if she wasn’t so mean.”
“Hmm… no-one needs friends like that, Zara.”
“No.”
“To be honest, I was getting bored by then, so I gave up listening.”
“I don’t blame you. Although I guess you’ll get to know everyone and their news eventually. It’s impossible not to in a small town.”
She’s probably right, but I’m in no hurry.
I feel like I’ve got enough to do as it is. What with a new job and a new home, the idea of meeting new people too is a little intimidating.
“How’s the unpacking going?” Mom asks. “Are you done yet?”
“Nearly,” I say, looking around at all the boxes.
“You mean you’re not finished? Honestly, anyone would think you’d been busy.”
“I have.”
“I know.”
“I guess I should probably get on,” I say, reluctant to end the call. “I need to get an early night.”
“You do. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I don’t need reminding, but we end our call and I replace my phone, my shoulders dropping as I look around the room.
Being busy is hardly an excuse for the state of this place. Like I said, it’s been ten days, and despite attending the teaching workshops last week, I’ve still had my evenings, and a couple of free afternoons, plus two weekends and the whole of today… so I’ve had plenty of time to unpack.
The problem is, I haven’t done it.
Why?
Because every time I start, my brain goes into overdrive about where I am and what I’m doing, and fear overwhelms me.
As well as being my first home, this is also my first job… my first attempt at getting it right all by myself.
Or maybe screwing it up all by myself.
Either way, it feels kinda ominous.
I don’t know why, though. Let’s face it, I was the one who decided to move here. I even went through the lengthy process of transferring my teaching license, so I could get a job. And once I’d done that, having impressed the principal with my grades, I found somewhere to live… this tiny, furnished house in Maple Street. The location is perfect, even if I could only get it on a six-month tenancy. There was nothing else available, but it’s enough for now, and the landlord made noises about letting me stay on for longer.
So, why is it I feel out of my depth?
I’ve been planning this for ages, and it’s supposed to be an adventure. That’s what I told myself… before the rollercoaster ride got real.
I shake my head, finishing my lukewarm coffee and I put the cup into the sink.
I need to pull myself together and stop being so pathetic. I chose this life. Hell… I even chose Hart’s Creek. There was nothing random about it. I made my selection because this is a small town, not a big city, and when the job of kindergarten teacher came up, it seemed ideal. The town might not be as small as the place where I grew up, but the population here is more than ten times what I’m used to. When I arrived for my interview, it felt enormous, but I reminded myself it wasn’t New York. It wasn’t even Burlington, and I’d spent four years studying there. No, Hart’s Creek was a chance to spread my wings in stages, instead of one big flight.
I just need a little courage to accept that I’m a grown-up, with a job and a home… and books that need unpacking.
It’s not as though I can even escape from them. At some stage, someone who’s owned this place has taken a strong dislike to internal walls, and had them all removed. You can see where they were, once upon a time, but there are none left now, other than the ones that disguise the solitary bedroom and bathroom, and the laundry room… which is more like a closet. That means everything else is on display, and keeping things tidy is going to be paramount. At the moment, my couch is hidden beneath several boxes… and that’s no-one’s idea of tidy.
