"My dad said today was a momentous occasion. The start of our new..." I trailed off with a sneeze. The audio recorder in my hand trembled with the force and almost slipped out of my hands.
I clutched the little black box possessively and sent out a rapid series of thank yous to whatever benevolent god let me catch the recorder in time. I wasn't about to start my journey by letting it tumble down the stairs.
This had been my third re-recording and it was already noon. There wasn't enough time to start my monologue over again. I sat down and carefully ended the recording before pressing play again.
"In some ways, he was right. Today is moving day, and it'll be the first time we'll be fending for ourselves without mom," I paused contemplatively. It probably wasn't right to shit-talk her. Oh well.
"She doesn't get a part in my tragic backstory. She didn't die or get critically injured and end up in a coma. She just got divorced and moved across the country.
Basically, she's not dead. She's just dead to me." I hit the stop button with extra vigor. Forget treating this thing like an infant, I was mad. Screw her.
"Ellen! Get over here!" My dad yelled from downstairs. He was carrying a small cardboard box in his hands meticulously labelled kitchenware and walking out to the U-Haul. I hoped her hadn't heard that part of my recording.
I tossed the small black box into my backpack.
"Hold your horses. I'm already packed!" I shouted. I stood up from the stair I had made myself comfortable on and stretched out my back. Several bones popped perilously just in time to greet my dad as he entered the house again.
He winced at the noise and I knew I had succeeded in annoying him.
"What's wrong, dad?" I deliberately cracked my knuckles and watched him shudder. Drama queen.
He watched me bound down the stairs and his usual grin made its way back onto his face.
"What?" I snapped. That came out meaner than I meant it to.
"It's time. You've said your goodbyes to the house, now it's my turn."
He turned to the wall and gave the paint covered plaster a mushy, loving kiss. I made a face and hurried outside to the car to the sound of my dad's victorious laughter.
Now that the divorce was over and my dad was able to get the last word, even though he wasted it by wishing her good luck instead of a meaner, more fun alternative he couldn't stand to stay in the house I grew up.
The moving van in our driveway just made the coming changes feel all the more real.
I took one last, lingering look behind me before squaring my shoulders and shutting the car door.
"I call shotgun," I said to nobody in particular.
After five minutes but what felt like half an hour, my dad finally entered the car. He shut the door with a snap that meant business and started the engine. The car engine rumbled in approval and I kicked my feet up on the dashboard with a mischievous look at him.
Dad rolled his eyes but moved to turn on the radio instead of swiping my feet off or reprimanding me. The sounds of generic 90s pop songs filled the air and he opened the windows.
"Next stop: Happy Harbor," He smiled.
I groaned at the drama. And the prospect of only stopping once when it was a near seven hundred mile journey.
"Next stop: a gas station. We're running low," I suggested. And we were off.