Personal Narrative: Dr. Jones Home

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Dr. Jones’ house is on top of Blue Mountain, and looking down are the boundaries of the wild, Shenandoah River. As my mom and I get out of the car, I cover my eyes of the beaming sun that’s peeking behind the white, fluffy clouds.

“Oh my word, Lydia. Take at look at your psychiatrist house, it’s quite lovely, sweetie!” My mother exclaims in delight.

Putting my hands away from my eyes, I drink in her house like a mason jar of Moonshine, which I sneakily took a sip once at my Uncle Billy’s horse ranch in Pennsylvania.

Dr. Jones’ house has a bourbon texture, with four levels, and painted an extremely dark yellow. I also see the tip of the attic windows, kind of look likes pointy cat ears. It may portray a homey feeling, but I wasn’t buying
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She gently hugs me a quick goodbye, kisses me on my freckled cheek, and gets in her car. Are you kidding me!

She rolls down her tinted window, “Your older sister, and your dad and I will call you soon. Love you, sweetie, listen to your psychiatrist, she knows what’s best for you!” I slowly wave my hand in the air while my mom drives off. My vision starts to get blurry, but I wipe my tears off fast before Dr. Jones notices them.

“Time to come into your new, temporary home. Let’s go, doll face,” I trail far back behind her, turning my head around each time, just in case my mom might turn around and come back for me. She never did.

***

The inside of her place kind of reminds me of a frat house. Dr. Jones pushes me up the stairs before I could really explore the first level. As we reach the second floor, I see an open foyer room and a dining area with various ages of teenagers sitting at the table. I guess I’m just in time for
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“I don’t like different food groups touching. It’s just appalling, you know?” She explains to me, even though I didn’t question her actions. I nod my head for a response, which I’ve been doing a lot lately. Desiree seems too absorb with her dinner plate, so I don’t further a conversation with her.

I hear the kitchen door slam open, with an old lady popping out, and has a steaming dinner tray on the palms of her wrinkly old hands, “All right, you little shits! Which one of ya, is the new recruit that I got to feed?” I’m guessing that’s Nurse Harriet, given by the black apron and a white collar shirt.

I hesitantly raise my hand up, looking at Nurse Harriet wearily. She stomps her way towards me, towering over me by her larger size. She slowly puts my dinner tray in front of me, consisting of what everyone else is eating, plus a bowl of alphabet soup.

“Here you are, derie. Make sure you eat it all, or I will have to put an extra something for your meals for now on, ” Nurse Harriet gives me a sugary smile, showing her crooked teeth. I say, ‘yes ma 'am to her’, for a meek

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