A New Day

2

August 1990

I packed up all the comics left in my room and put them in a cardboard box. I carried the box into the living room and looked at my mom. She paced around the house, checking to see if we forgot anything.

"Why do we have to move?" I asked her.

"I told you, I got a job in San Francisco that has better pay."

"But what about dad?" There was silence. Mom took a huge sigh.

"Dad will always be with us, no matter where his grave lies." It wasn't often that I brought up dad. He died from a tumor when I was one. "Come on, hon. The truck is waiting outside." We loaded our final boxes in the back of the truck, got into our car, and followed the truck. I never once looked back at my childhood house. Goodbye Arizona, hello California, I thought.

Throughout the car ride, I mostly slept. A few times mom woke me up to see the scenery. I always understood it was hard for her, raising a child without a husband, but it didn't mean I made it any easier. We stopped a few times at gas stations to fill up the car and ourselves. I would sometimes buy comics while I was at the gas stations. I really enjoyed science fiction.

Well into the night the car stopped. I looked outside the window and saw a tall building. I then looked in front of me and saw yet another building. I glanced over across the street, noticing there were more buildings.

"Which one's ours?" I asked mom, concerned I'll never remember which apartment building was mine. She pointed across the street to the building directly aligned with us.

"That one,"

"What floor are we on?"

"The second floor," Mom said, reading an address on a piece of paper.

My first night in a new apartment was strange. I felt as if I was staying in a hotel, rather than actually living there. The place was a lot smaller than my old house. I shared a bedroom with mom. She had a king-sized bed and I had a queen-sized one. I woke up at around one in the morning, hearing loud sounds. It sounded like it came from the apartment below us. There was screaming between a man and a woman. I covered my head with my pillow, wondering why the walls were so thin.

I woke up late in the afternoon the following morning. I smelled pancakes. I got out of bed and went on over to our tiny kitchen.

"How'd your sleep go?" Mom asked me, flipping a pancake.

"Fine, mom," I told her, although my sleep wasn't fine.

"Listen, sweetheart, how about you eat some breakfast, then you can walk around outside, get to know the area."

I did exactly that. After I finished breakfast at lunchtime, I exited the small apartment and walked down the stairs. There was not even an elevator. I was glad we were only on the second floor out of seven. Walking down the stairs to the first floor, I bumped into a different guy. He wore a white button-down shirt with a plaid sweater over it, a bright red bowtie, khakis, and brown dress shoes. His cheeks were covered in red freckles. He wore a huge smile. His dark orange hair was neatly combed back, and his dark grey eyes sparkled when he saw me.

"Hey! You must be the new guy. I live right below you. My name's Joseph Mandela, but you can call me Joey if you want." I stood there startled. He talked so fast, I didn't know what he was saying. I had to take a moment to process everything. "How old are you? I'm fifteen. You look older than fifteen. What's your name?" His voice seemed way too high to be fifteen. Before I met him, I thought all fifteen-year-old guys had low voices.