Chapter Text
New school. New city. New life.
Those three sentences would not leave my mind. They were like a never ceasing chant, a witch’s spell cursing me to the ends of the Earth. They mocked me as I placed the last box into the back of the SUV. The last box that was tying me to the world I had grown up with, and as I closed the hatch, I lamented the new life ahead of me.
Also, the long car ride.
It was annoying enough to drive two to three hours through Snoqualmie Pass to get to Seattle from Yakima; I didn’t know how I was going to handle 16 hours – more depending on how long/often we stopped for food and potty breaks – on the road. Why my dad didn’t just buy the $800 plane tickets was a mystery to me.
Dad never gave me a concrete reason for why he’d rather drive to Southern California just like he never game me more than “unfinished business” as his reason for making me move over 1,000 miles away two days before the start of senior year. Well, technically, I had an extra week until school started in California but that’s not the point. The point is my dad is an asshole.
At least I didn’t have to drive.
After one particularly intense argument – and the destruction of the Italian coffee table – it was decided that if dad insisted on taking the long way about it he would be the one behind the wheel. And I would choose all food stops, no matter how much out of the way they were – within reason.
“Malia, was that the last box from the house?” Dad asked me once the back hatch was closed. A glare was my only response before I sat in the passenger seat and slammed the door to the passenger side of the SUV. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I refused to look at my dad as he got into the SUV, but I caught the smile he sent my way in my periphery. I ignored it. He growled at me. I smirked.
All my life I’ve observed the world around me. I am content sitting by myself watching others live their lives. I was never lonely when I observed the kids around me in the park; my imagination was enough to keep me company.
On those long car rides with dad to Seattle, I would watch the trees through the window and imagine many different stories during those silent hours in the car. Dad and I rarely spoke while we drove. It was peaceful, a companionable silence.
This car ride would be silent but it wouldn’t be companionable.
Staring out the windshield, I watched the neighborhood I grew up in pass me by one last time. I soaked in the images so that I would never forget them and the memories that came along with them.
We drove past the tree in front of the Guerrero’s house where Jesus and I spent the majority of third grade climbing up it to see who could go the farthest, or who could stay in the tree the longest. One time I even stayed the night in the tree. Dad brought me a sacked lunch and my sleeping bag and camped out on an adjacent branch. That was the night dad taught me how to find the different constellations in the night sky.
When we got to the end of the street, we stopped at the battered stop sign that Janie and I used to pelt snowballs at in fifth grade until the police caught us. I remembered the short ride in the police cruiser and the disappointed look on dad’s face. He didn’t ground me, but I tell by dad’s behavior that he disapproved of the cops bringing his daughter home. From that day forward, I made sure to keep my nose clean.
We turned left toward 1st Street – and the freeway – I saw the park where dad taught the neighborhood kids and I how to play basketball after the city paved over the public pool to put in a shit load of basketball courts. I’m still pissed about that. No one in our neighborhood could afford more than a kiddy pool. They did put in a small water park but it’s pretty much just a bunch of oversized water sprinklers shaped like elephants. It’s fucking stupid.
All the memories were hard to think about. So many good times with people I’d never see again. I thought I had another year to spend with everyone before we went our separate ways after graduation. The two week notice dad gave me about the move wasn’t enough time. Any amount of time wouldn’t have been enough.
When we turned onto the freeway, I turned back to take one last look at Yakima. I would miss it.
Goodbye Yakima, Beacon Hills here I come.