All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

Anatole France

--

Half of her hoped the boat sank.

It was quite early to be standing at a dock, of all the places. 5:30 am, to be precise. The place was nearly empty, with the exception of the workers loading cargo on ships and two women who looked out of place. The older one, an overweight middle-aged lady, looked tired and worn, as if fate itself spent its days raining blows on her back. She clutched her overpriced bag to her chest and stared out at the ocean. Although it was calm, she got no comfort from that fact. They had been here for an hour and the wait was getting the best of her. She had to be a work in another couple of hours, this boat was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. She turned to her daughter . . . who had gone missing. It was frustrating, but the eighteen-year old had done things much worse than leave her mother standing around.

Not ten feet away, said daughter was "chatting" with one of the younger dock workers. Okay, so her shirt was somewhere on the ground, and she might have given the guy (Edward? Jim? Did she honestly care what the guys name was?) a massive hickey during the course of the conversation, but you were only young once, right? This seemed as good a send-off as any, considering her mother hadn't mentioned the fact that she was leaving at all last night. Her dad had called though. That made her smile; she loved her dad and his wife's socks off. Shame he couldn't make it here today.

The young man, Lee, pulled her closer. His back was to the fading gray wall, paint peelings were stuck his skin. He was a decent kisser, breath a little tart, but she took what she could get. She'd certainly had better. It was all going fine, until he decided he wanted to actually talk. "Can I get your phone number?" he whispered.

What? That was not going to work. She smirked. "Daddy doesn't really like boys calling my phone." She looked at the ground and twirled a lock of her chestnut brown hair, effectively making herself look younger. Exactly what she was trying to accomplish. With her petite frame, five foot two and a half height, and her wide amber eyes, she naturally looked childish. It was easy to use to her advantage, and she always pressed her advantages.

He took a couple of steps back, gaping at her in disbelief. "How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm sixteen. And a half. Why?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. If he wanted to get violent, she was prepared. The life that she had lived up to until now, the one she was leaving behind, had taught her that. She slipped her hand in her back pocket, gripped her switchblade lightly. Her dad had given it to her, just in case she got into a situation like this. More accurately, he gave it to her because he knew she would. Her phone started ringing to the tune of "Crazy", defusing the tense vibe a bit. The teen sighed heavily and answered.

"Mother.", she stated blankly.

"Where are you?"

"I went the bathroom. Can I not go to the bathroom now?" The girl started tapping her left foot on the ground. Talking to her mother was always tense.

"Did I say you couldn't . . . never mind. When did you say the boat was supposed to get here? You know I work today."

Like she would let her forget it. "It was supposed to be here at five, I told you that. I'm not the one holding it up. If you really need to leave, you can just go ahead. I'll be fine." She had started flicking the switchblade back and forth. Lee wisely took that as his cue to grab his shirt and leave. She hadn't even bothered to put hers back on, and she felt the chill. It may have been March, but winter hadn't quite released its grip on the weather.

"I want to make sure you get on that boat, dear. I know you. If there's trouble to be found out here, you'll walk right into it. I'm still not sure why I'm letting you go . . . Wait, hold on a second."

"Okay."

Good, I'm glad she stopped before she got on a roll. And my classmates wondered why I like Dad better.

Her mind drifted off to her old school. Technically, she was supposed to still be in school. They let her have her diploma early so she could leave during the spring. After all, it just wouldn't do to be starting a farm during summer. She still could barely believe she was starting her own farm, of all the crazy things in the world. Her uncle had just retired a few months ago, and received a brochure for an amazing opportunity to own some free land on an island. He fell in love with the place, made the necessary calls, and made plans to relocate. Unfortunately, a heart attack left him unable to do so. He decided that he would just give the land to his niece as a present instead. It took some doing to convince his sister Pamela but eventually they both decided it would be good for her to get away from the "bad influences" in her life.

" Angela, the boat is here. Just hurry up and come back, okay?"

"Of course." She put her green shirt back on and made her way back to the dock. She walked slowly, trying to savor the last moments before she moved to no-man's land. She figured that most of the people in Waffle Town were old and married, from what her uncle told her about the place. It would be terribly boring while she got the farm rolling, but she guessed it was as good a place as any to start over. It would have been nice to have someone here besides her mother to see her off. But she hadn't told anyone besides her family she was leaving, and she didn't really have anyone in her life right now she would consider a friend.

When she arrived, her mother was helping someone put her bags on the ship. The man was old, but jolly-looking and she assumed he was the captain. Looking closely at them, she could tell her mother was still pissed at the man's tardiness. They all finished moving the bag in silence. Fifteen minutes later, they had finished and it was time for Angela to leave. Her heart began to beat faster. What if I can't do this? Screw that, I've done harder things than move away. I'll be alright.

She turned to her mother and gave her a tight, lengthy hug. Even though the two of them worried each other to death, they still loved each other. They were family. Angela listened as her mother ran off her laundry list of instructions. Some things never changed. " And make sure your dress for the weather. Go to bed on time. Don't get into any arguments with anyone that . . . Are you even listening, Angela?"

She chuckled. "Mom, when do I ever listen to what's good for me?"

Pamela frowned. "You're right, I'm just wasting my breath. But you'd better listen to this." She lowered her voice, but her tone was much harsher. "If it doesn't belong to you, don't touch it." She turned to the captain of the ship. "And you make sure she gets to Pancake Island safely." She gave Angela one last hug, walked to her car, and drove off.

That's my mom for ya.

--

She had been on the boat (which looked more like a dingy than anything else) for hours now, and Pascal had not stopped talking once. Admittedly, he did have an interesting life story, what with the divorcing his wife for the sea and all. But he just would not stop asking her questions. He reminded her of a patient at a nursing home. He continued, "So, Miss Angela. Why are you going to Waffle Island anyway?"

Because if I stay in New York I'll end up violating my probation. Because my dad just had a baby with my step-mom and I'm sick of staying with my mother. Because I won't let my uncle down, he's the only one left that doesn't think I'm full of crap.

"Well, I've always liked growing things. And hey, Waffle Town sounds like a nice place to live." For retirees.

Suddenly, the wind picked up and the sky turned dark. Pascal smiled, for some odd reason. It was creeping Angela out. He had a gleam in his eye that seemed rather familiar to her for some reason. Maybe it was the old sailor genes coming out or something.

Maybe this was a bad idea. This crazy old man might sail us into the storm and kill us both. Why couldn't I just gotten on a pl

Angela had been knocked unconscious by one of Pascal's fishing trophies.

--

A/N - I don't own Harvest Moon: Tree of Tranquility. I'm going to try to update Monday and Fridays. Thanks for reading (and hopefully reviewing)!

DP702