1 Weaver Marissa Weaver Jeff Naftzinger ENC 1101-45 September 10, 2013 My Journey Adventure As we drive through the desolate lands of North Dakota with our trunk loaded down and backseat packed, I stare out the window not extremely aware of what is going on. Weeks prior to this god forsakenly long trip all of our stuff was packed up in boxes and gone. I finally got up the courage to ask my father what was going on, and he knew at five years old I wouldn’t understand fully, so instead he told me we were going on an adventure. When we first started this “adventure” I was all for it, but now that we’ve been in the car for sixteen hours my stomach is churning and I just wish that it was almost over. The sun begins to set to the left of us and I fight to keep my eyes open, but they feel as if there are a hundred pound weights attached to each eyelid. Pitch darkness surrounds me when I awake and I feel myself being shifted around like cargo. I peel open my left eye slowly and realize that my father is carrying me into a hotel. I ask my dad when all this would be over and he told me real soon. My dad tucks me into the bed with my brother fast asleep next to me and I beg him to tell me a bedtime story to make me have sweet dreams. After a lot of convincing and whining, he did it. As the story closes, he kisses me on the forehead and tells me to get some sleep because we have another long day ahead of us.
2 Weaver On to staring out the window again, looking at another unfamiliar place. This time we were pulling up to a cluster of houses as dad proceeded to drive up to the yellow one accompanied by beige shingles. I take in the neighborhood: children between the ages of seven and sixteen running through the middle of the road, but one girl caught my eye in particular. She stood about four feet tall and had glimmering blue eyes and perfect long blonde hair and the smile of an angel. As I rejoiced over the feeling over land under my feet, the blonde haired girl skipped over to us with no hesitation. I grab my father’s leg and hide behind it, as she demanded that my brother and I come play with them. Unaware that she was just being friendly, I clung to my father as he looked down at me and told me I better get use to this because we’ll be going on many more adventures. Tragedy September 7th, it was my first day of third grade at Poulsbo Elementary School. I was wearing my brand new purple flower dress and my white flip flops that my mom had picked out for me with a matching white bow pulling my hair out of my face. I was ready to meet new friends considering I had just moved to Washington from San Diego and it was my first move that I actually remember so precisely. I walked through the brown door into my classroom and it was like a terrible dream. The desolate walls had cracks all over them, the desk in the front row to the far left near the window looked like it would collapse if a fly landed on it and suddenly all I saw was black and red. My teacher was wearing this hideous plaid, black and red pantsuit that looked like it was made by a monkey. The stitching was terrible, the jacket sleeves weren’t even lengths, she had this luminous red lipstick on that didn’t compliment her skin, and these heels that
3 Weaver had black roses on the toe. I thought to myself through all of class that this place could not get any worse, but I was just about to learn that I was terribly wrong. The lunch bell rang this shrilling noise and I walked down the narrow hall by myself while everyone around me pushed me to get to the lunchroom. As I approached the lunchroom, a chubby, red headed, boorish fifth grader wearing the same shoes as me glared at me with this expression like she was going to slaughter me. I ignored her as I continued on to the lengthy lunch line. Suddenly, I felt this slight shove and I turned around to be staring square with the fifth grader. She mumbled out some incomprehensible words and I asked, “Pardon me?” Those two little words didn’t go over very smooth with her, because, before I knew it, I felt a punch to the side of the face. I felt my body come in contact with the ice-cold floor instantly. Before I let my mind think, I was up on my feet and I struck her twice, once with my right fist and then with my left. The whole room erupted in an uproar of chants and screams and I felt like a hero until suddenly it had all stopped and everyone receded back to their seats very quickly. I shamefully looked up and I saw myself standing in front of the principal and the other girl lying on the floor with a couple drops of blood on her face. I sorrowfully walked to the principal’s office where I was forced to call my father. I was trembling in fear when he walked through that door to pick me up. We discussed it, and my punishment was three days of out of school suspension. Additionally, I had to write a paper on why fighting wasn’t the answer. To be honest, at that point in time I was still unaware of why I was in so much trouble, because I thought I was just protecting myself like my dad taught me to do. On our stroll to the car, my father looked down at me with his stern face and grey hair, just gawking at me, until he finally put his crackly,
4 Weaver dried out hand up for a high five. I was stunned and baffled that he wasn’t mad at me! My father told me that even though it isn’t good to fight, he was proud that I stood up for myself and I earned his respect for that. Gone We were on our flight to La Maddalena, Italy. I couldn’t be anymore ecstatic that I was blessed enough to move to Italy. I was so joyful until we were actually at the airport and I realized that it would be a twenty-hour flight. I instantly became a nightmare to parent, and I refused to board because I was honestly terrified of being in the air that long. My father picked me up by my arms and carried me down the tunnel to the airplane and then made me drink this nasty grape tasting liquid. It slid down my throat like sludge with a horrid after taste, and I soon began to feel drowsy. The next thing I remember was my father telling me that I needed to get up so we could get off the plane. I skipped out of the airport and I came to a halt. My heart dropped from pure beauty that I was surrounded by, and I was even more excited that I got to live here now that I was actually here. Italy wasn’t as great as you imagine is what I soon came to find out. My father was never home, and I felt abandoned by the one person that had always been proud of me no matter what I did. After a couple of months my father came back and I didn’t quite comprehend at the time why he kept leaving until I actually went down there and witnessed the two ton ship pull into port. Soon we were off again, but my father didn’t come with us this time. My mother, brother, and I were now living in an empty house with no idea of where my father was. Christmas was only two weeks away and we still had no idea if he would be back by then. My heart broke because my father was always here for Christmas and we
5 Weaver had a Christmas breakfast tradition that he needed to be a part of. Christmas Eve had finally rolled around and my brother and I were ecstatic, because mom finally agreed to let us open one present together. She walked to her room to get the box as my mind began to wander to what if she came back around the corner with my father. She came around the corner pushing this big box and I got excited because I thought my father was in it. As I eagerly pull at the red poinsettia wrapping paper, the box pops open. I look up to not see my father, but to see an adorable, tan and black puppy trying to climb out. I was happy we got a puppy, but severely disappointed that it wasn’t my father. The next morning was Christmas, and, just like any other kid, my brother and I were up way too early. As we run into the den with our puppy trailing behind us, we say good morning to mom and dad who are sitting on the couch. We take a seat on the ground next to the tree. I look back up and realize that my dad is home! I jump up and run to him like I was running from a wild animal as the puppy barks in the background. I launch towards him crying with so much joy. The rest of the presents didn’t matter because I just got the best present anyone could ever imagine. Success Today is the day. Today is the day that will mark the first big milestone of my life. Today is the day that I will finally complete my years of schooling while living with my family. Tonight is when I will take a glimpse back at my memories and appreciate them, but realize that I have so much more ahead of me that hasn’t been discovered. Today is graduation day. I walk into my room to see my teal gown waiting for me to put it on and my face illuminates with joy. I peek at the clock and realize that it is 1 o’clock and graduation is at 7 o’clock at night, but I have to get ready now. I must go to the
6 Weaver hospital before I walk across that stage. I grab my dress and put it on and ask my mother to fix the belt in the back. I grab my brown wedges, teal cap and gown, and my Jeep Wrangler keys. I fast walk to my Jeep and hang my gown from the bar in the backseat and lay the rest in the blazing hot passenger seat. I put my cover and doors back on and start the engine. It was now one thirty in the afternoon and I was determined to make it to the hospital by two o’clock. As I approach the tunnel to cross over into Portsmouth, I start to cry. Mascara running down my face, eyeliner no longer on my eyes, and foundation no longer even, I try to tell myself that he wouldn’t want to see me like this and I just let out a scream. The black Mercedes-Benz next to me rolls their window down and asks if there is anything he can do to make everything better, but I just say no, but I appreciate your concern. I pull into the parking garage and try to find a spot, but the place is packed. I can’t go up past the second floor because my Jeep is too tall. I start to head back down to the first floor when I see a car backing out of its spot. I start to head down the aisle when a car whips down from the other side and it was the same Mercedes that was next to me in the tunnel. Instead of taking it for himself like he was going to, he let me have it. I turned the engine off, fix my make up so I no longer look like a clown, and put my shoes on. On the elevator ride up to ICU all I smell is cigarette smoke and alcohol wafting off of the dude next to me. I get off and I walk to my dad’s room and I go in and give him a hug. He is asleep, but awakes when I walk in. His face looks more sunk in than before and his legs are looking slimmer by the day. The blue hospital gown is now way too big, but he doesn’t realize it. I sit and talk to him in his frigid room about how I hope he makes it through this and he puts his crackled, dry hand up and tells me that he is going to make it through this. He says that no matter what happens, he is
7 Weaver immensely proud of me and that he wish‌ that was it. He just stopped talking. The nurses ran in and kicked me out and I was told I had to leave. I got in my Jeep and appeared to be more of a clown than ever before. I sat there crying in the parking garage for what felt like hours before I realized that I had to walk across that stage proud because I know that’s what he would want me to do. I walked across that stage that night in my teal cap and gown with no joy, no excitement, and no happiness, just pure worried. I walked across that stage with my shoulders shrunk in and my head hanging low. I looked defeated, I was defeated. Journey The back of our silver Dodge truck is loaded with everything I own as we pull away from my house. I look back and feel a sense of sadness, but more hope because I am off to Florida State University to start a whole new journey of my life. The date was August 19th, 2013 and to this day I am still just beginning to write this journey that I will one day proudly call my whole life.