mom to park her massive SUV. My dad had always favored puttering around in little European cars even though it was impractical for a family of four. When we moved to Everest Heights, the first thing she bought was a shiny, new, American-made SUV. It is a white beast of a car with cream colored leather seats that heated up for those cold Midwest winters. The dashboard was digital equipped with built in navigation that lit up like the Fourth of July. Moon roof, bluetooth, auxiliary jack, park assist cameras, blind spot sensors, automatic everything. Enough trunk space to lug a football team’s worth of equipment. My dad would hate it.
We were leaving the dealership when we saw my motorcycle. A shiny, black bike with chrome accents. Even parked in the corner of the dealership lot, the sleek lines caught my eye. My dad and I had learned to ride two years ago when we spent the summer traveling throughout China. Everyone traveled on two wheels-- motorcycles, scooters, e-bikes.
Unlike Paris or New York or Chicago or any of the other cities we lived in, there was also no way for me to get around without some sort of vehicle. Given the unpredictable weather, my mom had been worried. Riding in Everest Heights was decidedly a lot less scary than in Shanghai. At least there were rules of the road here.
Resting my bike on its kickstand, I reach over and press the button to let the garage door down. The SUV and the motorcycle were a promise of sorts. Living in Everest Heights was going to be different. Symbols of our new lives. We would be able to finally settle down somewhere. We were going to be setting down roots.
I remove my helmet and leave it on the seat. My hair clings to my forehead, the heat is oppressive in the garage. The backyard isn’t any more forgiving, the late afternoon sun pounding down. Running a hand through my hair, I try to restore some order to the disheveled strands. As I enter the house through the kitchen, the clock on the oven clicks over. Only 3:25, so my mom’s flight wouldn’t be due for another few hours. That means I can get away with a solid afternoon of lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
Shutting the back door, I drop my book bag on the kitchen floor. I take out a carton of milk from the fridge and take a few quick swigs before stuffing it back into its spot. Foraging through the fridge, I skip the kale chips and celery sticks and grab a container of greek yogurt. I open the cupboard next to the fridge and pull out a bag of trail mix. I start picking banana chips and walnuts out of a bag of trail mix as I fish through a drawer full of silverware for a spoon.
Even though it is sweltering out, my mom insists I wear my leather jacket when I ride. But heat rash is preferable to road rash. I shrug off my leather jacket as I cut through the dining room, inhaling the container of yogurt as I go. As I set down the empty container of yogurt and half eaten bag of trail mix on the coffee table next to the unopened mail, I sling my leather jacket on the back of the couch. Finally, I kick off my boots at the foot of the stairs before I trudge up the stairs to my room.
Throwing myself onto the bed, the wooden bed frame groans in protest. Picking up a baseball from my bedside table, I start tossing it at the ceiling and catching it. The familiar rhythm puts my body at ease as my mind races ahead.
I had really wanted this year to be different. When you move around a lot, you tend to feel very lonely. You become really good at making friends fast but it’s hard to form any real lasting friendships when it’s time to move again nine months later. But things were going to be different this year. We were setting down roots now.
Things were different. I think of Sam Jordan. He was the most popular guy at Everest Heights. Starting quarterback and captain of the football team, shoe-in for Homecoming and Prom King.
We were leaving the dealership when we saw my motorcycle. A shiny, black bike with chrome accents. Even parked in the corner of the dealership lot, the sleek lines caught my eye. My dad and I had learned to ride two years ago when we spent the summer traveling throughout China. Everyone traveled on two wheels-- motorcycles, scooters, e-bikes.
Unlike Paris or New York or Chicago or any of the other cities we lived in, there was also no way for me to get around without some sort of vehicle. Given the unpredictable weather, my mom had been worried. Riding in Everest Heights was decidedly a lot less scary than in Shanghai. At least there were rules of the road here.
Resting my bike on its kickstand, I reach over and press the button to let the garage door down. The SUV and the motorcycle were a promise of sorts. Living in Everest Heights was going to be different. Symbols of our new lives. We would be able to finally settle down somewhere. We were going to be setting down roots.
I remove my helmet and leave it on the seat. My hair clings to my forehead, the heat is oppressive in the garage. The backyard isn’t any more forgiving, the late afternoon sun pounding down. Running a hand through my hair, I try to restore some order to the disheveled strands. As I enter the house through the kitchen, the clock on the oven clicks over. Only 3:25, so my mom’s flight wouldn’t be due for another few hours. That means I can get away with a solid afternoon of lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
Shutting the back door, I drop my book bag on the kitchen floor. I take out a carton of milk from the fridge and take a few quick swigs before stuffing it back into its spot. Foraging through the fridge, I skip the kale chips and celery sticks and grab a container of greek yogurt. I open the cupboard next to the fridge and pull out a bag of trail mix. I start picking banana chips and walnuts out of a bag of trail mix as I fish through a drawer full of silverware for a spoon.
Even though it is sweltering out, my mom insists I wear my leather jacket when I ride. But heat rash is preferable to road rash. I shrug off my leather jacket as I cut through the dining room, inhaling the container of yogurt as I go. As I set down the empty container of yogurt and half eaten bag of trail mix on the coffee table next to the unopened mail, I sling my leather jacket on the back of the couch. Finally, I kick off my boots at the foot of the stairs before I trudge up the stairs to my room.
Throwing myself onto the bed, the wooden bed frame groans in protest. Picking up a baseball from my bedside table, I start tossing it at the ceiling and catching it. The familiar rhythm puts my body at ease as my mind races ahead.
I had really wanted this year to be different. When you move around a lot, you tend to feel very lonely. You become really good at making friends fast but it’s hard to form any real lasting friendships when it’s time to move again nine months later. But things were going to be different this year. We were setting down roots now.
Things were different. I think of Sam Jordan. He was the most popular guy at Everest Heights. Starting quarterback and captain of the football team, shoe-in for Homecoming and Prom King.
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