by Gabrielle Barnes
When I was twelve, I watched my family restaurant burn down on channel four.
At the same time, my neighbor had a heart attack and fell down his brown carpet stairs
to splatter red on the tile. I woke up on the pillow cushions in the trailer when my four
year old brother asked me to get him some apple juice. I told him all we had was water
for now and to eat an apple with it instead. Then my dad said he was staying in the
trailer and he’d see us soon. I saw him half a year later. Me, my mom, and little Dave
packed up two miniature duffel bags and a box T.V. to watch “Old Yeller” and “the
Rescuers”. That was ironic, because my dog was dying at the time and we were
rescuing ourselves from the storm. I peed behind the door of the Blue Smurf, the name
of our van and current home, before ordering two kids meals and a quarter pounder. I
snuck in an ice cream cone and ate it in the big stall in the bathroom. I looked out the
window at endless trees and yellow lines wondering when it would all end. I listened to
the Garden State soundtrack- number four, twice in a row so I could learn the lyrics. My
mom pinched my hand lightly, three times in a row. I love you too, I’d squeeze back. I’d
often stare at myself in the mirror, wondering why everyone thought I was old enough to
sit at the bar when I was too shy to even tell people my name at family BBQ’s. My
brother cried sometimes. I’d nibble his feet and get sad looking at his lopsided haircut.
The one my dad shaved a few nights ago, drunk after a Saints game. He did a reverse
Mohawk on accident. My dad cried himself to sleep that night. He felt bad about it. I
thought it was funny in the morning till I saw my mom cry about it, too. Now we looked
like some hick family eating fast food in this blue van. I wanted to jump out the car, so I
locked it real quick. We stopped at a Motel 8 for the night, and I explained to my mom,
very panicked, that I had a phobia of Motels—we had to stay somewhere else or I
wouldn’t sleep all night and then couldn’t help with directions. I woke up there the next
morning and put my black one piece on in Room 232. I had no idea what city we were
in. I dove in. I screamed. For as long as I could. My hot tears mixed in with the freezing
chlorine. I practiced my backwards dive after that. It still sucked. My mom asked me if I
had been crying. I said it was the chlorine. I didn’t totally lie. She wanted me to talk
about things more. She said I was cold. I cried at every bus stop and then made sure to
look out the window till the next one. Colorado was pretty. The mountains were riding
next to us, calming me. I moved my hand with their jagged lines and tipped my fingers
over the slopes of jade trees. The yellow lines were finally replaced. My mom said look
at mother nature welcoming us! A lesbian couple gave us a house to stay in for free.
After they left and we moved in with our two bags, loaf of bunny bread, and T.V., I laid
on the floor and held on tight to my grandma’s nightgown. She gave it to me this year,
and it still smelled like her. I breathed it in and it sucked in my sadness for a little. I
refused to get up from that spot. My mom brought over some lady with red hair who told
me she had dial up and a menu to order pizza across the street. I IM’d my best friend
Mattie and said I hated it here. Even though I loved the fresh air and Buddhist flags
wrapped around our new deck. I went to Blevins Jr. High two days later. I was in choir
class and they said they were holding a drive to give refugees clothes, so please
donate! I showed up to class a week later and a girl yelled out loud that I was wearing
her sister’s old soccer shirt. I felt my face flush up heated. I walked to the office to call
my mom and said, “Code red.”
