These Are the Days

Prologue

U-Hauls don't allow for much space. The driver's seat and the passenger's seat allow for a normal-sized human to sit in while the middle seat is reserved for children. The problem is that you are no longer a child.

Your parents don't seem to mind the less-than-spacious conditions as your father drives and your mother looks out of her window. The sound of two people babbling about some senator comes from the radio. Even though they put it on, your parents are not listening to it. Your hand goes to change the station to something you like. They don't flinch at the change. They just continue on with what they're doing.

Squished in between your mother and father, you pull up to your new house. It's a beautiful and luxurious colonial-style home in Bellevue, Washington. Just minutes away from Seattle, the Emerald City.

It looks like something straight out of a fairytale. The beautiful L-shaped home is surrounded by trees, bushes, flowers, rocks, and grass. Curved steps take you up to the porch surrounded by brick walls. Gabled roof lights emerge from the slate roof. And just around the corner is another walkway that leads to a curved white arbor and an expansive backyard.

No matter how beautiful this house is, you still crave your home. It was small, yes, but it was home.

Washington was so different from California. You've only been here for a few hours but you could already tell. You missed the air that smelled like sand and saltwater. How sticky your skin felt when you were outside too long. The constant sound of dogs barking. The breeze that shook the curtains. Watching the sunset from the window of your old bedroom. California was home. This place, no matter how hard it tried, could never do what California did.

As your parents and the movers loaded things up in the house, you took your bike and began to peddle. With music playing in your ears, you rode your bike fast and hard, trying your best to get away.

All you could see was green. Green grass, green trees, green bushes, even some flowers were green. Something about it made you sick.

Further down the neighborhood, things were clearing up. You could see the same houses multiple times in a row. The only thing different about them being the cars that were parked in the front. The only things that followed were a dog park made especially for small dogs, and a small bakery at the very end of the street.

You were alone on the street. Not a single person passed by. Not a jogger, a car, or a pedestrian. It felt as if everyone was in their homes watching you peddle your way through their neighborhood.

After hours of riding your bike, you drag it back home. Your legs are tired but you can always appreciate the art of walking.

The U-Haul is parked neatly in the driveway and the door is unlocked, meaning that your parents remembered you existed for once. Their new cars, which were delivered just before the three of you arrived in Washington are gone which means one thing; they've gone to work.

Like always, there's a note on the kitchen island.

We've gone to work. We put your things in the first bedroom to the left. The movers already set up your bed and bed frame.

Sincerely,

Mom and Dad.

The professionalism of the note just encapsulates your relationship with your parents. One drunken night after they met, they slipped up and had you. The three of you know you're a mistake but it's never been mentioned. They've never said "I love you," and they've never shown up to a school play or performance. They missed out on your kindergarten graduation because they had a work party they "needed" to attend. Their neglect hurt at first and then you got used to it. You stopped looking for them in crowds, stopped asking them to come to events, and stopped telling your teachers the real reason why your parents never picked you up on time.

Your bedroom is spacious even with the bed in the middle of it. Your things are unpacked in no time and it almost looks like your room back in California. Almost.

Your parents were generous enough to give you a room with a window that overlooks the front of the house. You like sitting by the window while people pass by, just watching as they go on with their lives. You assign each person walking by with a little backstory. Something brighter and happier than what you're living with right now. It makes you feel less alone.

You stand by your curtainless window waiting for someone - anyone to walk by. And just like when you were riding your bike, no one passed by. That is until you hear the sound of a truck approaching. The sound of the latest pop hit escapes through the rolled down windows. A boy in a blue and gold varsity jacket is driving while a girl with striking blonde hair looks out of her window. The two of you hold eye contact for just a second before she and the car are out of sight.