It's Hard To Lift Someone Up, Who Is Afraid Of Falling [Watty Awards]

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'It's Hard To Lift Someone Up, Who Is Afraid Of Falling'

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Losing her mother sends Samara Amison to California. Two months in and she still hasn’t found a place where she belongs. Finding something that helps her live her life again is what she searches for, when she finds it what happens if it has the possibility of doing even more than that? Like learning how to love herself, and maybe even someone else along the way.

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CHAPTER ONE

Two months. Sixty-one days. This long and I still haven’t gotten used to this new place. 

A new state, a new town, a new house...

The list of 'new’ goes on for a little while. One thing included is a new roommate. My Uncle Roger’s parrot, Chez. All Chez does is squawk all night and say random words like, ‘Jelly beans or Macaroni’. Not exactly those words in particular but similar enough.

But, this was the only available room when I had to move here after my mother died. Two months ago.

It was a descent room, the size of a small office. But the other two bedrooms where occupied by my Aunt Linda and Uncle Roger who had the master bedroom and their adopted seventeen year old son, Christopher or Chris. So it was this or nothing.

Chris has been living here since he was nine, after something tragic happened in his life that I don’t know of. One reason being my Aunt nor my Uncle had elaborated about the subject and second the fact that it really was none of my business so I never asked. Something told me, though he has been living here close to ten years, Chris still wasn’t extremely comfortable here.

This was something I could relate to. Two months, as mentioned earlier, and this place felt as foreign as it did when I unloaded my bags from my Aunt’s car and stepped foot on this property for the first time. It didn’t feel like home, far from it in fact. 

Where I was familiar with the beach being near, I was used to kicking back with some friends and playing music on the weekend, maybe go out and find harmless trouble. But here, in the sunny ways of California, everyone here seemed....out of touch with everything that didn’t involve tanning or trying to stalk a celebrity. Not really my scene, to unabashedly follow someone famous around and throw myself at them.

Nothing here really connected with me. Not that I have done hard labor to find that something, I’ve been preoccupied trying to make it through the last month and a half of school-that I managed to pass and be known as a senior-while trying not to think that both of my parents were now gone. One even more than the other. Kind of hard not to think about the most important people in your life. One gone forever, not coming back. One gone, taking forever to get back. Probably never coming back either.

This was the second week of summer vacation and I still mope around up in my new room, unknowing what has been going on in the world since I barely leave this small room besides to eat, shower, and to use the bathroom.

Linda-my mom’s sister that never really came around when she was alive so this was like moving in with a stranger-tells me that she’s worried about my mental and physical health. She nor does her husband Roger know that I can hear their whispers in the family room-that is next to my and Chez’s room-because the walls are so thin.

They talk about how I am holding in my emotions, to which I don’t exactly see the problem with. I don’t like to talk about my parent’s not being here, why spill my heart out when it won’t bring them back? I settle for crying in the sprays of the shower, that way at least I can hide my pain from the rest of the house. No need to add more to their lives.