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Moving-New-Home

The Road Home

Vast green plains and tall grasses are spread out in front of my vision The sky outside is a blood-red color. Slowly, I close my eyes and let a mercifully cool breeze blow on my face through the open car window. I open my eyes and stare out at the landscape spread out around me. Vast green plains and tall grasses are spread out in front of my vision. The scarlet sky is streaked with pink, orange, and purple. The light of the fast-setting sun reflects off my stormy gray eyes. The shine makes my brown hair look red. “What a beautiful place,” I breathe. Then I remember with a jolt. If my family and I hadn’t got evicted, I wouldn’t be here, right now, in this un-Montana-like place. I sigh quietly, and then unintentionally go over yesterday’s events in my mind. The giant, horrible eviction notice, which seemed to cast shadows over the lawn. The landlord with the nasal voice. My sobbing mother. Why did this have to happen to us? Every day my parents tried to make ends meet, but they failed to do so. We had lost our house and were now on an unfamiliar road, in an unfamiliar place, driving west in the oldest pickup truck in history. My parents had informed me and my three-year-old sister, Lizzie, that we were going to live at our grandparents’ house in eastern Washington for a while until they could find jobs here. Originally they had both been working at an office in Montana, but the company just didn’t work out. After thinking about all this, I smile sadly. My parents always told me I was a thinker, not a speaker. I strongly agree with them. Suddenly, the car starts spluttering up a storm and then starts jolting back and forth, back and forth. I knew we should have stopped for gas when we passed that gas station about an hour ago. Lizzie wakes up from a nap from her purple car seat and starts wailing. This long car drive has been really hard on her. Honestly, we’ve been driving for at least nine hours! Poor Lizzie, I thought. Lizzie’s face is screwed up and tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her sandy-colored hair is coming out of her pigtails. Lizzie had remained quiet for this entire trip, but this was the last straw. My mom reaches around from her seat in front of me, takes Lizzie’s tiny hand in her own, and speaks softly. “Don’t worry, Lizzie; it’s only one more mile.” “One more mile,” my dad says out loud, patting the dashboard. “Hang in there, Blue.” Blue is the name I gave our red vehicle when I was two and had just started talking. Mom and Dad thought the name was so cute they started calling our truck the same thing. “Allie?” Dad questions me. “Are you still there?” “Oh, yeah,” I reply with a yawn. “What time is it?” “About nine o’clock,” Mom says. The car shudders again, and I clench the sides of my seat with tight fists, urging the car on with my mind. “Come on,” I think with every ounce of my brain. “Please.” Dad steers the truck down a gravel road and says as the car shudders once again, “We’re here!” “Woo-hoo,” I say in a semi-excited voice as Dad pulls down a long driveway in front of a modest-sized house. As if on cue, our old car chokes on the last bit of gas, and then dies. “Whew,” Mom exhales a sigh. “That was a close one. Come on, Lizzie, let’s go say hello to Grandma Joy and Grandpa Rob. Mom gets out of the car and then picks up Lizzie from her car seat and starts walking towards the house. By now Lizzie has calmed down and looks around with green curious eyes. Dad gets out of the truck and opens the car door for me. “Come on, honey,” he says softly. I hop out of the car onto the driveway. Ah, solid ground again, I think to myself. The sky is now much darker, and stars are beginning to peep out from behind their dark veil. Lights are shining from inside the house, their light dances on the front lawn through the window. The smell of white-chocolate-chip-and-macadamia-nut cookies is beginning to waft through the open door. I turn to face my solemn-faced father. He stares up at the house with a glazed expression. “So this is going to be where we live?” I ask him. “For a little while,” he replies. He gives me a hug and whispers, “Welcome home.” Hannah Ogden, 13 Sammamish, Washington Victoria D’Ascenzo, 12Lincoln University, Pennsylvania

This Summer

“Dad? Where will we move?” I ask, taking the liberty of cleaning the table CHAPTER ONE DISASTER FALLS “I call this room!” I yell so everyone knows which room I had claimed for myself. My brothers and sister run up the stairs so that they too could declare their rooms. I look out my window, seeing the big moving truck pulling into our driveway. I love our new house. There’s a pool in the back and still room for a nice big backyard. The front yard has a rose bush that gives the entryway that perfect look. I can’t wait for our new life to begin in this new house. The next day as we wait for our dad to come back with the dinner, I start going through my things. I take a picture out of a box labeled “Fragile: Handle with Care” and look at myself with my best friend. Then, I had just gotten my braces and my smile was a little awkward, but I love this picture anyway. And besides, Ashley, my best friend, only lives a block away now. “Rachel! Your father’s home!” Mom calls. I race downstairs, my stomach growling for food. “Yes, finally!” my older brother Jeremy says. We all eat our dinner happily. This is our first meal in our new house! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! “I’ll get that,” Dad says. He walks into the other room and picks up the phone. I can tell just by his face that something is wrong. He walks back into the dining room slowly with a frown on his face. “What’s wrong, dear?” Mom asks, concerned. He doesn’t speak for a moment; he just stares at his pizza. He finally says, “I’m sorry kids, but…” He doesn’t know how to say it. “I was just laid off,” he says slowly. Now the little ones don’t understand, but Jeremy, Mom, and I know what it means. It means we can’t live in our new house, the house that I had already grown to love, the house that was close to my best friend’s house, the house with a swimming pool in the back yard, the house where I had hoped to make many memories… *          *          * CHAPTER TWO MOVING OUT “Why?” I manage, trying not to choke on my orange juice. Mom is too shocked to say anything. Jeremy abruptly leaves the table and goes to his room. My food churns. I am bubbling with questions, though I know I should give Dad some respectful silence. “The company was bought by another, bigger company.” The twins, Monica and Michael, stop fighting with their forks. “What’s de matter, Mommy?” they chorus, looking concernedly at Mom, her eyes red, trying to hold back tears. Seeing Mom not being up to answering, I say quietly, “Dad got fired. He can’t go to work anymore, and he… doesn’t get paid.” “So? Now he can play with us!” shouts Michael happily. I shake my head. “It’s not like that. He won’t get paid, and he can’t pay for the house expenses.” The twins begin to get it. Monica breaks into tears. “Where we gonna go, then, Rachel?” she sniffs. Dad and Mom are talking quietly now. I usher the twins to their rooms. “Dad? Where will we move?” I ask, taking the liberty of cleaning the table. He sighs. “I don’t know any more than you, sweetie. For sure not back to our old house.” My heart sinks to my stomach. “So we’ll probably move to the cheapest place we can find. Renting. Maybe in the country.” My heart finishes the drop to my toes. I burst into my room, sobbing. Reaching for the phone, I dial the number I know so well. “Ashley? Yes, it’s me. Hi. I know I said we were… Yes, but something’s come up… Oh, Ashley! My dad got fired… No, I don’t know why! No, it’s nothing he did! Wait!” But I am talking to no one. She hung up on me. I weep until my eyes are so puffy I can hardly see. The next week is spent repacking everything and selling most of it at garage sales. The neighbors look at us weirdly as we sell our stuff. It is really obvious that we are moving. I bet some of the neighbors think we’re leaving the country after attempted bank robbery or something. Once I see Ashley peddling by on her bike. I am about to wave, but then I see she is with another girl, Megan. I stare wistfully after them as they round the corner. How could she do this to me? *          *          * CHAPTER THREE GREETINGS! Mom, are we there yet?” Monica asks for the fifth time. “No, dear, we still have half an hour left,” Mom answers, a little annoyed. “OK,” Monica says, a little disappointed. “Mom, are we there now?” Michael asks. I can tell that Mom is really getting aggravated. She doesn’t respond so Michael just goes back to playing with his action figures. I look out my car window and see literally nothing. There is just sand and road and a few tumbleweeds and the occasional farm. Mom said we were lucky that our closest neighbor was right next door, since most likely we would have had to go at least a couple of miles from any neighbors. I’m not looking forward to living on a farm with a tiny house. Dad had shown me pictures of our new home, and once I saw them, I really wasn’t looking forward to living there. I fall asleep until we get there. Then Jeremy wakes me up and I quickly get up to see my new house. I stare at it in disbelief. “Mom, seriously. This is where we have to live?” I moan, raising my eyebrows. The house itself isn’t that bad, OK, yeah, it is that bad. It has one bathroom, three tiny little bedrooms (and that includes the master bedroom), the kitchen

Different City, Same Stars

I jolt awake when I hear the stewardess’s too perky voice come over the plane’s intercom system. “We will be landing in New York in just about fifteen minutes. I hope you all have enjoyed your flight thus far…” I zone out when she starts to ramble on about the weather conditions and time in New York. My dad realizes I’m awake and turns to me. “Welcome home,” he says. I give him a lame smile in return and hope he accounts its lack of cheeriness for sleepiness. But on the inside, all of me is frowning. New York is not my home. It never really was and it never will be. Colorado is home. Colorado was where I could lie on the roof in a sleeping bag and stare at the stars for hours. Colorado was where I kept a collection of newspaper articles and random doodles in a loose floorboard in my room. Colorado was where I grew up, despite the fact that I was born here, and where anything that ever mattered happened to me. *          *          * The airport we touch down in is like any other. Filled with people, smelling like dry bagels and tasteless coffee, and crowded with suitcases rolling along always clean hallways. As we make our way through the airport, Dad proceeds to tell me of his childhood here, the things he did, and the neighborhood he grew up in. I keep a few steps ahead of him so that he can’t see the grimace that contorts my face. Dad is just beginning a speech that I’m sure will go on for at least ten more minutes about where we’re moving in, and I can’t stand it anymore. As we make our way through the airport, Dad proceeds to tell me of his childhood here “Stop,” I say sternly, and it’s obvious my dad is taken aback by my tone. “I’m sorry…” I say, trying to soften my voice, “I’m just… tired.” He nods and stops talking, but I’m sure he’s continuing the conversation in his head. For the past six months, since the unimaginable happened, he’s taken to filling up empty space with words; endless chatter and meaningless conversation. I think it’s his attempt to keep his thoughts away from what happened, but there’s no way he’s not thinking about it. The sudden death of your wife—and the mother of yours truly—is hard to ignore. So it’s not a huge surprise when he starts chatting again when we climb into the taxi. “Oh, Sam! You and I, we’re going to have the chance to start over here.” There’s an emotion in his voice that I can’t pinpoint, but it makes me think of bitter, day-old coffee. “New York is where we belong. It’s where I grew up, and where you were born. This is good for us, I promise.” He reaches over to give my hand a reassuring squeeze, but I yank it away at his touch. Dad sighs and keeps talking, but the thoughts that crowd my brain are louder than his words. I have the same lean frame as my dad, but my features match my mother’s. Creamy skin, dark hair, a small nose, and the same clear blue eyes that are the color of a cloudless summer day. But my mother and I have more in common than that. She and I both believe in living in the moment. Traveling, creating art, leaving a mark on the world—that was her kind of thing. And New York is the place she would love to be, but instead of being here with her, I’m here because of her. Or more precisely, because of her death. When my head clears, and I’m confident the tears will stay put, I tune back into real life. Dad’s now pointing out specific locations and landmarks. The taxi driver keeps flicking his eyes up to the rearview mirror, eyeing Dad. He looks just as irritated with the never-ending chatter as I feel. Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to deal with it as often. Soon we are pulling up to the squat brick apartment building and I am relieved to escape the small taxi. The man who drove us stops the car with a slight lurch and walks around to the trunk. He hands us our suitcases and accepts the payment nicely enough, but says nothing and pulls away quickly. The landlady who meets us at the door is a short old woman with hair that looks silver and brushes over her shoulders when she moves her head. Her eyes are wide and bright blue, like she’s still searching for something in her old age. When we enter the small lobby area and set our stuff down, she introduces herself. “Hello! I’m Ms. Fink, but please, please call me Rose.” “Thank you, Ms. Fink. I’m…” my dad starts. “Mr. Michelson and his daughter, Samantha,” she smiles warmly at us, and I feel welcomed, not just into the apartment building, but into this new life. My heart readily welcomes the feelings but I shove them away, telling (reminding) myself I do not belong here. “Welcome to Willow Falls Apartments,” she continues. “You found your way here well enough, I hope?” “Yes. I was wondering…” “Great!” Rose interrupts Dad again and I can’t help but smirk. Looks like she might give him a taste of his own medicine. “ I’ll get your key,” she says, disappearing into an once on the left of a long hallway. When she reappears, Rose is holding two dull-looking silver keys and hands them to my dad, telling him, “You’ll be in apartment 3B,” and pointing us towards the stairwell. Calling the apartment building Willow Falls makes it sound luxurious, but it’s no more than a four-story row house stuck in the middle of a street full of average-looking homes. The kind of homes families would live in, I can’t help but think.