The beach taught me everything I know about life. Waves are life, their high crests and low troughs, and power that can be harnessed but never tamed. Waves scared me when I was a
child, as did life for quite some time; however, no matter how destructive or exciting waves become, they are always beautiful. When my father's job relocated our family, I was full of hope.
Moving meant another ocean, a different set of waves. I loved Thailand with every particle in my body, but Fiji? Australia? I would have even been content with a less exotic location like
Hawaii. If a good beach was within an hour's run, this move would be welcome.
"It's a move back to the states Ari. Washington State to be exact." My mother smiled as she revealed the news to me. I could not bring myself to look at her. "Where are we going to live? I
don't see how I'm supposed to deal with cold, but it's close to California, which means surf on the weekends I guess." I glared out of the window, weekend surfing is for tourists, not
native surfers, not me. "Well, actually honey, it's right near a beach called LaPush. It's on a Native American reservation. Is that not amazing? It's called Forks, Washington." Great, my
exotic travels lead me to a town named after an eating utensil. I didn't like moving, but I tried to look at it as just a different set of waves, though I didn't know how rad or flat they would
be. She and my father had already registered me for school, so we had to make it there and get settled by August. I spent every free moment I had riding the waves as a farewell, at least
for a while.
I was scheduled to fly out a week before them, in order to get some stuff ready for school. I boarded the plane and thought about the tearful goodbye my mother had left me with. I
didn't know why, but something didn't feel right. I had always been independent, never needing or relying on anyone else. I looked forward to the week alone, relating it to living on my own.
The flight was long, boring, and crowded; needless to say, I was a bit ill when I got out into the airport. A man was holding a sign with my name printed on it, "Ariana Masen." I had expected
to take a cab to the home, but if my parents wanted to get me a chauffeur, I had no complaints. I blushed as I walked up to shake his hand. He smiled politely, "Miss, I believe these are
yours. All I need is your signature." He handed me an envelope and a set of keys. A rental? Seriously, I was a little let down. I signed for the package and went to claim my luggage. The
keys were labeled with a parking number, thank God. I nearly dropped everything when I got to the car, it was no rental. The black pearl paint gleamed, even in the torrential rain. I was
shocked, here I stood, in the middle of a down pour staring at a 2009 GT-R with a license tag that read "ARIGTR." I was confused, thankful, and amazed but to cold and wet to register
what was going on. The interior was flawless, black leather with the new car smell. I pulled out of the lot with ease and the navigation system was preprogrammed to lead me to the new
home in Forks. I could not get over the fact that I was being subjected to a city named after a utensil. The closer I got to Forks, the less fitting the word city became. For my own personal
definition of a city, there had to be at least two sky scrapers; Forks' largest building, besides houses, was a three story bank. My car led me right to my driveway, which was about five
miles from the center, if there was an outer, of town. The house was nice and large, two stories on about an acre and a half of land. To say the scenery was beautiful would be an
understatement, everything was green and smelled of rain.