Chapter 4:
Life Eats Us Now
The whole week was a packing frenzy. Days spun by like a carousel, filled with rolls of tape that clung to everything except the boxes, and an endless stream of stuff to pack - most of it uninteresting clutter. The house felt like a ship caught in a maelstrom, with me as a tiny boat tossed by the current.
We'd never moved before, not since I was a baby. Thus it's a whole new experience. Like a monumental task, but also a strange kind of freedom.
"Reol, check those boxes for labels!" Dad's voice boomed through the chaos, grounding me. I mumbled an okay, grabbed the marker, and started scrawling labels across the cardboard giants.
As I hopped from room to room, tagging boxes and making sure everything as packed, my thoughts started to wander. Just in a few days, this place will be entirely empty. The chipped paint on the door frame where I'd measured my height each year, the worn spot on the living room rug - all of it would remain. And all those unpleasent memories from the past too, they'll just remain in the walls and the plaster and the tiled floors. It's like an unexplored trail just waiting for my first step. Just the thought of attending a different school meant I could leave behind the jumble of familiar and unsettling things. I wouldn't have to face my classmates' disapproving glances anymore. In the new school, no one will know anything about my past. Like tracing the outline of an overgrown trail, one leading away from the familiar (and unsettling). Perhaps it would lead to a clearing bathed in sunlight, a place where new memories could be made. A complete refresh.
And then there is Hugh. Finally, I would be free from his hold. Perhaps he will just move on to someone else to play his games with.
My eyes crinkled at the edges as a small, pleased smile played on my lips. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. I pleased smile. I hadn't spilled the beans to anyone in my class about the move except my teachers. To my classmates, it probably wouldn't mean anything more than a blip in their routines. An empty seat, a moment of confused whispers (if they even take notice), then the teacher's explanation. Life for them would continue its steady course like usual.
But then, someday, another person would sit in that seat and bring their own kind of liveliness to it. Something that I wasn't able to do.
Dusk's already here, with its hues of bruised purple and streaky orange. I went back to my room, feeling tired all the way to my bones. My muscles ached as if I'd trudged through miles of mud, and my eyelids felt heavy as stones. Boxes were spread all over, squat and wide, others tall and thin, showing how much things had changed for us. In the middle of all the cardboard mess, my bed seemed like a peaceful spot. I sat down, looking at the disorder around me.
That's when it hit me - the weight of this moment. This was the chance I had been yearning for, the opportunity to bid farewell to the old me and start anew. Those words she had shared with me on the rooftop echoed in my mind. The idea of packing away my past, worries, and uncertainties into these boxes thrilled me. The days ahead are right before me, waiting to be molded. A life I could create on my terms, free from the constraints of others' expectations and judgments.
Of my teachers.
Of my classmates.
A surge of defiance propelled me to my feet and glanced around the room. The things from my past were right there—books, small keepsakes, memories. Everything held a bit of who I used to be, but they weren't what made me now.
And amidst the clutter, I discovered something else. Clarity. The jumbled mess of boxes mirrored the anxieties in my heart. Yet, within the chaos, a spark of hope flickered - the hope of shaping this uncertainty into something beautiful.
The night before our big move, I found myself perched at my cluttered desk. A faint desk lamp threw a gentle light onto an empty sheet of paper. My pen hovered just above it, ready to strike. I had every intention of drafting a checklist—my personal guide to the new me.
I started with the obvious points: "Speak up more," I penned in clear, resolute letters. Then came, "Have a good first day at school," closely followed by, "Make a new friend on the first day." I had put enough force on the pen to make the words bold. And resolute. Though the more I think about it, my handwritting looks more like those you see on comic strips... on the dialogue bubbles. Roundy and kind of quirky.
I tapped the nib of my pen on the desk a few times. Now's not the time to think about that. It seems like a simple act, but these are goals that will set me on the path ahead.
☐ Engage in conversations while maintaining eye contact.
☐ Be part of a group.
☐ Share meals with others.
☐ Walk home with friends.
☐ Study diligently!
☐ Collaborate on group studies with pals.
☐ Join the track and field club.
☐ Take part in other school activities.
As I moved through the list, my initial excitement ebbed a bit. These weren't mere casual wishes; they were pledges to myself, commitments to bring about genuine change in my life. "Face fears." It sounded straightforward enough in theory, but I recognized that it meant confronting the very anxieties that had restrained me for so long.
Then, as I readied my pen to write the last item on the list, something inside me hesitated.
☐ Get a
The pen slipped from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the desk. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
The last one could wait. I didn't have to overcome everything in a single night. I could work on these changes gradually, one step at a time. It was perfectly fine to begin small and grow from there.
I picked up the pen once more, and instead of adding more items to the list, I simply underlined the ones I had already written. I know that I don't need to overhaul myself completely before the move. I just needed to start, to take those initial steps toward change, and to believe in my ability to grow and evolve over time. The last one can wait; I am already on my way.
Not following the instruction manuals others set...
A life sketched by me.
The move had wrung me out like a dishcloth. Every muscle ached from the endless lifting, carrying, and rearranging. But stepping into this new place, a strange freshness filled the air, invigorating my mind even as my body craved a rest.
Sure, for my age, I wasn't doing half bad. But the past few days had taken their toll. Physically, I felt the strain, a dull ache settling deep in my bones. Mentally, though, I was still brimming. The excitement of a fresh start, a new place to call my own, kept me buoyant. I sank into the unfamiliar chair, the plushness so different to the well-worn comfort of my old one. It felt strangely out of place here, but I welcomed the respite.
The moment we arrived at the new house, it was all hands on deck. Unpacking boxes, rearranging furniture – the task was to unpack my belongings and fashion my new room into a haven of personal comfort. What awaited me was a surprise though– a room far bigger than the one I'd left behind. Back when my brother moved out, he'd stashed all his things in his old room. Even though it was spacious, my parents wouldn't let me switch. But with him gone, the tables had turned. I banished his belongings to a smaller room, claiming the expansive one for myself. And as if fate had granted me an extra bit of kindness, this room even had an adjoining balcony.
The next day, we set to work getting the entire house in order. We kept at it until evening, by which time the place had started to resemble a home. There were still boxes scattered here and there, but we had enough space to move around.
With nothing else to occupy my time, I took a stroll around the neighborhood. The streets were new to me, but they had a welcoming charm. I don't know the magic here, but a look from far away gave you one of those 90's movie feel, as if sharing stories of the past with those who cared to listen.
As I roamed the unknown streets, I made mental notes of the twists and turns I took and the houses I passed. There was a big sign a few streets ahead, written "Welcome to Pine Lawn." We passed right by it when we arrived here. I don't know who gave this neighborhood that name, but surely, I couldn't find any pine trees anywhere along my walk.
The neighborhood itself was fairly large, and seemed like a maze of houses, all looking nearly identical. Each had a neat driveway and a mailbox with a cheerful red flag. Children chased each other on sidewalks lined with maples trees, oaks, and elms, (no pines though) with leaves that have already shed their summery greens for a fiery wardrobe of reds, oranges, and deep yellows. The pace here was slow, almost leisurely. A jogger trotted past, giving me a smile before passing me by. Who jogs at this hour though? Then all of a sudden a quick breeze passes by too, but without a smile. I quickly buttoned my jacket, but the chill in the air still bit through it.
I walked without a clear destination, thoughts swirling like fallen leaves caught in a whirlwind. My breath puffed out in frosty clouds as I walked. After a bit, the houses began to thin out, and it felt like I had reached the outskirts of the neighborhood. The street yet stretched ahead of me, just a barren landscape with no signs of life.
Then, like shadows materializing out of thin air, a group of boys appeared before me. Their faces held an air of suspicion, their eyes locked onto me with intensity.
"Are you one of those imposters?" one of them demanded, his tone sharp and accusing.
I fumbled for words, taken aback by the sudden confrontation. "W-what are you talking about?"
The question stayed in the air, left without an answer. They stared at me with a silence that wouldn't let up, their faces inscrutable. Then, as if acting in perfect harmony, one of them moved behind me, grasping my arm tightly. Before I could react, a punch struck my stomach, its impact robbing me of my breath.
"What are you guys doing?" I managed to gasp, the pain shooting through my body. They ignored my protests entirely, their eyes locked on me like predators sizing up their quarry. With each blow that landed, panic surged within me. My thoughts raced, struggling to make sense of the situation.
Are they part of a street gang?
And what do they mean by "imposters"?
Another particularly brutal blow to my stomach left me hunched over, my thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. Through my blurred vision, I caught sight of the black scarves hanging from their collars, a kind of uniform that suggested their affiliation. It was evident they were part of a group with their own set of rules. Did I walk into their turf? But how does that even make me an imposter? "P-please, stop. I didn't do anything..."
"Just answer, were you one of those fakers, pretending to be one of us?" The question was delivered with a sharpness in each word, heavy with suspicion.
My voice trembled as I tried to defend myself. "What are you guys even saying? I ha-have nothing to do with this! I swear."
Their punches continued, as I just took them without any protest. My mind whirled. Why did I even end up in this situation? It's only my second day here, and I'm already entangled in trouble. How much worse could my luck possibly get?
"Do you think we're fools. Who in his right mind just wanders here at a time like this?"
Another punch struck me, and the world seemed to blur around the edges. Pain radiates from the point of contact, and my skin tingles where the blow landed.
"A-I'm new in this town. I walked t-to here by accident."
"New here? Do you think that'll help you get out of this?"
The beating finally stopped, replaced by the sound of heavy breathing and an oppressive silence. I lay on the ground, my body pulsing with pain. The boys exchanged looks. "Let's bring him to the boss. He can figure out what to do with him."
"We'll do that. But first..." They began clenching their fists once more. "Let's give him a good beating first. How dare he use our name to make trouble."
"Yeah, you're right!"
The voices merged; their words filled with a shared anger that I couldn't fully grasp. The only thing I could sense was the intensity of their hostility bearing down on me. Yet, from my side, there was nothing I could do.
But just when it felt like my destiny was sealed, a new presence appeared. A figure came forward, hands tucked into pockets, as if his very presence commanded something. He's young, around my age, but the air he exuded said otherwise. His hair was short and jet black, meticulously styled to perfection, along with a pair of dark, penetrating eyes.
His arrival alone hushed the group, as if their defiance was dampened by his coming.
"You guys! What are you up to here?" His voice seemed to carry some sort of authority; his gaze unwavering as he assessed the situation. Their response was immediate, as their tones got deferential. "Yeah, boss! We've found one of the imposters. But he isn't admitting anything. He says he's new in town."
Their supposed boss closed the distance between us, scrutinizing every inch of my face. I tried not to maintain eye contact, hoping that my evident fear won't betray me. "I don't recall ever seeing his face here," he muttered. "I think he's telling the truth. You guys must have mistaken him for someone else."
My heart eased a fraction. Maybe I can finally walk away from here. "C-can you please just leave me alone then?" I stammered, "I d-don't have anything to do with whatever you guys are talking about."
A tense silence hung in the air for a moment, the only sounds the distant cries of birds returning home. I waited with bated breath for their response, praying that my appeal would be sufficient to free me from this menacing situation.
The supposed boss suddenly flashed a disarming smile, his demeanor shifting from intimidating to almost friendly. With a casual grace, he extended his arm towards me. "Oh, it's not your fault. Blame these idiots here for the confusion." Getting up, he extended his other arm, something gobbled between his fingers. "Take this as an apology. It's my absolute favorite, you know."
I stared at the chocolate bar. What is he trying to mean? An unexpected token of goodwill in the midst of darkness? It was as though he had extended an olive branch, offering a semblance of peace in this tense encounter.
But just then, as he turned away from me, his demeanor took a turn again, almost as if a curtain had fallen over the warmth that briefly graced his presence. The lightness in his eyes darkened, and his shoulders drew down with a sudden heaviness. The same coldness as when he arrived. "And take it as a warning too. It's not a place to be wandering at a time like this."
So it is their turf. Maybe some other team were causing some trouble, and I got mixed up in the end. They all turned their backs and headed back the way they came. I didn't wait for any other signal, and started measuring my way back too, with my body still throbbing in pain.
He's an odd character, the leader of theirs. He didn't seem anything but cold at first, but the sudden shift in atmosphere made me think otherwise. I just hope we don't cross paths again. Any more trouble on my end would be too much to handle.
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