Personal Narrative: Moving Away

Leaving

It’s September of 2009, the semi-truck is sitting outside with all of our belongings in it, like an airplane waiting to take us away. Today is gloomy and raining as usual, but I know I’m going to miss it. The sun has started going down; we all get into the vehicles we’re designated. Me, my Dad, and Jade our Boxer into the truck, Mom Jaycee and the other animals into the car, and my Aunt Tina and Grandma into their suburban. It’s bitter sweet, I am so excited to go to a new city, new state, new everything, but I’m leaving behind everyone I grew up with. My closest friends who thought I was funny, not weird. Who I consider my brother, Daniel, and my mom’s side of the family all left behind. We begin driving, the truck brakes releasing

pressure every time we stop or go like a reminder that I am leaving home.

After about two minutes of driving and a little crying from everyone, I shout to my dad “deer, deer, DEER!” It is too late, we missed the deer but the oncoming SUV hits it right in the head. Little ten year old me is traumatized, I watch as too much of that deer is visible for my young eyes. We continue driving and reach McDonalds, the usual road trip go to, but it isn’t happy like fast food normally makes us feel. After we order food, my father goes into the bathroom; our food gets stolen because I didn’t know what number they would call. The whole family arrives at this time and mom is crying, because of the deer? Or because she is leaving behind all she has known? I have no idea, but I lose it when I discover that of course, the deer is dead. We hit the road and begin our journey to unknown land. I keep thinking; “why do we have to

do this”.

Adjusting
Today is August 2011,it’s been a few years. I have tried two different schools including at home. I can’t fit in anywhere; I’m starting my first day at Wilson Middle School in the seventh grade. I still have the mindset of that ten year old that left Oregon. I don’t know what’s “cool”, I am just me. The first day goes by and I’m shy, I’m the quiet kid. A couple of weeks go by and I begin to open up, I have made a few friends. I slowly begin to mature but I still feel like I’m behind, somehow. As I sit in band, playing my saxophone, I get called into the office, my mom is there. All my teachers are sitting there at an oversized conference table like a judges podium, observing. The whole thing is a blur; I remember crying, and yelling, and the words “Better” and “progressive” and “Sixth grade curriculum” being thrown around. I have to start over, again, because I can’t keep up. But on my first day of sixth grade, things feel better. I am no longer uneasy, I instantly start making friends and making everyone laugh. This is where I discover my identity; this is where I realize it’s up to me to make myself smile, and in turn, everyone else.

Tragedy

Whenever it rains in my life, it pours like a monsoon.

I walk into the house, Dad is on the phone. I am just getting home from an amazing time at my friend Dimitri’s house. I look at my dad’s face and notice something is wrong, he looks up at me and makes throat cut motion; “Torae is dead”. Daniel, my best friend in the world, fell in love with an older woman. I accepted that just like everyone else, we couldn’t change his mind and there was no proof of statchitory rape. She was pregnant at the time of her death, and I’m afraid I’m going to get a call telling me Daniel has taken his life as well. That call doesn’t transpire. Two weeks have gone by; school is starting a couple of days. There is commotion in the living room, and ten minutes later, we rush to the emergency vet and beg for them to save our dog’s life, they only care about money and won’t help. I can see the desperation in my Dads eyes and hear the pleading in my mom’s voice on the phone. I already know what’s going to happen, I’ve accepted it. A lot of crying, but it’s my call whether we try to let Ruby make it through the night, and I say no. My mom had to say bye at work. And as we drive home, Ruby is whining in pain and her eyes have glossed over. We arrive home and I wait, and wait, for the ring of the gunshot. I start digging, anger, sadness, grief; it’s all going into that shovel. There is a plan of growing a peach tree, in the location of her burial. She was our oldest animal from Oregon, and now she is

gone. I wish I could rise up and never fall, but it seems like it will never stop. Life seems to be an infinite rollercoaster.

Things could be better, but couldn’t they always? I am not that child that left Oregon. I’m someone better; I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. Nobody can change my image, only I can. In times of tragedy we get distorted like a mirror at a fun house. But I am still the one making that image, nobody else. I make sure to make myself smile, and try to help others to smile. These events played a key role in my process of finding myself, because you need experience to realize what to change. If you don’t got to life, life comes to you, changing the mirror is a one person job, your own.