Page 5 of Say It Isn't So

Then she turned on her heel to walk, but stopped when she didn’t hear my footsteps behind her. Believe me, they couldn’t be missed, either—the flooring in this house was a whole other story.

Turning back around, her hair whipped to the side of her as she gave me a stunned look. Honestly, I was just as shocked as she was that I wasn’t running out of here so fast that I didn’t even bother to open the old, rickety front door, leaving a Knox-sized hole through it.

“Did you forget something?” she asked.

Did I forget something?No.

Did the fact that this was the end of a chapter for me just hit me like a bucket of ice cold water? Yeah, yeah, it did.

I shook my head and swallowed. “I can’t believe this is it.”

“You’re not going all soft on me now, are you?” she practically whined. “Come on, my mom is waiting outside to take us to the bus stop and, baby,” she paused, closed the distance between us, and kissed me on the lips before continuing, “we are going to be so happy with our new lives. Trust me, you’re never going to want to come back to this place again.” She shuddered violently like a wave churning in a storm at the notion of returning here and backed up. “I know I won’t.”

Did I dream of leaving this place as early as I learned how to walk? Pretty much.

Was I having second thoughts? Not exactly.

Did it feel like I was saying goodbye to my past? Actually, yeah, it did.

And I knew that was silly because you could never really say goodbye to your past. My past, this part of my life, made me who I was today and would continue to shape me, but that didn’t change the way I felt.

I looked around and took it all in one last time.

The hallway was narrow.

The walls were bare, minus a frame that was hanging on one of them, showcasing an old photograph of my grandparents.

And that was it.

There was nothing more to dwell on.

“All right, I’m ready to go,” I told Rina, who gave me her megawatt smile and practically yelped for joy.

As we walked out—well, I walked, Rina practically skipped—I noticed my dad sleeping in the recliner, his head almost falling off the side, his mouth open as he snored so loud I actually heard it over the soccer game.

“You have everything you need?” my mom asked from the kitchen. She was standing at the sink again, only this time she was leaning against it, wringing her hands.

I nodded. “Yeah, Mom.”

“All right, well, take care of yourself.”

Before I could respond, she yelled for my dad to get up. He turned his head and looked at us, cleared his throat, and seemed to be waiting—for what I hadn’t been sure.“Your son is leaving, thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“Oh, yeah,” he barked, “don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

When he turned back around and started watching the game again, my mom rolled her eyes. “Real nice,” she yelled. Then she said in her normal volume, “Don’t mind him. We all cope in our own ways.”

Something told me he wasn’t all that choked up about me leaving. Although, that was exactly what I needed so I could finally say—“I better get going. Bye, Mom.”

“No hugs necessary,” she said before I could put my suitcases down and go over there. She clapped her hands together. “Best of luck with your new life.”

What I wanted to say: thank you for always being there for me and taking care of me; I will keep in touch, I promise.

What I actually said: “Thanks. Love you. Take care.”

The mood was solemn until Rina took one of my suitcases from me and I closed the front door to the only home I’d ever known. For the last time.

She sighed. “Thank goodness we’re out of there. It always smells like a mix of lemon and mold—not a winning combo in my book,” she said, visibly shaking it off.

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