If you drive south of Fevetteville, Arkansas you are bound to end up in a place called Greenland, a smaller city that's rich in crops. Keep driving  until the mountains meld with the horizon, the grass becomes a sickly yellow and the road becomes dirt. Keep driving eventually you'll end up in a place called Joyswood. Blink and you'll miss it. Its a small town, only 42 residents, one of the smallest in Arkansas, that's why no one really knows about it and to be honest even if they did no one would really care. Joyswood was one of those towns that you only see in movie, picturesque green patches of land line the narrow roads with cookie cutter houses planted in the middle, all almost touching. There was only two major buildings in Joyswood, a shop and a small church. On most days the church would remain empty, but every Sunday all the town folk in Joyswood crammed into the doors dressed in their best Sunday attire, the quiet church would be filled with music and hymns that echoed throughout the town amplified by the melody of an organ. 

          My parents who had recently decided to move from their small apartment in the city of Fevetteville to somewhere more suburban, they decided on Joyswood, naturally I protested at first but when my parents proved that there position was firm I was forced to stifle my opposition for fear of being unjustly grounded so I held my tongue and bided my time until I was old enough to move to a place more suited for me, or better yet until my parents decided they preferred the city but unfortunately they never did and I was forced to stay in Joyswood for 4 long years. The people of Joyswood were different from most people their hospitality was almost unnatural and their kindness almost saintly. I felt like I stood out while my parents blended seamlessly into the woodwork.

            In a way I felt rude for not conforming to Joyswoods ways but I was  still a teenager who could understand,but not yet mimic the mannerisms of adults. I missed the noise of the city, the hum of cars, people and bustling city streets.  I needed the noise to relax, you learn to tune it out, it becomes a dull roar, but in Joyswood ever single sound to me was like a deafening scraping, yet it was the quietest nights I found were the most irritating. The ringing of silence when it was inescapable was truly maddening. I had a type of cabin fever, suburban fever I suppose. But perhaps the most annoying thing was the weather. Joyswood seemed to run on its own system when it came to climate it was prone to small floods and showers of lightning. After 4 years I never really got used to it. We were all surprised when the worst storm hit like a mini hurricane. People were forced to stay in their houses huddling close to each other, not knowing when or if the storm would die down.