Your Gravity: Part One
“I love it!”
I set my guitar case on the ground and stood beside my best friend, Greg Miller, gawking at what was supposed to be Aunt Bernadette’s house. The cross-country drive from New York to Texas must’ve fried his brain cells, or maybe it was the blinding neon colored walls.
The house was a rainbow of colors. One side was a bright green with a series of peace symbols painted around each of the windows. What looked like Christmas lights lined the roof and wrapped around every inch of the purple front porch. A mass of wild flowers covered the yard, and to the far right there was a vegetable garden.
“This can’t be it.” I glanced around, searching for a street address.
It was hard to imagine that the person who lived here could be related to my mother. I could hear her now, saying something like, “It’s not befitting of an Ashford to live in a place like this.”
“Oh, look at that.
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