Car rides suck. Was all I could think. We were moving from Florida to Ohio.
This is the third time we've moved. Every new school I got to I get bullied for the same reason.
I'm deaf. I live with not hearing my parents voice. But I have to talk, my father believes I hear fine and I'm being dramatic.
He didn't learn sign language like my mother did. Obviously I'm closer to my mom, because she did. She'll sign to me what he says, so I can answer him and he won't get angry.
He never looked into dead schools, but he loves making me suffer. Maybe he enjoys it, I don't want to know.
6:02pm
After hours, we pulled up to a white house with a bright red front door. Two-stories, it made us feel more separated.
I got to my room, all my boxes were there, the bed was set up in the middle of the room. I put all the boxes on my bed, I really do not want to be here.
My light in my room flickered, I went downstairs. My mom signed to me, me and your father are going out. Get you're rest from the drive.
I nodded, "okay mom." I went up stairs, I grabbed my sketchbook and I decided what I was gonna do with my walls.
Every house we've been to I've painted something on the walls. It's kinda like why people write books or music. To be remembered.
Maybe that's my problem, I want to leave a mark on the world. I want to be heard, but it's hard to be heard by others when you can't even hear yourself.
I sat on the little space in the bed. Instead of talking to myself, I thought to myself. It also makes me look more sane.
I went down stairs, I sat on the kitchen counter looking out the window.
I seen a boy, my age penny board by on the other side of the street. Maybe we go to the same school, maybe this town won't be that bad.
