Young Writers Society

So is this worth continuing?

Chapter I

My step dad is sending me away to camp tomorrow morning. He’s tried every summer but my mom always took my side. It’s too bad she’s not here to stick up for me anymore.

I know she’s dead, but I still hold her accountable for everything that Henry does. He’s not evil, nothing like that, but he’s not nice either. He sits in front of the TV all day watching old western movies like some coma-toast vegetable. His face always looks like he’s been staring at the sun for too long too, like he’s watching something beyond the television set. When he’s not watching Clint Eastwood shoot the good, the bad, and the ugly, he’s smoking his cigar and making working in the garage on his model airplanes.

Sometimes I think I’m the only adult around here. I always have to make dinner because Henry forgets. It’s a good think I know how to work the microwave or we’d be dead by now.

Mom’s been gone for about a month now. She had cancer for a long time, but I guess her body couldn’t take the stress anymore. I blame Henry for her death. He’s like a kid, a kid that’s lean and six foot two with a beer belly who smokes cigars while building his toy planes.

The camp I’m going to is all the way across the universe it seems. It’s actually in Florida, four states away from Maryland. But Florida looks like some foreign planet anyway. It’s a sea camp I think. I asked Henry where I was going to stay and he said it was a sleep-away camp too.

I think Henry is going to leave me there. I wouldn’t mind, I’m sixteen, I can handle myself. But Henry is the only family I have left. It’s big accusation, but it’s just something he would do.

Yesterday was the last day of school. Everyone’s down at the lake, except for me. I never got accepted into any of the cliques.

I’m young for my grade. Sixteen and a senior. I guess that’s why I don’t have any friends. I study all the time, always have my nose in my sketchpad. But I’m also shy. I don’t really talk to anyone except for my mom. Now that she’s gone, I talk to nobody. Not even to Henry.

Chapter II

“Helena, wake up,” Henry yells. “It’s time to go to the airport.”

My eyes are already open. I was looking at the picture of my mom. She looked happy that day. I don’t think she knew she had cancer yet. My real dad’s in the picture too. He went missing three years ago.

I talked to my dad too.

I slide out of the bed, not wanting to get up. It’s four in the morning on a Saturday. No teen wants to get up.

It’s awkward at breakfast. It always is. I don’t talk, Henry doesn’t talk. The only sound is captain crunch being munched on and the western music of another Eastwood film.

Henry suddenly speaks. “I’m sending you away so you can have fun. I know we never…eh…spoke much-“ You got that right. “And Well…eh… I just didn’t want you stuck here, getting yourself in trouble.”

I smile thankfully at him, not saying anything. So the man did have a conscience. Who would’ve thought?

The bags I packed, only two small rucksacks, are light. I don’t have a lot of clothes so three fourths of my wardrobe I was able to shove into the one of the bags. The other is filled with my sketchbooks and pencils.

Henry called on a taxi to take me to the BWI Airport. On the way the driver talks to me. He was a nice guy. His name is Joseph, he cares about his daughter a lot, and he likes his job.

I don’t say anything.

Instead, while he talks, I look out the window as Baltimore strobes by. Bright, tall buildings, the sail boats at the waterfront, the bright sun of summer. I was going to miss this place. Truth is, I’ve never been anywhere outside of Baltimore.

My life is secluded. I blame myself for that. I don’t know why, I just can’t find myself able to talk to anyone. I feel trapped, suffocated by my own fear.

I miss my mom. It really kicks in when I’m on the plane. The lurch, the uplift of stomach as the plane takes flights makes my head swim. I feel like I’m floating in the white clouds that surround the plane for a while. Luckily the person is an older woman who keeps to herself and seems unsociable.

As I stare out the window, at the vast white rolls of cloud, I wonder about my life. What am I doing here? Why did my mother get cancer? Why did she die? Where is my dad? Why do bad things happen to bad people? Why am I living?

I don’t know.

I’m lost at sea in my own thoughts when the man in front of me decides to recline his chair. It cracks against my kneecaps making my eyes water. He doesn’t seem to mind.

I don’t say anything however. I’m too afraid.