I remove staples

 "Just look at it," Dustin said. "It's a staple remover. Some person invented staples and then this guy invented this thing that could remove it." And that, is a summary of my Vancouver summer, where I work as a human staple remover.

Every story seems to have a wise old person in it. I met mine two summers ago, before I entered my last year of high school. She was sitting by the sewing section at my favorite place in the world, the Half Price Books warehouse in Dallas. To my right was a cozy café, the first of my many, and to my left was more books than I could ever hope to read. As I pored over the vintage sewing patterns on my knees, I bumped into the little old woman crocheting in the chair next to me.

"Sorry," I said, in a foreshadowing of my return to Canada, probably. I resumed my search through the patterns, envisioning a groundbreaking Etsy shop of upcycled thrifted clothing. Of course, this was before I discovered the millions of bloggers who already had one of those. I also wanted to be a world-changing journalist, recording the stories of the unknown. Again, little did I realize that Humans of New York was already doing a fantastic job. Yet, it was a good thing I had not realized either of these two things, because my dreams combined prompted me to talk to the woman.

"Are you knitting?" I asked. She is so cool with her DIY skills, I thought. If only I could up my knitting game.

"I am crocheting actually," she responded. "I find it is fantastic for traveling, since you can just throw it into a basket and go." Travelling? This lady definitely had a story worth telling. I would inquire about more of her life story. I asked her where she had been.

"Oh, so many places," she said. "After the war, World War II, that is, they had so many opportunities for young people to travel. I spent a lot of time in Japan actually." Yes, this was it. I was ready for all her worldly knowledge. I had so many ideas at that point about my life, but my real goal was to travel and see the world.

"I have only lived in a lot of places," I explained. "I moved from Toronto to California to Texas to Maryland to Virginia to Vancouver to Texas again! We drove each time too, so I have seen a lot of the United States."

I reminisced on my childhood, since we had traveled so much. When we moved to Vancouver back then, I was so upset and lonely. Virginia had been wonderful to me and I spent so much time wondering what if? What if I had stayed and become extremely smart with all the resources my school had offered? What if I had stayed and gotten to know Elijah, my new neighbor, and Kenny, the boy I was positively head over heels for, as much as a third grader can be? In my road trip daydreams, I imagined a girl running outside, keeping pace with us and running away from bad guys. Maybe I was lonely or crazy, but I started imagining her all the time from then.

My mother started a daycare in Vancouver, while my dad started a job in Texas. He had wanted to work in my sister and my native Canada, but could not find one up north. I rode my bike outside with the daycare kids every day, and took ballet and violin. Despite my dad's occasional absence, my childhood was idyllic and stereotypical in hindsight. Unfortunately, I had elementary school drama with some girls. I began hating Vancouver. The running girl made more of an appearance in my thoughts. She was not so much an imaginary friend, as a figment of my imagination that kept me company.

Eventually, my dad had had enough of our family's separation. We drove down to Texas. My mom was pregnant with my little sister. A younger sister for 11 years, I decided to grow up. No one would push me around again when I started middle school in Texas. We were moving back to the same city from so many years ago, but I would be different this time.

I turned around in the car and looked that imaginary running girl in the face. STOP, I told her. I do not need you anymore. I imagined her standing there, in defeat, left behind somewhere in Oklahoma.