Growing up Late

Let me start by saying, the city knows me. Its streets I can trace on the back of my hand, the cutbacks, the railroad tracks to avoid at 415 on Tuesday afternoons. I’ve lived here all my life. Leaving the city will be like leaving behind a love I’ll never fully get to know. Fifteen years may not seem like a long time but its long enough that I have decided I’m not made out for the hill-billy lifestyle that my mother wants me to have. Or at least is forcing me to have, once we leave. How will I survive without my best friend, Margie? How will I share stories on my vlog page when we’re living in a tree house with no service? “Corbeth will be a fresh start, a new beginning,” my mom says. Maybe she wants a new start, but I like my routine here. In Chanci Hills. Hearing the gravel scrape under my shoes as I walk down 6th Ave, towards McCully High, past the Speedy Minute Mart where I know Arnez will be behind the counter, sighing, anticipating another long shift because Jake will call out sick. Do you see the connection I have here? I won’t be able to get that in Corbeth. Ugh, a new school, a new house, practically a new life, and why? It’s not my fault that my mom got a new job in that po-dunk town, it’s not my fault that our apartment here sold. Where is my dad when I need him? Mom says he left for his country, but he’s not dead, and he’s not home so where is he? Again, not my fault. I heard Corbeth has one stop sign and no lights. I can’t even imagine a city with no streetlights, They dot our city here like pegs on a light bright, sometimes one will flicker but they’re there. My mom says it’ll be good for us. I doubt it. My grades aren’t passing with flying colors by any means but I make do. Margie always jokes I’m a free-spirit, creative, destined to live in a sky-rise with gents that wait on me while I tap my red acrylic nails impatiently. can’t help but laugh out loud at this idea. Will Corbeth even have a nail salon? Or better yet, a salon of any kind? Maybe a boot barn of sorts. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Arnez will wonder where I am if I don’t come in for my daily pack of Bubbly Yum, and Pepsi at lunch. I haven’t broke the news to him or Jake that I’m leaving…. This weekend. Three days and I’m outta here. Not that Arnez will care too much, judging by his yellowed tshirt with grease stains on what was once considered a white tee. But Jake on the other hand, another love I will not have discovered. Ah well, at 15, disappointedly there’s not too much to show I’m a woman yet, and I think Jake wants a woman, not a gangly string bean who is looking to buy her first set of suspenders to to fit in at her new school. Ill have to ask Margie to keep me updated on Jake’s crushes, or maybe not, it may sting a tad too much. Maybe dad will come rescue me before its too late. Or maybe not. The last letter I wrote him was returned as “invalid address.” I don’t have time to think of all the what ifs and could have beens. I’ll miss the pink sun drenched nights where Margie and I would sit atop the roof and watch the pigeons peck at seed down at the playground. How simple life would be if I were a pigeon. Most likely a dull life but still, I wouldn’t have to leave my home.

Packing up the last of my things into a box marked Tylee’s bedroom! Oh the excitement, not really. The U-Haul is packed to the point mom can barely close the hatch door. So this is it. I’m leaving my city of wonderment and pigeon watching. I wonder what kind of birds Corbeth has? Dopey one legged wood peckers I’m sure. The drive is 4 hours and sooo long! Of course I have no service, so my journal and Lucky Lou pen will have to do. Although I don’t have much to say, I should on the day of my social death but words don’t seem to come. The sky is grey with shards of charcoal spread throughout, like a fire pit. It’s almost dark when we pull up to a gravel road with one cock-eyed sign that reads Mullberry Ln…we start to bounce along the road, definitely no point in trying to write now. Our car slows down, and I look around wondering what’s wrong, but as I peer out my window there’s a bird I’ve never seen. “What is that”? My mom whispers back to me like were sitting in church on Sunday and not supposed to talk, “oh, thats a barn owl, I hope she’s alright just sitting there though” The owl is sitting on a hilly slope just staring at me. Speckled white with dots of black, Carmel cream on her chest. alone. “ I know the feeling” I quietly whisper to her, though she would hear or understand. I’ve never seen an owl before, in person I mean. Maybe In a book? She’s more beautiful to look at than a pigeon. And though she’s perched alone, she seems strong, resilient. Maybe she’s a sign, but what could it mean? Little did I know that barn owl would change my perspective on so many different things.