Separation Hurts, chapter 2
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I woke up the next morning, partially forgetting where I was heading today. I smiled to myself as my black cat, Charger, came up to me and started snuggling up to my face, his gentle way of letting me know that I have to get up. I picked him up and scratched him behind his ear, to which he purred very loudly. I set him on the floor, where he flew out of my bedroom and into the bathroom, where I was heading next.
I flopped out of bed and clumsily went over to my dresser, where I was going to pick out my clothes for the day. It was then I remembered where I was flying. California. One of the most horrible places anywhere on the Earth. I groaned and picked a tank-top and boy shorts, figuring if I wore pants I would be sweating to death under the California sun.
I walked into the bathroom to find Charger already up on the counter top that was surrounding the sink. I pet him on his head again and he purred. I closed the door, switched on the fan, and turned the water on. I got in the shower and was soon out without realizing that I was. It was sort of like I was zoning out while in the shower, I was thinking so much about California.
What would happen when I got there? Would I have to walk to my Aunt Marge's house, when I didn't even know where it was? Would I have directions? How would my flight go? I've never flown before. I was scared at the thought, but excited. Anything new was worth exploring, to find out what really lay beneath the surface. I smiled as Charger rubbed against my leg, obviously in a loving gesture, but getting a rude awakening as he got soaking wet since I hadn't fully dried off my legs yet. I laughed as he walked away and shook the water droplets off.
I got ready in a record time of 30 minutes and was stepping out the door as my dad came out of his room. Like I've said before, I don't contact my dad a lot, so when he said "Good morning," to me, it wasn't unusual for me to just walk away. I walked into my room and got out a couple of carry-on bags.
In case you were wondering, we lived on my dad's $40,000 a year salary, which isn't that much seeing as the "Free-Lunch" family salary was $35,000 and below. Didn't that make me feel wonderful. Oh well, nobody at my school knew this. I had a part-time job taking care of my neighbor's house when she was away, which was practically 300 days a year. My dad would have to do my job while I was away in California. He was honest, and he would probably send me the money I would have earned if I was there. Which was nice. Because my Aunt Marge was as rich as almost anyone could be (she lived in Rodeo, California) that wasn't a celebrity. And she wouldn't give me any leisure money either, because she'd want me to be a total copy of everyone that was on the retarded MTV show called "Laguna Beach". She was so stuck up, and always looking for boyfriends, that she never had any kids. Or, if she did, I've never heard of them and they live with their father, whoever that might be.
I packed all of my t-shirts, and most of my light, long-sleeved shirts so nobody would see my cuts. And, just to be on the safe side, as soon as I got to California (or as soon as I could manage) I would buy some body makeup to cover up what would have been showing. I packed some jeans, hoping that there might actually be some days where it wasn't sweltering hot outside. I loved my jeans to death (don't you dare laugh). I'm serious. They're what I feel most comfortable in. And comfortableness is higher on my list than stylishness.
I had my bags all packed when I trudged downstairs to get some breakfast. I opened the freezer, pulled out some frozen waffles, then closed the door to find my dad staring at me at the kitchen table.
"What?" I asked, placing the frozen waffles in the toaster and pulling down the knob.
"I just want you to know that I'm not deserting you. You can call or whatever, any time that you want. I still love you and I don't think you understand that," my dad said, still staring at me, the only part of his body that was actually moving would be his lips when they were speaking to me. He was doing the exact same thing I did last night, and it was eerie how well he could do it - so close to the way I did it.
"OK. I understand," I said, getting out some orange juice and pouring it into a nearby glass.
"You'd better. I don't want you to kill yourself thinking that you're alone in this world. Because you're not."
Yeah, right.
"Sure, dad. When am I leaving?"
"In an hour," my dad said, then got up and went into the living room.
Great, so I had some time to kill. What in the world was I going to do? I just ate my breakfast, thinking about the day ahead. I pushed all "What if..." thoughts aside and just concentrated on how I would act, how I would react to other people, and how I would make sure nobody messed with me. I didn't want anyone to think I was some vulnerable teenager going to California for spring break or anything. No, I could take care of myself, no matter what anybody else thought. I wasn't soft, I wasn't someone you could just walk all over. Or, at least, that was the impression I was going to give off.
After I finished eating, I only had 30 minutes until I was going to leave to go to the airport. I decided that I was just going to sit on the roof outside my window, watching the street in front of me. I climbed back up the stairs and unlocked my window when I heard meowing coming from under my bed. I looked, and sure enough, there was Charger, caught on the heating vent like usual. I just moved my bed and untangled him, and he followed me out the window. Charger sat on my lap, I stroked him, and we both watched the street in front of us.
Don't get me wrong, I mean, our street is pretty boring to the normal eye. But if you look closely enough, you see subtle differences that keep you intrigued for hours on end. I sat there and sat there, watching the clouds go by and the leaves rustling in the trees. Soon, my dad was calling me down to go to the airport.
"Dawn! Get down here! We have to leave right now!" he said. I just sighed, said good-bye to Charger, and scrambled back into my room. I picked up all my bags and trotted downstairs, a blank look on my face.
"Ready to go?" he asked me. I only looked at him in response, and then walked out the door and into the car, where I threw my bags into the backseat and put on my seat belt in the passenger seat. I didn't see the point in NOT wearing a seat belt. It would save your life in a car crash. There was a very minimal chance it could sever you clean in half, but then again life is full of tiny risks. I was willing to take that particular chance.
Anyway, back to the original story. It took about a half hour to get to the airport. During that time, my dad and I barely talked. I just listened to my outdated iPod. Dad listened to the car radio.
When we arrived at the airport, I had mixed-feelings about the trip ahead of me. Part of me was excited and eager to get on the airplane, the other part of me was reluctant and wanted to stay in Colorado. The state had always been my home! Never, in a million years, would I have thought that I was going to live in California. It would NEVER feel like my home. EVER!
We got through the x-rays and everything else all without hassle, which was good, and then we sat in the waiting room for what seemed liked forever. I listened to my outdated iPod and my dad was reading a newspaper.
As it is futuristically, there are little devices that come around the airport, programmed when your ticket is scanned to tell you when to go onto the plane. This little one, it's version obviously painted blue, pricked me lightly on my leg to let me know that I had to board my plane.
"Time to go," I told my dad. He nodded and stood up with me.
"You do know that I still love you?" My dad said again.
"Yes," I said, and gave him a reluctant hug when he pulled me in. The device kept pricking me, because I wasn't moving (all the glitches in the system haven't been worked out yet, because it pricks you until you start moving and it follows you onto the plane) so I finally said goodbye to my dad and walked onto the plane.
I flopped out of bed and clumsily went over to my dresser, where I was going to pick out my clothes for the day. It was then I remembered where I was flying. California. One of the most horrible places anywhere on the Earth. I groaned and picked a tank-top and boy shorts, figuring if I wore pants I would be sweating to death under the California sun.
I walked into the bathroom to find Charger already up on the counter top that was surrounding the sink. I pet him on his head again and he purred. I closed the door, switched on the fan, and turned the water on. I got in the shower and was soon out without realizing that I was. It was sort of like I was zoning out while in the shower, I was thinking so much about California.
What would happen when I got there? Would I have to walk to my Aunt Marge's house, when I didn't even know where it was? Would I have directions? How would my flight go? I've never flown before. I was scared at the thought, but excited. Anything new was worth exploring, to find out what really lay beneath the surface. I smiled as Charger rubbed against my leg, obviously in a loving gesture, but getting a rude awakening as he got soaking wet since I hadn't fully dried off my legs yet. I laughed as he walked away and shook the water droplets off.
I got ready in a record time of 30 minutes and was stepping out the door as my dad came out of his room. Like I've said before, I don't contact my dad a lot, so when he said "Good morning," to me, it wasn't unusual for me to just walk away. I walked into my room and got out a couple of carry-on bags.
In case you were wondering, we lived on my dad's $40,000 a year salary, which isn't that much seeing as the "Free-Lunch" family salary was $35,000 and below. Didn't that make me feel wonderful. Oh well, nobody at my school knew this. I had a part-time job taking care of my neighbor's house when she was away, which was practically 300 days a year. My dad would have to do my job while I was away in California. He was honest, and he would probably send me the money I would have earned if I was there. Which was nice. Because my Aunt Marge was as rich as almost anyone could be (she lived in Rodeo, California) that wasn't a celebrity. And she wouldn't give me any leisure money either, because she'd want me to be a total copy of everyone that was on the retarded MTV show called "Laguna Beach". She was so stuck up, and always looking for boyfriends, that she never had any kids. Or, if she did, I've never heard of them and they live with their father, whoever that might be.
I packed all of my t-shirts, and most of my light, long-sleeved shirts so nobody would see my cuts. And, just to be on the safe side, as soon as I got to California (or as soon as I could manage) I would buy some body makeup to cover up what would have been showing. I packed some jeans, hoping that there might actually be some days where it wasn't sweltering hot outside. I loved my jeans to death (don't you dare laugh). I'm serious. They're what I feel most comfortable in. And comfortableness is higher on my list than stylishness.
I had my bags all packed when I trudged downstairs to get some breakfast. I opened the freezer, pulled out some frozen waffles, then closed the door to find my dad staring at me at the kitchen table.
"What?" I asked, placing the frozen waffles in the toaster and pulling down the knob.
"I just want you to know that I'm not deserting you. You can call or whatever, any time that you want. I still love you and I don't think you understand that," my dad said, still staring at me, the only part of his body that was actually moving would be his lips when they were speaking to me. He was doing the exact same thing I did last night, and it was eerie how well he could do it - so close to the way I did it.
"OK. I understand," I said, getting out some orange juice and pouring it into a nearby glass.
"You'd better. I don't want you to kill yourself thinking that you're alone in this world. Because you're not."
Yeah, right.
"Sure, dad. When am I leaving?"
"In an hour," my dad said, then got up and went into the living room.
Great, so I had some time to kill. What in the world was I going to do? I just ate my breakfast, thinking about the day ahead. I pushed all "What if..." thoughts aside and just concentrated on how I would act, how I would react to other people, and how I would make sure nobody messed with me. I didn't want anyone to think I was some vulnerable teenager going to California for spring break or anything. No, I could take care of myself, no matter what anybody else thought. I wasn't soft, I wasn't someone you could just walk all over. Or, at least, that was the impression I was going to give off.
After I finished eating, I only had 30 minutes until I was going to leave to go to the airport. I decided that I was just going to sit on the roof outside my window, watching the street in front of me. I climbed back up the stairs and unlocked my window when I heard meowing coming from under my bed. I looked, and sure enough, there was Charger, caught on the heating vent like usual. I just moved my bed and untangled him, and he followed me out the window. Charger sat on my lap, I stroked him, and we both watched the street in front of us.
Don't get me wrong, I mean, our street is pretty boring to the normal eye. But if you look closely enough, you see subtle differences that keep you intrigued for hours on end. I sat there and sat there, watching the clouds go by and the leaves rustling in the trees. Soon, my dad was calling me down to go to the airport.
"Dawn! Get down here! We have to leave right now!" he said. I just sighed, said good-bye to Charger, and scrambled back into my room. I picked up all my bags and trotted downstairs, a blank look on my face.
"Ready to go?" he asked me. I only looked at him in response, and then walked out the door and into the car, where I threw my bags into the backseat and put on my seat belt in the passenger seat. I didn't see the point in NOT wearing a seat belt. It would save your life in a car crash. There was a very minimal chance it could sever you clean in half, but then again life is full of tiny risks. I was willing to take that particular chance.
Anyway, back to the original story. It took about a half hour to get to the airport. During that time, my dad and I barely talked. I just listened to my outdated iPod. Dad listened to the car radio.
When we arrived at the airport, I had mixed-feelings about the trip ahead of me. Part of me was excited and eager to get on the airplane, the other part of me was reluctant and wanted to stay in Colorado. The state had always been my home! Never, in a million years, would I have thought that I was going to live in California. It would NEVER feel like my home. EVER!
We got through the x-rays and everything else all without hassle, which was good, and then we sat in the waiting room for what seemed liked forever. I listened to my outdated iPod and my dad was reading a newspaper.
As it is futuristically, there are little devices that come around the airport, programmed when your ticket is scanned to tell you when to go onto the plane. This little one, it's version obviously painted blue, pricked me lightly on my leg to let me know that I had to board my plane.
"Time to go," I told my dad. He nodded and stood up with me.
"You do know that I still love you?" My dad said again.
"Yes," I said, and gave him a reluctant hug when he pulled me in. The device kept pricking me, because I wasn't moving (all the glitches in the system haven't been worked out yet, because it pricks you until you start moving and it follows you onto the plane) so I finally said goodbye to my dad and walked onto the plane.
