Eight Years Old
Change was in the air and I wasn't ready for it. At eight years old every day was the same, but this day was different. No clanging pans or mixing or even the opening of drawers didn't fill the air. Nothing, it was dead silent for once. I didn't smell the wonderful cooking of my mother's foreign foods. What was strange was my mother never called me to see if I wanted to cook with her. Cooking with my mother was like magic. Everything she would make always seemed perfect, but on this day there was none of that.
When my mother called me it sounded quite off. I didn't hear her strong voice when she called me. Instead my ears picked up a soft call, almost a whisper with a hint of pain. This was something I've never heard before except once. Sounds of pounding filled my ears I didn't know what to expect. Then I started asking questions in my mind. Is someone hurt, did another grandparent pass away? Or the question I always hated to ask, did Papi fall and didn't wake up? As I entered the dining room from the living room it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. Those seven steps brought me closer to dread, confusion, and unidentified emotions.
As I entered the dining room it felt like the air shifted. With stiff shoulders, folded hands, and stone faces I saw them, both of them. I knew that one of my questions didn't matter. They were both there and okay. But that expression was what made me worry the
most. Being told to sit down felt impossible for once in my life I didn't want to listen, but I did as I was told. As I sat down I looked around I wondered where my sister was. Shouldn't she be here too? But she wasn't. I was all alone for what was to come. What I was told was unexpected with one sigh my mother and father looked tired. One was sad and the other had something in their eyes that I couldn't place. Once I sat I heard the news, "Mama and Papi aren't going to live together anymore" and I simply asked, "why?" "Because, Mama and Papi don't love each other anymore". At eight years old I thought I knew what that meant. Because at eight years old you wanted to be the big kid who could be an adults so all I could say was "okay". What else was I supposed to say?
It didn't start to sink in until I heard footsteps all over my childhood home and strange questions. "How many rooms are there" "how big is the kitchen, backyard , and garage?" It was strange always seeing these strangers there. Even though, I was eight years old I felt like I could do something, but I failed eventually. One day I had finally accepted that I couldn't stay in my favorite home forever. Millions of memories shattered in an instant. All these rapid changes affected the problem it was overwhelming. I knew that Mama and Papi wouldn't listen so I gave up. That's when I finally understood. When it was time to leave our beautiful home it felt empty, empty of love, laughter and most of all, happiness. Gone. It was no longer my life it felt surreal almost as if I never expected it to happen to me.
At eight years old I tried to be an adult just to stay in my home but it never worked. I learned that at eight years old I could only do so much. Eight years I started with my family then it abruptly stopped. I was only eight; my words didn't seem to matter. In a year, I learned that no matter what sometimes you couldn't change the outcome of your life. It was simply impossible to hold on to the past when it was already the present heading towards the future.