Prologue: Orilie Davis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My name is Orilie Davis, and I have a story to tell. You see, when my paw died in June all there was left was momma, and she ain’t no saint. We live in southern Alabama, middle of nowhere if you ask me. Although, one house stood beside us, empty of course but I didn’t mind. It was like a playhouse, an escape from my mother. It had a brown roof with red brick walls, the windows cracked in places and they were covered in dust. On the inside, a couple of old couches were left and an old oak table. One time, I ventured into the attic and to my surprise I found a single portrait. It was magnificently painted; it must have cost a fortune. It was of an old lady in an elegant white dress, pearls draped around her neck, and a hat perched on her head. And I thought, what would she be doing here?
I didn’t stay long because It spooked me, the eyes, I couldn’t take it. When I got home, my mother of course, was drunk, and once again I was her punching bag. Although she never hit me, her words cut right through me. In her eyes I was nothing but a worthless pig, a good for nothing daughter who would never make anything of herself. I actually started to believe it, now; I don’t think I believe in anything anymore. Paw was the only one who’d ever cared for me, but now, he was gone. He died of a heart attack, can you believe it? Sure, he smoked, but he wasn’t a chimney like momma is. I miss him.
When he died, momma just looked at him, like he was another stranger in the crowd. She didn’t care about him. All she cared for was how much money he left when he died. When she finally found out how much he had left, she lit up a cigarette and sat in paw’s old, torn, and plaid recliner. She looked between her knees and cursed and started beating the chair with her fist. She took the will and crumbled it in her bony, cold fingers and threw it on the ground. I picked it up when she wasn’t looking and I read it, a smile plastered on my face.
She couldn’t do anything that day to make me feel bad. Then the booze started to pour down her throat. Nothing new. She was an angry drunk and she could find no better a person then me to release it on. Oh, and by the way, paw left us zero dollars and the shack we called a home. But he knew I was turning sixteen and he left me his baby. Yes, his old 65 ford pickup. I’m glad he didn’t leave any money; my mother would have squandered it anyways. I never knew why he loved her.
That summer I went to his grave every day, mainly to get away from momma, but also because I missed him. His grave was in the middle of the cemetery, surrounded by some family I never knew of. The dirt wasn’t all the way down yet, but some grass grew in patches. I also planted his favorite flowers by the head stone. They were only red petunias, but he swore they were the prettiest in the entire world. The best thing there was this huge weeping willow tree, its branches hanged all the way to the ground. Sometimes I’d go just to sit under it and think about things, I liked to think. One day though when I got home, Momma was waiting with some man.
Momma introduced him to me and he just started at me like a disease. He didn’t treat me well. He was always dressed in a plaid shirt that I swore was too small for him. I was afraid a button would burst at any moment. He had a thick black beard that I wanted to strangle him by and an appetite for beer. I almost died when he spilt beer on the recliner my dad used to sit in. All he said was, “oops.” I hated him, I almost wished that he would have a fate that my father had. The worst thing was when he fawned over her, calling her, “Honey” and “Sweetheart”. It made me gag, especially when they’d kiss. I thought about running away, but who would I go to? My life was truly horrible, well, that is until I met our new neighbors.
They moved in sometime towards the end of the summer. Two of the loveliest people you could ever meet. They invited me inside and when I did, the home was nothing like I remembered it. Smiling portraits hanged on the walls. The floor was wooden, and a grand piano sat in a corner. Chandeliers decorated the place and the best decoration, was their son. Troy was his name, I first saw him while he was shirtless, washing his car. His muscles rippled down his body and his arms were perfect. His stomach looked like I could crack walnuts on it.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t go near him until later on in the week. I think he was the only person that made me smile since paw. Did I say I missed him? Anyway, he saw me looking at him and he smiled. His eyes looked like they could melt you. Heck, his body could have melted anyone. When he looked at me I blushed and I felt he could see every secret I had inside of me. I looked down and back up again, he was coming towards me.
So I'm going to do one of those annoying nit-picky things, then I'll come back later and actually do a review 
his grave? Or his coffin? How can she see him if he is dead? *Is slightly freaked out 
