My Cup of Tea

Chapter Four

Gripping my zipper tighter, I once again tried zipping my suitcase. The zipper was refusing to budge. "Come on," I said, trying to pull the zipper again. "Mom, I think I have too many things in this suitcase!" My voice rang out loudly throughout my house, which was unusually quiet. 

"Just take all the useless junk out," my mother said, walking into my room without even knocking on the door. "Like those three thousand pairs of shorts."

"There's not three thousand pairs of shorts in here," I defend myself in a dignified manner. "There's only thirty."

"Whoa. Thirty pairs? Is that even possible? How did you fit those in there in the first place?" My mother shook her head in astonishment. "I think you can live with ten pairs," she gave me the death glare when I opened my mouth in an attempt to complain. I quickly closed my mouth. "You should just bring some money so you can buy more."

"Fine," I agreed reluctantly. I hated spending my money. I just like keeping it all in a box in my room. Every amount of money I get from birthdays or holidays is stored in my room. "What else should I bring?"

"Whatever makes sense," my mother said, sighing. "Good luck," she said, hurrying out of my room. Well, she was a whole bunch of help. My mom usually leaves whenever she doesn't want to help me organize. 

 I took out all of my shorts, throwing the ones I liked back into my suitcase. I grabbed some other things I would probably need; bathing suits, flip-flops, suntan lotion, hats. When I was finished I zipped my suitcase easily and lifted it off my bed, onto the floor.

I jumped onto my bed, glancing around at the familiar scene. I took in the light tan walls, the green brown curtains, and the white carpet on the floor. The wooden nightstand next to my bed, the matching wooden bookshelf full of books, the wooden dresser that has all its drawers open and clothes hanging out. One wall has a cork board that is full of pictures I've taken. I sighed, leaning over to the lamp sitting on my nightstand, pulling the string to turn it off.

I closed my eyes, trying hard to fall asleep. I had to leave for the airport at four in the morning in order to make it to the airport in time and go through all the security checks. I couldn't believe it. Two days ago I was at the fair, just receiving the ticket to California. Now here I am already, just hours away from the three week long trip. It was so unreal I'm still too shocked for words. I guess I won't really feel the excitement until I'm sitting on the beach.

Apparently, a nice apartment has already been rented for three weeks. I was only expecting a cheap looking hotel room, but they actually got me a good apartment. I sighed, flopping onto my side. I wonder how much they paid for it- or if it would be as nice as it sounded. 

I looked at the alarm clock to check the time; 10:17 P.M., which means I would be up and leaving in around six hours. My mind started wandering, wondering how the morning would go. Drowsiness finally settled over me, causing me to fall asleep instantly.

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Wrapping my arms around my mother the realization hit; saying farewell isn't easy. It is heart wrenching and difficult. It's as bad as ripping out your own heart and stomping on it. Books do no justice to the feeling. Books do a terrible job explaining the emotional pain you feel when you're about to leave. I can't even form the words to explain it myself.

My mother keeps telling me I will have such a fun time. Somewhere in my mind a voice is telling me I will be homesick within a day. I agree with it.

"Sweetheart, you will have a great time, really," that voice was my dad's. He was trying to be encouraging, but the true sorrow he was feeling showed in his voice.