Blurry Eyes
REBEKAH PULASKI
There’s no other feeling like the feeling of waking up on the day you are moving out the house you grew up in. It felt like the opposite of Christmas. The lack of sleep left me exhausted and there was still so much to do. Half of the house wasn’t packed and soon my high school’s football team would be there to help us move our big items. One of the perks of living in a small town is everyone cares when you leave. It’s like the whole town is losing a family member. So, when my dad broke the news to the football coach, he insisted the team would help with anything they could. The downside to this, of course, was the fact that all the boys from my school would see the Barbie dolls my mom refused to let us get rid of. My boyfriend at the time got there early. From the second he arrived he was busy with anything my dad asked him to do. I hardly spoke to him that day. Which, looking back, is probably a good thing because I would have cried in front of all those people and I don’t think I could have gotten over that kind of embarrassment. My mom still talks about “how helpful Victor was that day” and how “we wouldn’t have made it without him.” I still admire him for that. We were only sixteen and he still showed up for me. My dad left at about noon to get burgers for the helpers at the only restaurant in town. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I still didn’t think I could force myself to bite into that burger. I was so nervous for the end of the day and the thought of a completely new city and new school made my stomach churn. We were sitting in the fellowship hall of the church I grew up in, at the tables I had seen at every potluck. I could feel my mom watching me from across the room, waiting for me to eat. She had moved when she was my age too. The situation was scarily the same. She grew up in a tiny town up north, then had to move to the exact city that we were moving to now. I’d be attending the same school she did; the same school she complained about feeling lost and alone in. I knew she felt guilty for making me go through the same thing. She cried when she told us the news. With the feeling of her eyes on me, I bit into the burger. I didn’t want her to worry about me. While I was walking across the small lot between the church and my home, my friend’s car pulled up to the curb. I had forgotten my pajama bottoms at her house after our last sleepover two nights ago. As I walked towards the curb, she ran out of the car towards me at an unnecessary speed. The hug I received
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