Moving Day Short
March 22, 2002
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Homework
Waking up to not smell cooking eggs put me on a bit of an edge that morning. I could hear my mother arguing, but I couldn't hear whom she was arguing with. She sounded very distracted.
When I finally roused myself out of bed and wandered out of my room, I noticed that there were a lot more boxes then I had ever seen before. All kinds of boxes were piled up in the hallway. There were big ones, and little ones. There were some that were taped shut and others overflowing with old newspapers. I wondered how I hadn't noticed them yesterday.
I climbed down the stairs to the living room where I encountered my mother yelling into the phone. She was arguing with my father. He was in Vermont, and my mother and I were in New York, so it made arguments hard to have, or so I guessed.
"Why aren't you out here helping me with the boxvan?" She demanded into the phone.
My nine-year-old mind wasn't quite grasping the situation. I didn't have the attention to spare to listen to my mother, I just wanted food. So I went to the kitchen to get something to eat, probably cereal. When I got to the kitchen I found that there were no bowls in the cupboard. In fact there weren't any dishes at all.
I walked back out to find my mother off the phone.
"Oh good, you're up," she said.
"Mm-hmm." Is all I had to say to that.
"I need you to run upstairs and start packing up your things," she said. "We're leaving to take the first load to your father tomorrow."
NOTE: This was an assignment for my CCV (Community College of Vermont) Creative Writing I online class with William Noble.
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