A Day in the Life
Posted by David | Filed under Personal, Travel
There was a time I didn’t care about the next day, if it didn’t hold some special event or luxury. Disneyland, I looked forward to. School, I didn’t. There was no fear of what would happen a year or two from now. I was young, happy, and didn’t know better.
I didn’t care when Mommy came out and told us to pick our favorite toys and books, pack them up in the little brown boxes she had. I gave Dad a big hug when he got home from work, eager to tell us about a new place we were visiting, and a new job. I didn’t understand the empty spaces in the living room, or why our dinner table was gone from under the old, bolted chandelier.
When the big yellow truck showed up at our front doorstep, I knew something exciting was going to happen. I helped my Dad and brother load it up, with all our stuff; it was like playing with my Lego blocks, only on a larger scale. I wondered why, but dismissed the thought as unimportant.
I remember the first tinge of fear, when I told my friends about the new place my family was visiting. The looks on their faces bothered me. They asked questions I hadn’t thought of, made comments that were uncomfortable. I said I didn’t know. I said that I’d be back.
We started the trip across country on a Saturday, early, my parents, brother, sister and I. I sang as we went, from Virginia to Kentucky, and on throughout each state. We didn’t stop often, only once or twice for our dog, a little poodle we affectionately called Winnie. A year later we’d find out that Winnie was epileptic, but she was fine in Kentucky. We all worried about puppy motion sickness, and my brother and sister took turns holding her. I stayed up in the front seat.
I got excited each time we stopped at tourist traps: Mt. Rushmore, Wall Drug, the Badlands. I would run a little ways, then run back, always bouncing with energy and wondering what took my parents so long to catch up. I’d point out the weird or funny things I saw, insist that they take pictures, and asked Winnie’s opinion of everything. She never really answered.
It took a week to get to our destination, but I didn’t notice at first, still bothered by leaving my glasses in the hotel a few days back. We had arrived at our home; I only noticed another hotel. Dad booked a room, while mommy read us more of Hank the Cowdog’s adventures. I watched out the window, waiting for Dad to come back.
Our room held two beds, a TV, and a bathroom with a flickering light. It flickered when my hand was on the switch, at least. Mommy wasn’t impressed; my brother just laid back on the bed, and informed us all that it was his alone. All three of us kids slept in his bed that night.
The hotel became our home for the next fourteen days; my brother and I quickly learned where the vending machines were, and made our camp there. My sister practiced ballet in the ‘living room’ — the small space between our door and the bathroom. Mommy and Dad went to visit houses, with realtor books in hands. If one of them thought they had found the perfect home, they would bring us kids along. I learned quickly that the perfect home would eventually be whatever our parents picked, hopefully soon. I wanted the big houses with their fancy gates; they decided on a more modest home in a bigger neighborhood.
We moved in on a weekday; I remember not having school, and being glad. That ended a week later, when Mommy brought out A Beka’s books. I didn’t know Mr. Abeka personally, but already had a grudge against him. When the boxes were first being unpacked, I was a little worried about what had made it from the old house. I had two good friends who made the move with me: Tiger and Shoney Bear. We ate together, slept together, but they were big movie stars while I did homework. I was jealous.
Time went by quickly, Mommy busy with decorating the house, Dad already off to work at the new job. I started my old game of make-believe, turning our new house into a spaceship with a Trekkie bridge and a Star Wars holographic display. My old imaginary characters filled the new ship, and seemed to praise me for giving them a new home. I then thought about my real friends, and reality hit.
I cried that night, and a few after, thinking about Jonathan and our secret club with a not-so-secret handshake, Allison and Kristen who both insisted that they liked me and were still friends, and Zach, my bestest friend who had helped create my whole imaginary world. I would remember the times we all used to sit in class, writing down what the teacher wrote, and writing a lot of other stuff that we probably shouldn’t have. I remembered dancing on Zach’s coffee table, and being too afraid to kiss Kristen under the watchful gaze of our Christian school. Memories passed through my head, refusing to let me go, let me move on.
Seven years later, we moved again.
Tags: Badlands, Hank the Cowdog, Mt. Rushmore, Wall Drug
