Jumping on the trampoline.

When I was little, I couldn’t wait for school to be out for summer.

I’d count down the days, watching the calendar, feeling the season grow closer.

I looked forward to spending time with my neighborhood friends.

It was the ‘90s in South Florida, Spice Girls and 98 Degrees on the radio.

We played outside until the streetlights came on.

We played manhunt at night and had grapefruit wars.

My best friend lived next door.

We were all different ages, genders, and ethnicities.

Our own perfect little club of individuality.

We were thick as thieves.

We had each other’s backs.

It was the kind of childhood people dream about.

When it was time for dinner, it didn’t matter whose house we ended up at.

I remember feeling welcome in every single one.

We weren’t just friends.

We were a family.

It was 1999, and school was finally out for summer. It started out so perfectly.

Jumping on the trampoline.

Playing kickball.

Manhunt under the stars.

Cannonballs into the pool.

Sleepovers that never seemed to end.

And then, like a dark storm rolling in,

everything changed.

Words I didn’t understand.

A tension I couldn’t name.

Something had shifted in the house.

I got up to see what it was.

When I opened my door, I ran straight into my dad.

Oh no.

He’s really mad.

Is it because I got out of bed?

“Go back to sleep,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I thought I heard something… it scared me.”

Then I noticed his shoes were on.

“Are you leaving?”

He looked so sad as he kissed my head.

“I love you, hon. Now off to bed.”

I did what I was told.

When the sun rose the next morning, he wasn’t home.

My mom looked worried,

rushing around the house, grabbing things.

“Where’s Daddy, Mama?”

She glanced at me.

“He’s gone for the weekend… but we’ll be gone before then.”

Gone before then?

She saw the confusion on my face, knelt beside me, and said:

“We’re moving. You need to pack up your room. Say goodbye to your friends.”

I didn’t understand.

Moving?

Pack my things?

My friends?

I ran out the door and into my best friend’s house.

Her parents were in the living room.

They didn’t even flinch when I came in.

It was my second home.

They were so used to me just bursting in.

When they looked up at me with a smile. They must’ve seen the despair written all over my face.

Her mom asked, “Hey baby, what’s wrong?”

I dropped to the floor and the tears broke through the dam.

“My mom… said we… are moving… this weekend,” I sobbed.

They looked at each other, just as shocked as I was.

All I could do was cry. And cry.

When I got back home,

I barely recognized it.

A U-Haul sat in the driveway.

Boxes were everywhere.

The house was starting to look bare.

This house was my home.

I wondered where all the warmth went.

Where the laughter had gone.

I didn’t want to move. I love this house.

I love my friends. My little street family.

In two days, my mom packed everything she could fit.

And just like that, I was forced to say goodbye.

Forced to leave the only friends I’d ever known.

It was gut wrenching.

I cried for hours.

As we drove past state lines,

my confusion only grew.

It was crowded in the truck.

Our dog was sitting in my lap.

All of his long hairs sticking everywhere.

I didn’t mind though.

He was letting me hug him as if he could feel all the emotions swirling inside me.

“Mama, aren’t we too far from Daddy?

Too far from my second-grade school?”

She wouldn’t look at me.

Not even a glance.

“Mama?”

Maybe I spoke too softly.

She hates it when I sound ‘mousy,’ as she calls it.

“You’ll be at a new school,” she finally said.

“Yes. We’ll be far from your Daddy.”

Two days later, we arrived at my grandparents’ house.

Apparently, we’d be staying there until my mom figured the rest out.

My mom wouldn’t explain anything. I didn’t understand.

The Goodbyes I gave.. I hadn’t realized they meant forever.

This wasn’t how the summer was supposed to end.

I wish I was back in school.

Back with my friends.

Back before everything changed.

I wish I could hug my daddy again.