The Girl With the Cross

Chapter 2: Sarah

Life is a strange thing: it gives you just what you need to press forward until you reach your rewards.

***

  After my last day here, I have to try really hard not to cry. I don't want to move away: I'm going to lose my friends, my church, my everything. I know it has to be done because my father found a great new church with big opportunities for our family, and we can't just pass up the things God hands to us, but it does still hurt. But when I get home, I wipe my tears, grab the three boxes left in my room, put them in the truck, and kiss this house --this life-- goodbye. I should be grateful, happy to be going to new places, starting new adventures, but I guess living in one place since I was born does something to me. I've been living here for all fifteen, almost sixteen years of my life. I have so many great memories here, and I guess I thought I would live here forever. I played with my cousin Mason in this house all the time when I was younger, enjoyed endless Thanksgivings, but you can't get attached to earthly things because none of it matters when you get to Heaven.

  The last Sunday we had at church was sad, too. Everyone there had become family to me, and they all had hugged me like I was dying. The girls in my small group were telling me how much I've changed their lives, how much I've helped them grow, and how much I've helped heal their pain just by being there with them for so long. I'm going to miss the love and support I got from them whenever I was in a time of struggle. Thinking about them now makes heart rip with every exhale. I try to push aside the memories, trying my hardest to bury them deep under my skin where they will stay.

  The drive is long -- five hours of Hillsong music and family car games to my new life, and I'm still not excited. I start my new school soon, and although I already met all of my teachers and made a friend that goes there, I have a strong desire to stay in my hometown where I feel like I truly belong. I already miss home so much it hurts, and the tears are fighting, burning my throat, choking me.

  "Sarah sweetie, I know this is hard." My mother says, voice soothing and soft. She looks at me from the middle car mirror: she can tell I'm upset.
  "Knowing that you have to move away from something you've clung to for fifteen years makes it a lot harder for me than I thought." I croak out, sniffling my tears as we get closer to our new house. Suppressing the urge to cry is physical and emotional torture.

  Unpacking makes my muscles sore. All the large trucks of our possessions: beds, bookshelves, boxes and boxes and even more boxes. It takes nearly the whole rest of the day just to get everything in our house. My arms feel like they've been pounded with a billion hammers at the same time in sync with my heartbeat.

  We are unloading the last of our things on the driveway when I see another car pull up in front of ours. A girl with short brown hair and a bright smile waves her hand out of the window, and I immediately recognize her face. My mood brightens.
  "Daniella!" I shout. Danie's my nextdoor neighbor, and we are going to the same school and church together: she's the closest friend I have here.
  "Sarah! I came over to help." She hollers. I smile as she comes out of her car.

  I finish unpacking my things with Danie and look out my dirty, dusty window. I see a tall boy about my age, looking in our empty U-Haul trucks and walk slowly to his house right across the street, pushing up his garage door. He wears slightly ripped jeans, a wrinkled black and gray skull shirt, lazily walking away into his house with an old skateboard.
  I wonder what school he goes to: hopefully I won't ever have to be in contact with him.
  I finish the last of my room decor, and find myself laughing at how identical it looks to my old room. Daniella's great help makes me realize I definitely couldn't have done this alone -- she's a great decorator. I'm quite impressed with how well she did and I'm reminded of my Aunt Stephanie who helped me put together my old room back home. I remember that time when we were hammering the nails in for pictures and we made a song out of it.

  Danie's phone vibrates on my desk and she looks up at me excitedly, "I just got permission to sleep over! I'll run over to my house real quick and grab a few things, you can do the final touches on your room." And she does run down the stairs, through our front door, and I watch her jog sloppily to her house right next to mine. 

  I smile wide and almost begin to laugh, but my mind wanders to the boy from earlier. I feel like I may know him, in fact, but I just can't put a name to him. All of the sudden, I remember -- the school's Meet the Teacher Night. A little less than a month ago, the weekend before school started, Mom drove all the way to the school so that I could have a tour, make a friend or two, and meet my teachers which must mean he goes to my school. 

  Danie is back before I even have another minute to think, and her hair is in her mouth. She must've ran really fast. Daniella has long, brown hair --like me-- hazel eyes, freckles, and wears a plain pastel pink and white striped t-shirt, blue jeans, and a lovely smile. She's very pretty, I decide.

We talk about our families, my old school, and we don't end up falling asleep until 3:00AM. But when I wake up the next morning, I feel a sense of joy with this new friend of mine. Maybe this new life won't be so bad after all?