Moving (A True Experience)

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For me, the thought of moving was like taking off my prescription glasses and looking at life all blurry. I just couldn't see it and at first, the thought alone didn't sit well with me. We were sat at the marble dining room table, eating spaghetti, when she dropped a bombshell on us. My heart exploded. My mom had told us that she'd be signing the lease for our new house the very next day. She'd told us that we'd have exactly two weeks to pack. I didn't have to look at her or my sister to know that they were smiling. I wanted to say something, anything, but my tongue was heavy with cement. Two weeks wasn't enough time. I was terrified.

The first week was chaotic. Boxes were cluttered around the house. The big furniture was already out of the house and into our new one. My sister and I had yet to see the house. I guess Mom wanted it to be a surprise. Some surprise. The second week came before we knew it, the house was empty. Which is how I felt inside. As we discussed what we truly needed, our voices echoed off of the dusty wooden walls. I noticed that the house didn't have the same warmth it held over the years. It was drafty. It didn't even have Mom's clean linen air fresheners lying around to make it smell like home. Didn't even feel like home. It'd no longer be.

Every time mom and I spoke, her smile reached her eyes, I'd grimace behind her back. The idea of a new start was exciting for them. New city. New people. New neighborhood. But, I've always been the one in the family to turn my nose up at change. Until one day. I was in my room about to draw on the wall that once displayed pictures and a poster of Michael Jackson, when my sister came in sauntering. She held a framed photo in her small hands. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as she handed it to me. I looked down at the photo and it was all of us, taken on her 6th birthday. We were smiling at the camera, she had cake smeared on her lips, her dimples were popping out. I smiled at the memory. I realized I wanted them to feel sad about the fact that we were moving. Actually seeing it made me feel guilty. I asked her how she felt, she told me that our new house wasn't far, we can visit and we'd get through it together.

I looked around my empty room, the one I've slept in for 7 years. I smiled at her. I knew I was somewhat overreacting and wasn't alone. I looked down at the sharpie in my hand and wrote on the wall where my bed once was. "Jay was here." And I was. A part of me will always be there. I knew it wouldn't be so bad after all.


story word count: 501 words

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