It was the day when everything shifted, without warning.
I’d never moved before today. Not even once. I’ve visited here and there, but my parents never found a desire to move elsewhere. And as someone who liked to have things located where they belonged — whether that be socks packed neatly into a drawer, books shelved properly, emotions locked away deep inside myself — the idea of packing years of my life into meer cardboard boxes and driving them to some unknown place whose name sounded made up was, to say the least, deeply unsettling. I knew that it would be a good opportunity to start over and meet new people, but something felt fishy when we learned that we would be moving to East Knobseaheights.
It was a Tuesday when my dad told us that he had something unexpected to tell us at family dinner. A Tuesday that tasted slightly like dried toast and smelled faintly of algebra. I was only eleven then, and had only recently begun to step into my role as the eldest sister of this family. We were sitting in our ocean-themed dining room — a room that only contained a light, milky shade of blue — when things started to change. Aunt Scarlett, a family friend, was visiting. She wasn’t our biological aunt, but my parents always reminded us that we needed to be polite with our elders. She was an astrologist working at the Laney Hall Observatory high above in the White Hare Woodland Forests, and always brought stories about the stars and constellations that she would see and could recite poetry relating to nature-y stuff without blinking. She was what you would call a grandmotherly figure — she made the room warmer when she stepped inside, like a candle bundled around a sock, and could comfort any of my siblings and myself when we felt like the world was against us. We were all eating our meal when my dad stood up, unprovoked, like someone had pulled his strings. Evelyn, my eleven year old sibling who was often very quiet, immediately narrowed her eyes.
“Dad, why are you standing like that?” she questioned, her eyes flashing back and forth as if she was afraid that something unsuspecting would happen. This was a result of her blunt honesty — something that would only come from an unsuspecting eight year old who thought that whispering is optional. My dad immediately looked at mom, shooting a look that probably translated to, “Help me, what do I do now.” Mom, calm and composed as a blooming flower, nodded, signaling her support with whatever Dad was about to say.
“We got big news,” Dad exclaimed, his face cheery as if what he was going to say was super amazing and would bring our family prosperity. Everybody paused, as if they thought what he was going to say would terrify them. “We’re moving!”
As if this wasn’t shocking enough, he added, “To East Knobseaheights, a coastal town located near White Hare Woodland Forests.” It was dead silent, until a glass spoon broke upon contact with the hard, wood floor. Then, gasps were heard around the room. Silence fell over the room for a couple of tense milliseconds. Evelyn, my soft-spoken, bird and mermaid obsessed little sister, suddenly let out a sound that could only be described as a whoop that broke the silence. That alone wasn’t normal, as Evelyn often only spoke just above a whisper. This was the child who talked quietly to ants and gave her dolls and toys away to those who were in need without complaining. In that brief moment, I realized how quickly Evelyn had grown up.
“We’ll move after Charlotte finishes tenth grade, and Evelyn wraps up ninth grade,” he added, with a beam on his face like the rising sun.
He turned to Aunt Scarlett. “You don’t mind staying around, right?”
“Of course not,” she said, patting my hand. “Living with Charlotte and Evelyn is always full of memorable moments.”
I smiled politely. However, inside I was furious. Not because Aunt Scarlett enjoyed living with us, but because I tried to make life as boring as possible so that I could avoid changes. I guess that didn’t work out though.
I’d never moved before today. Not even once. I’ve visited here and there, but my parents never found a desire to move elsewhere. And as someone who liked to have things located where they belonged — whether that be socks packed neatly into a drawer, books shelved properly, emotions locked away deep inside myself — the idea of packing years of my life into meer cardboard boxes and driving them to some unknown place whose name sounded made up was, to say the least, deeply unsettling. I knew that it would be a good opportunity to start over and meet new people, but something felt fishy when we learned that we would be moving to East Knobseaheights.
It was a Tuesday when my dad told us that he had something unexpected to tell us at family dinner. A Tuesday that tasted slightly like dried toast and smelled faintly of algebra. I was only eleven then, and had only recently begun to step into my role as the eldest sister of this family. We were sitting in our ocean-themed dining room — a room that only contained a light, milky shade of blue — when things started to change. Aunt Scarlett, a family friend, was visiting. She wasn’t our biological aunt, but my parents always reminded us that we needed to be polite with our elders. She was an astrologist working at the Laney Hall Observatory high above in the White Hare Woodland Forests, and always brought stories about the stars and constellations that she would see and could recite poetry relating to nature-y stuff without blinking. She was what you would call a grandmotherly figure — she made the room warmer when she stepped inside, like a candle bundled around a sock, and could comfort any of my siblings and myself when we felt like the world was against us. We were all eating our meal when my dad stood up, unprovoked, like someone had pulled his strings. Evelyn, my eleven year old sibling who was often very quiet, immediately narrowed her eyes.
“Dad, why are you standing like that?” she questioned, her eyes flashing back and forth as if she was afraid that something unsuspecting would happen. This was a result of her blunt honesty — something that would only come from an unsuspecting eight year old who thought that whispering is optional. My dad immediately looked at mom, shooting a look that probably translated to, “Help me, what do I do now.” Mom, calm and composed as a blooming flower, nodded, signaling her support with whatever Dad was about to say.
“We got big news,” Dad exclaimed, his face cheery as if what he was going to say was super amazing and would bring our family prosperity. Everybody paused, as if they thought what he was going to say would terrify them. “We’re moving!”
As if this wasn’t shocking enough, he added, “To East Knobseaheights, a coastal town located near White Hare Woodland Forests.” It was dead silent, until a glass spoon broke upon contact with the hard, wood floor. Then, gasps were heard around the room. Silence fell over the room for a couple of tense milliseconds. Evelyn, my soft-spoken, bird and mermaid obsessed little sister, suddenly let out a sound that could only be described as a whoop that broke the silence. That alone wasn’t normal, as Evelyn often only spoke just above a whisper. This was the child who talked quietly to ants and gave her dolls and toys away to those who were in need without complaining. In that brief moment, I realized how quickly Evelyn had grown up.
“We’ll move after Charlotte finishes tenth grade, and Evelyn wraps up ninth grade,” he added, with a beam on his face like the rising sun.
He turned to Aunt Scarlett. “You don’t mind staying around, right?”
“Of course not,” she said, patting my hand. “Living with Charlotte and Evelyn is always full of memorable moments.”
I smiled politely. However, inside I was furious. Not because Aunt Scarlett enjoyed living with us, but because I tried to make life as boring as possible so that I could avoid changes. I guess that didn’t work out though.