Young Writers Society

    The clouds rolled by--soft, white, picturesque like every book described them. But Danara was feeling the exact opposite. Her feelings were mixed up as if they had been thrown in a blender put on high speed.

     There were two reasons as to why Danara's emotions were jumbled about this trip. 1) She had seen her grandmother, sure, but words had never been exchanged. 2) The thought of a trip excited her--going out of her home state was farther than she had ever traveled. But the familiarity of her home tugged at her, wanting her to stay.

     She closed her eyes and leaned against the headrest, wanting the annoying buzz of the plane and her mother's soft snores and everything about this trip to go away. If only she was talking with her friends at school, sharing gossip and bearing the exhaustion of classwork together.

     "I wish everything was normal," she whispered with her eyes shut, hoping that the plane would magically disappear and she would find herself at home in her room.

     Unfortunately, the drone of the plane's engines remained. Danara looked at her surroundings and knew that however much she wished, nothing would change.

     "You're still awake?" her mother noted wearily. Danara's eyes shot to her mother.

     "How can I sleep?" she replied, her voice hard.

     A soft sigh filled the air between them. "Touche, honey."

     For a moment, it was quiet, and Danara felt a small twinge of guilt for being so angry. But wouldn't someone be angry if their life was so abruptly altered? I'm right to be mad, she reassured herself. 

     "Danara, I'm sorry for doing this to you. Do you understand that I have to?" Danara looked beside her. Her mother was so tired, so kind...

     Then a voice began blaring through the airplane, warning the passengers of a bumpy landing. Danara watched the clouds slowly rise above the plane until they disappeared from view completely; then she noticed people rushing about the ground, mostly workers of the airport they had arrived at.

     As the plane touched down with a thump, Danara looked at her mother and sighed. "No, I don't."

     "Honey, hopefully you will when you get older. For now, just know that it's necessary. Okay?"

     A reluctant nod was delivered, and her mom smiled. She reached up to get the luggage and handed Danara her purple suitcase, which was packed with as much of her life that it could hold. She clutched it tightly and made sure that the traveling tag was still attached securely.

     They made their way through the airport, walking quickly. They didn't stop until they were out of its sliding glass doors, her mother examining the traffic rushing by. "Mother should be here now," she said, mostly to herself. Danara was content to ignore her.

     Then a rusty silver truck pulled up to the curb, shooting a plume of smoke into the air. "Get in!" someone hollered from inside. Danara peered through the dirty window and made out an old woman, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. My grandmother, she thought.

     The trunk popped open, and Danara stowed her suitcase inside. Then her mother slammed it shut and gingerly climbed in the shotgun seat. Danara could see why--the floor was littered with candy wrappers and leaves. Her eyebrows were raised as she settled into the passenger seat. The woman driving the truck was nothing like her prim, orderly mother.

     "Ma!" Said mother was happy nonetheless, Danara saw. A hug was quickly exchanged, and the truck was thrown into motion. She kept her eyes on the window the whole way to a squat two-story house in a neighborhood of buildings that looked identical.

     Parking in the driveway, Danara's grandmother stepped out, wincing as she put her feet on the pavement. "Arthritis gets me again," she grumbled. "Abby, help me to the door, will you?"

     Danara's mother hurried to her side, taking the car keys. "Of course, Ma. This is Danara, my daughter."

     A small smile stretched across her grandmother's face as they entered the garage. "Yes, yes. I would expect nothing less. Call me Agatha, or Aggie for short."

     Danara was amazed. An adult who preferred being called by her first name? Her mother the daughter of such a messy person? Nothing was turning out the way she had expected, which was just the way Danara hated it.