Moving-New-Home

Going Home

In the blink of an eye, one chapter of your life changes into another. Someone that you knew since you were a toddler becomes a stranger. A place that you’ve memorized by heart becomes unfamiliar. And you, you’ve changed so much that your childhood best friend wouldn’t recognize you if you appeared right before them. It’s been three years since I’ve felt the North Carolina air around me, three years since I last said goodbye to my closest friends, three years since I left my native home. I expected everything to be the same as I left it. I expected everyone to be who they were back then. Only after my brief visit back home did I finally come to realize that I expected too much. As we drove past the tall, looming trees and the wide, dusty lanes, my parents pointed out all the different things that they remembered. I didn’t remember anything. Only as we entered our old neighborhood did I finally have memories pushing themselves to the front of my mind. Home, I thought, I’m finally back home. Familiar houses passed us by, well-known paths and gardens seemed to welcome us back warmly. Yet, something had changed. I just didn’t know what. All my friends welcomed me back with friendly smiles and familiar words All the adults gushed about the changes in my appearance, notably my height. All my friends, who were all grown up themselves, welcomed me back with friendly smiles and familiar words. They filled me in on all the things that I’ve missed out on and on all the changes of our community. They all seemed like strangers to me, it seemed like I was meeting them for the first time. But as the days passed, their facades disappeared, and they became, once again, the people that I knew so well. The people who I could tell my innermost secrets to, and the people who I shared all my childhood memories with. My love and care towards them returned and our friendships were revived. One night, we were all crowded around the television screen, watching the intensity of the basketball game on television. Our home team, which we all loved deeply, against some unknown college. We cheered as victories were made and groaned as the other team gained points. We were all on the edges of our seat as the final minutes of the game came upon us. When we won only by a narrow margin, we exploded, cheering like mad. Only then did memories of our past come swimming back at me. They all told me that Texas had changed me, that I was an entirely different person. My love for pop music slowly gave way to the fun country songs. Healthy East Coast dishes gave way to fried foods and steak. My hair grew out, I adored shopping malls and makeup, my clothing style became unknown to them. But at the end of the week, they too realized, that deep down inside, I was still that little girl who cherished her stuffed animals and saved every blemished photograph in her memory box. On my last day in North Carolina, I sat down on the little bed and thought. I thought about how much everyone had changed, about how much I, myself had changed. I had made plenty of new friends, and I wouldn’t give up my new Texas home for anything. I had eventually moved on and became a different person. But then, as I waved goodbye to all the people that I loved, a little voice inside my head reminded me that, only here is where my heart truly belongs. Only here is home. Note: This story is a sequel to “Moving On,” which appeared in the January/February 2005 issue of Stone Soup. Caroline Lu, 13Friendswood, Texas Olga-Teodora Todorova, 12Plovdiv, Bulgaria

We’re Moving

“We’re moving.” The words fall with a dead thud on my ears. I can’t believe it’s happening. The possibility has been there for weeks, months even. But I never thought it would happen to me. “Why?” I choke. “You know how long your father has been searching for the right job,” Mom says apologetically. “We prayed that it would be near here, but it didn’t turn out that way.” All I can do is nod numbly. This house has been my home for all of my twelve years. All my friends are here, all the places I love are here, everything I’ve ever known is here. I stare out the window at night and can’t imagine being in a different place. “You’re down in the mouth today, Lucy” my best friend Grace says cheerfully to me at school the next day. “What’s up?” “We’re moving,” I reply in the somewhat deadened voice that has become mine since the announcement. “You’re not serious!” Grace exclaims, but I can tell that when she looks into my eyes, she knows it’s true. *          *          * The yellow sign goes up in our yard the next week. Every time I walk past it on my way home from school, the bold words, FOR SALE, glare at me mockingly Mom and Dad fill the kitchen table with printouts of house descriptions near this new job of Dad’s. “I’ll write every day,” Grace promises as she helps me pack one afternoon Springfield. We’re moving to Springfield, Illinois, a place I know only vaguely as the capital of its state. It’s just a word on paper to me; how could I soon be living there? Rockville—now that’s home. The new house is soon picked out. Dad has to fly to Springfield for some sort of interview; Mom jumps at the chance to look at the house she wants. I spend the entire plane ride praying that something will be wrong with the house. It’s too fast, I plead silently. This is all happening too fast. Can’t I have a little more time? No such luck, though. The house is perfect. Somewhere inside me, I knew it would be. Mom spent hours gushing over it back at home. My home. Not this strange place that I have to go to. She brings me to see the new place on the last day of our “vacation.” I am surprised to see that the people who own it have a daughter, just my age. An only child, just like me. We look shyly at each other, and I realize that the same daze of moving that I’ve seen in my eyes is in hers as well. Silently, imperceptibly, we make a connection. But we’re both too shy to say a single word. *          *          * It’s back to Rockville then. For a few blessed weeks, I am able to forget about the whole business of moving. No one is interested in our house, and it takes a while to buy the new one. Grace and I chat and laugh as if things aren’t different. Still, inside, we both know that it’s not the same. I begin boxing up my things that week. The sale on the new house —I still don’t think of it as mine —went through, and the old family has already left. Mom wants to get everything ready for Moving Day, June 15. Now I know it’s real—the awful day has a date. Finally, it has sunk in. We’re moving. “I’ll write every day,” Grace promises as she helps me pack one afternoon. I look at her and nearly laugh at the absurd pledge. Everyone knows you can’t write every single day. Probably not even every single week. “E-mail me instead,” I suggest. She laughs, and for a brief instant, I am happy. *          *          * It’s the night before. All day it was hot and muggy, and the night is no better. I am on a sleeping bag on the floor of my room—no, my old room. I have a new room now, I remind myself. One of those strange rooms in the Springfield house is mine. Somehow, I thought that taking possession of something in the unfamiliar house would give me something to look forward to. It doesn’t really help. I know that the new room will be just as empty just as forbidding as my room is now. Only worse, because it’s not mine. I clutch the letter in my hands, realizing the ray of hope it has given me We’re back at the airport bright and early the next morning. I have only my backpack, like a brick, slung over one shoulder. Everything else is in the moving vans. They left before I even got up. I always used to love flying in airplanes. Once a year, we would fly to Florida and visit my grandparents. To me, airplanes were fun, exciting, and exotic. But all of a sudden, I hate airplanes. This time, they’re taking me away from home and they’re not going to bring me back. After an agonizing stretch of time in the air, we’re in the Springfield airport. Dad drove the car with the moving vans, so we don’t have a way to get to the house. Mom hails a cab; she doesn’t want a rental car because then she has to worry about driving it back. The cab works out because the drive to our new house isn’t far so the cab driver can’t charge very much. Then I’m standing in the cavernous innards of the new house. I thought it was forbidding when there was furniture inside; now that it’s empty with only electrical outlets glaring at me from the bare walls, it almost scares me. “Why don’t you pick a room, Lucy?” Mom suggests, seeing the look on my face. “We can move your things into it as soon as the moving van gets here.” I nod and head for the second floor. Inside, I

Marblehead, Massachusetts

My bare feet dug into the scorching sand. Racing toward the glistening waves ahead, I sank my feet into sand that now was squishy and cold. The surf lapped at my feet and I wildly plunged in. The frigid water made my spine tingle, and goose bumps popped up on my arms and legs. That familiar salty taste flooded into my mouth. I moved with the tide, in and out, in and out, in and out. The gentle pull calmed me. Still, I didn’t stop treading, even when a wave toppled over me. I glumly sighed and disappeared into the water once more. Another wave rolled over me. I scurried out of the icy water and headed for our striped towel, which I draped over my shoulders. It was our last trip to the place I’d loved forever Hurrying toward the now empty playground, I scanned it for Ethan, my four-year-old brother. Spotting him, I dashed toward the swings that overlooked the sparkling water, where he sat playing in the sand. It was the end of another day, when the peachy sun glittered and set the whole sea on fire—oranges, reds, purples. Holding Ethan by the hand, I reluctantly tore myself away from the forlorn-looking swings that creaked in the wind. Staring at my mother sadly, we left. The ride home was a silent one. Ethan didn’t understand that it was our last trip to the place I’d loved forever. We were moving. Rebecca Vanneman, 11Lincoln, Nebraska Edye Wenwen Benedict, 12Newton, Massachusetts