White Heron {2}

Moving is what affected me. I never stayed anywhere long enough to settle in comfortably. At a young age, the traveler's spirit was ingrained in me.

There weren't 'friends' in the places I lived. Only children I played with on frequent occasions and knew their names.

I never considered myself lonely. I had the expansive imagination and boredom of an only child while we were in the heat of our traveling days. If I had a shovel and a place to dig, I was set. A bonus if I had sticks and a water source at my disposal. Moats for a mud castle. Mud pies. Bury my feet in mud and walk on the sidewalk--pretend I was a swamp creature come from his smelly home to neighboring cities to cause mass destruction and decolonization.

I never had anyone other than my cousins to call friends. They lived in California with our grandmother and mom in the same house. My mom and I always moved there when we were in between houses. I always considered the West to be our "home base." It was always crowded, but homey.

My cousin Carlos was my right-hand man, and we always had great fun together in the backyard and at the park. His brother Antoine had autism, so I was never sure how to play with him. Antoine used the shows he watched to express his emotions, and he repeated certain quotes if his messages were not received by anyone close enough to hear him. Carlos and my aunt Val were very protective of Antoine.

Whenever our mothers agreed to take us to the beach, we were always so excited. 

By the end of those trips, there was always the smell of the sea filling the car. The sand in the seats of our swimsuits were the worst part, but totally worth it. The sun was setting, and the car rides were quiet and lazy. I liked those days.

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Our last time living in California, we only stayed for about a month before we left for the colorful climate range of Michigan. 

We met William at the terminal, and I was surprised. I had believed he left like my dad.

He kissed my mom, spun me around and caressed baby David's face. He took us home to his parent's house.

Beatrice was his mother. John was his father. I liked John. Beatrice cussed too much for my liking. John was always using his hands to whittle thick figurines into blocks of wood. He had a collection of carefully crafted people. I told him that he should sell them in a store, he was that good. He said no.

Two weeks of living in that crowded space that housed William's brother (who lived in the basement), his brother's girlfriend (who lived upstairs and had to use oxygen), his parents, and us.

Then John died.

Everyone acted like it didn't happen. Like he wasn't taken to the hospital and couldn't breathe. Like he wasn't turned into ashes. I had never experienced anything close to death before and that it wasn't addressed, confused me to tears.

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I made acquaintance with the girlfriend. Her name was Eliza and she had a hamster named Hamtaro after the anime hamster. I liked to hold Hamtaro, and Eliza liked me. She said he had a lot of brothers and sisters. Kind of like I had David, except a whole lot more. She taught me how to draw, and that was something I'd never forget as long as I live. She introduced me to my first real love. The love of feeling and expressing in a way where you don't have to say anything. The way of an artist's hand.

She got tired easily, so I never got to be with her or Hamtaro too long.

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We left that house finally. I hated it there. William and my mom rented a new house not too far from his mother's. I had my own room. My own bed. It was freedom.