"Across" by Elliott Spencer (Penobscot County)
I scramble to get as many things as I can into the box in front of me. The last box. They’re stacked against my wall, pushed next to each other in rows. There’s about five of them. Clothing. Stuffed animals. Books. More clothing. This one just has the rest of my books and figurines. “You finished with the last one?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, I’ll start bringing them down in a second.” I reply, and I close the two sides of the box shut as best as I can. I breathe in. The air in the apartment is musty. It smells faintly of the old, blue, flowery couch that dad just moved out. There are so many memories on that couch, even just from this summer. Watching movies with my older brother, squeezing onto the popout mattress with my cousins, holding Tuesday under a blanket when she was a puppy. I breathe out.
My little sister is sitting next to me, though she isn’t really helping (unless playing with her stuffed animals is considered helping—though she’s definitely helping with their divorce). “No, don’t you dare!” She yells in a high pitched voice, moving one of her teddy bears around, and then she tells it, “Now, let’s not get so tense.”
“Vinnie, could you be a little less loud? I’m forgetting what I was doing,” I ask.
“Tell Rose that! It’s not my fault she’s yelling,” Vinnie replies.
“Right…” I decide I’ll just start bringing the boxes down—it’s pointless to keep arguing about this.
I carry the first box down the long hallway of my apartment building. It’s a long, musty hallway with multiple worn-down doors with old, metal numbers on them that look as if they’re about to fall off. The carpet is a light brown, though you can hardly tell with how many stains are on it. I’m so distracted, remembering all the times I had to wrangle my aunt’s dogs when they ran out of her apartment down the hall and into this hallway, that I almost trip, but I catch myself. Of course, the things on the top of the box don’t catch themselves. I look down at the books strewn over the floor. The Lightning Thief. How They Choked. The B.F.G. I remember stealing those first two from my older sister’s room while she was still living with us, when I was a bit younger. I guess she forgot to take them back. I set down the box that I’m holding, and put the books back inside.
The stairs are daunting, though not as daunting as moving across the state. I start walking down, careful not to fall with each step. If I do fall, I doubt I’ll get back up. Thankfully, I get to the bottom of the stairs. I open the big, creaky door, and I step onto the chipped stone stairs. I’ve grown up in and lived in the Machias and Whiting area my entire life. It’s hard to believe I’ll ever see anywhere else as home. No way.
Finally, I’ve got the last box into the moving truck.
“You know what? This is exciting. New beginnings. Orono is much bigger than Machias, you know.”
“How much bigger?” I ask, and my mom smiles at me.
“Five times as many people. New people,” she says.
I know that’s supposed to be encouraging, but it’s even scarier. Growing up in a town where it takes an hour to drive to the nearest Walmart, and it’s basically impossible to not know everyone, it isn’t exactly comforting to know that you’ll be surrounded by strangers for at least the rest of your teen years.
“Oh…nice.” I say. But it’s written on her face, she doesn’t believe me.
“Look…I know it’s unfamiliar. But you know it’ll be better than here. It’s…what our family needs, okay? It’ll be great! You’ll make new friends, meet new teachers. I’m sure middle school will be amazing,” she says. And I can tell she believes it, too. I wish I was that certain.
We get into the car, and I clutch my backpack. I can’t believe I’m about to see our new place in about…two hours? I know two hours is a long time, but it’s so, so short.
“You think Cameron and Aaron’ll visit?” I ask my mom.
“Of course! They’re helping us unpack, too.” Mom says. I’m thankful for that. It’s so surreal, having two siblings moved out of the house. It doesn’t feel real. If I had only had a bit more time to get to know them, but I guess it’s too late now. They’re seventeen and nineteen, and I doubt an eleven year old would have much fun talking with them now.
“Okay, let’s get going! It’s going to be a long drive.”
And boy, she wasn’t lying. Even with my nerves, the drive still dragged on. I was thankful for that, though. Grateful to have as much time as possible in between myself and my life from now on. I’m basically shaking with anxiety. I’m glad when my dad starts joking like he always does.
“Did we get that one blanket?” Simon asks. “The pink, fluffy one? I need it for the ride, and the first night.”
“Yeah, it’s in the back. You can survive one car ride without it, can’t you?” dad asks. Simon rolls his eyes, and covers his face with a pillow. I’d talk to him, but I just know he’ll push me away and call me annoying again, like he always does.
Vinnie’s blasting her youtube videos on her iPad.
“Today, we’re going to build a giant amusement park out of legos…” The guy on the screen says. “Vinnie, if you don’t stop playing that so loud, I’m gonna bash your head in.” Simon says, and mom and dad glare at him. That’s his sign to shut his mouth.
When we pull onto Harrison, the car bumping over the dirt road that I doubt will ever be fixed, I start to imagine what it’ll be like; waking up, getting dressed, walking to the bus stop, but most likely having to run to catch up to it (I always forget something). Like a movie… I don’t know how much I’d like to live in a movie.
“Okay, that trailer right there is where we’ll be living.” Dad says, pointing at it. I had seen pictures of it before, but it’s a whole other thing, seeing it in real life. It finally feels real. It’s long, and there’s a room that’s been added onto the side that clearly didn’t used to be there. There was dirt on the wall, from cars pulling up hundreds of times, no doubt. There’s a light blue porch, which is at least big enough to fit a lawn chair or two on, with steps on one corner. I can almost picture it, living here. You know what? New beginnings don’t sound too bad, now. Maybe I’ll make a few nice friends. Maybe I’ll meet a teacher who’ll become my favorite. Maybe I’ll join the swim team, or maybe I won’t. Regardless, I know it won’t feel as much like a movie when I’m living it.
ELLIOTT SPENCER, a fourteen year old from Orono, Maine, wrote “Across” as an eighth grader at Orono Middle School. Elliott writes about their experiences moving from a small town to a larger town and the anxiety that comes with moving, as well as the hope. During their free time, Elliott often crochets, goes on walks, and hangs out with their friends.