Living in a sunny location has never been my thing…Probably why I didn't complain when my father told me I was moving with my mother.
She lives in La Push, an Indian rez in Washington.
I was born there, but left with my father to see the world. I had been to Paris, and London, Moscow, even the Great Pyramids in Egypt. My father is a writer, an adventurer, and most importantly, a director. He is also Quileute, like my mom. They grew up best friends, and my father had big dreams, which meant he wanted to get out of La Push. I don't blame him. However, he also is my father by sperm donation, not, you know, sex, marriage, and love. My father is homosexual, gay. He knew it, never had a girlfriend, but wanted a kid. So did my mother, even though she is not gay.
They used to trade me off before my father moved. I'm 16 now, a junior in high school. I left with my father at age 8, and I haven't been back to the rez since. I travel the world with my father as he writes scripts for new movies and scopes out places to shoot them. I'm home schooled by my Dad's boyfriend, Jan. It's easier to be home schooled when you move so often.
Right now we live in UAE, which is definitely gorgeous, with white sandy beaches and clear, blue water, but I miss the rain, miss the lush green of grass and trees.
My father has had me for 8 years all to himself, and now he is going to Israel to shoot a movie.
It's too dangerous there for me, so I'm going to La Push with my mom.
I look up from my journal as a waitress asks me if there is anything else she can get me before we land.
"No thank you." I smiled pleasantly. She walks away and the seatbelt light goes on. The light shifts from outside the window, and I notice it's morning time here.
"Jetlag's going to be a bitch" I thought. We were landing in New York City. I had a 45 minute overlay between my flights, which is good, because I don't like having to wait.
When the plane lands, I jump off, grabbing my bag, and make it off the plane first. I have my passport out and the lady stamps it. I quickly put my bags on a chair and reassemble myself, shoving my passport in the front pocket.
I run to the next concord, check in, and sit to wait. I keep my phone off, but grab my bags as I see a Starbucks near by.
The line wasn't long; I ordered my latte quickly and then checked my watch. I still had half an hour. I looked across the walkway to see a shop. I looked around, finally buying a postcard, two tee-shirts, one for Dad and one for Jan, a pack of gum, a few magazines, and a sweatshirt for myself. I forgot to bring one with me, everything I have was sent over to La Push already, and even within that, only so much is wearable there. My credit card was still under my father's name, and he said I can go shopping once I get to La Push for more appropriate clothing.
I check my watch again and see I have about 10 minutes. I walk back to my waiting area, stopping quickly to buy a chai tea and a muffin from Starbucks, and then set my bag down and put my new purchases into my bag. I boarded the plane, storing my back overhead, and settled in for the ride.
I landed in Seattle, and then ran to catch my next flight. I made it, thankfully, and the one hour went quick.
I landed in Port Angeles, finding a familiar guy with a sign in his hand saying "DJ". I smiled, recognizing my cousin from pictures.
"Sam" I breathed. He looked up and smiled, hugging me. I had no suitcases since my dad sent everything over already, so Sam just brought me out to his car. The ride was relaxed, and Sam didn't ask questions, which was good, I was exhausted.
We pull up to my mother's large yellow house, slightly, just slightly, farther from town than the other houses. My mother, no surprise, is a model. She flies for her job, but not usually out of the country, and she's so good that the photographers come to Seattle or Port Angeles just for her.
"She, uh…she's not home yet." Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck.
"When will she be back?" Sam looked guilty. I raised an eyebrow.
"Wednesday." He answers. "She's been gone since last Tuesday on a photo shoot in Cancun." He says. I nod, bending down to pick up the spare key.
"Do you have a cell phone?" I ask Sam. I've only ever talked to him from my mothers.
"Just call this number." He takes a pen from my back and writes on my hand. I nod and smile.
"I just want to be alone right now, get unpacked and washed up. Should I meet you later?" I ask him.
"Yeah, I get it. Um do you know how to get anywhere from here?" Sam asks me, his mouth turning into a frown. I bite my lip and shake my head. Sam laughs.
"Okay. It's 3 in the afternoon right now. Is 3 hours enough? I can come get you at 6?" I think for a second.
"Yeah, 'cause I have to unpack all my boxes and stuff…"Sam just smiles, and it makes me cautious.
"I don't think it'll take you long…" I open up the door and run up the stairs to the room I remember as mine, the largest bedroom, besides the master. I open the door and gasp, hearing Sam's quite chortling behind me.
The room was gorgeous, elegant, graceful. The walls are a light turquoise blue, with undertones of grey, but the floor is a rich cheery wood with a white, super soft carpet. Each wall was different, one with tons of pictures from my childhood, with Sam and his buddies all tackling me, me and my parents all together along first beach, the multicolored rocks all a faded grey in the back round. Another wall had a giant window along it, facing the town. I could see the forest, but also the water, and through the trees, parts other buildings. The next wall held my bed, a king sized mattress with a vintage looking frame, wrought iron. The sheets and comforter are all white, but designs stood out of wolves howling to the moon in a light, faded grey.
The wall that the headboard of the bed was against was covered, and I mean covered, in dream catchers. Each one was different, whether it was size, colors, designs, everything.
The last wall was only half covered, but I recognized it at once.
My paintings.
A note was taped to the wall. It read
This one is yours. Make it your own.
I looked at the furniture, opening the dresser. My clothes were already in here, and some I hadn't even recognized. I closed the drawer, going to a door I hadn't noticed before.
A walk in closet, fully stocked.
The other door was my own bathroom.
I gasped and turned towards Sam, speechless.
"Your mom hired a decorator. You should check the other rooms." I look at him and take off, finding one room to be a lounge with plush couches and chairs, a TV, computers, and gold walls.
The next room was almost my favorite. It was very large, it had been expanded, but I knew what it was from the smell. I entered the art studio to see cabinets, high and low, spotlight lighting, sinks, tons of paint brushes and jars for water, easels, a table, a large window, and tons of canvas', different sizes, different widths, but none the less, there. The walls, again, are empty. I don't look at Sam when I say "You can come back at 5. I'll be ready." He silently left as I took a quick inventory of what I had. I came up with acrylic paint, oil paint, watercolors, 75 canvas boards, 4 easels, watercolor paper, acrylic paper, chalk pastels, oil pastels, paper to use them on, canvas paper, colored pencils, paper for those, and different pencils. I checked my watch, and ran back to my room, jumping in the shower. I got out, and got dressed in skinny jeans and a batman tee-shirt. I pulled on combat boots and brushed out my hair, surprised it fell to my hips. It fell in deep waves, the dark color making my tan skin darker. My eyes, somehow, are blue, a surprising contrast. I don't bother with makeup besides for some mascara, and then gathered up my phone, wallet, gum, and other necessities in a purse. I grabbed a leather jacket and threw it on, walking down the stairs just in time to hear Sam knock. I look at my phone, realizing I needed to turn it back on. I opened the door and saw not Sam, but his friend Jared. I smiled.
"Hey. Sam send you?" I ask.
"I don't know, are you DJ?" Jared asks wearily. I nod, laughing. He turns around, his face red, and leads me to Sam's car. I lock the door behind me, and then hop in the car, turning on my phone. The car ride was quick, and Jared stayed quiet as I spoke to my father on the phone. I hung up as we pulled into a driveway, and Jared spoke.
"What was that?" Jared asks. I am confused.
"What?
"That was not English."
"Russian." I say, opening my door. "My mother knows it too. We all actually lived in Russia for a few years during my main language learning phase, so I stuck to it." I shrug and walk up the stairs to the house. I didn't really look at it; I didn't need to. I know where we are.
It goes silent as I walk in the door.