Whoof! Long story. ;) Read below. Project is for pictures that I drew of that time period in my life. And yes, it is completely true. Almost. All of it is true except my name is NOT Phoenix and my friend'd name is NOT Harper, those are just the names we go by in stories. But we do have very unusual (and sometimes awkward and embarrassing) names... More stories to come, because I love writing (or typing)! The idea of writing the story in the Notes and Credits box was by @ewaffle . :D Sorry that i'm a little busy and I can't really reply to comments, but I try my best.
I was born in Alaska, but as I moved at just two months old, I have no memory of it. We had moved to Ontario, Canada. That's where I grew up and lived. I was so popular in school, too! All the boys liked me, all the girls wanted to be my friend. I was so happy! But one girl definitely stood out to me. She seemed to fit my personality. The girl was spinning in circles and stopping every so often to catch her breath. Her wild, uncombed pink (yes, pink!) hair flew behind her as she went, over and over and over, until she collapsed in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. I smiled. "Hello." I said. "Hi!" she laughed. I laughed with her, it was so hilarious I thought we would faint and die. I didn't even know her name and I knew we would be the best of friends. (2 years later) I am now 9 years old. That girl is my best friend, and we do absolutely everything together. Yes, we did end up introducing ourselves after we had calmed down from our unnecessary fit of laughter. Her name is Harper, which I think is a lovely name. It's very unique and fits her well. But stories never do really have happy endings, do they? No they do not. And this story doesn't either. Today as I walked home from school, Harper ran up to me, crying. "Oh, Phoenix, it's terrible!" she bawled. I was devastated at the news that came next. "Father said we're moving!" she cried. Her pink curls bobbed up and down as she did so. I started to cry with her, and finally, with my voice cracking with emotion, managed, "But--but where?" Harper looked at me with sincere concentration. Then started to cry again. Through her tears she told me. "To the U.S.! To Montgomery!" I thought about that, and thought, where the heck is Montgomery?! Harper moved the following weekend, and I forever hated the people next door, however friendly their daughter seemed to be. I do guess that was quite unfair of me, that they did not know of Harper and I, but I hated them all the same. (1 year later) Was I happy to hear that we were moving! I happily cleaned my room, packed my belongings, and suddenly I realized. The U.S. was a whole other country. With different customs, beliefs, ways of life. I would have to learn the American dollar. And their silly little presidents.Though technically American, I considered myself Canadian, and as Mother pointed this out, I suddenly hated America. For turning my life upside-down, for tearing Harper away from me. Father said we are only afraid of what we don't know. I was afraid of America, yes, that giant green toga-lady with the torch scared me very much. But I knew exactly what I was going to move into. The worst nightmare of my life. (1 month later) A knock echoed through the house. I dragged myself to the door and opened it. I gasped and almost fell over. The familiar face, the sky blue eyes, the shock of untamed pink hair! "Harper!" I screamed. "Phoenix!" she shrieked back, and we threw our arms around each other. "My-we-I--"we stuttered with happiness, "How?" I finally managed. How had Harper ended up in Atlanta? Instead of Alabama? "Mother changed her mind!" she said through her tears. I would've hugged her to death. I was both dying with happiness and angry at her (idky im like that) at the same time. (1 year later) I am 11 years old, and for winter break my parents agreed to take me back to Ontario. At first I was unbelievably happy. Then came the 20 hour road trip. And the passport checks, gas station breaks, and snack breaks (mainly for my brother). As we finally neared our old neighborhood and drove down the city street, I recognized the buildings, the signs, even the people. A tear rolled down my cheek as I watched everybody I had ever known going about their lives as if nothing had happened. As if they didn't ever know who I was, or that I had moved. It scared me, somewhat, but mostly it just saddened me to see them. I realized to me this wasn't a winter break treat, but a torturous punishment laid on me. When we stopped in front of our old house a rolled down my window and gazed at the familiar bricks and windows. A girl about my age with dark hair was dancing on the lawn and suddenly a hatred of her filled me and I was more than tempted to yell at her, "Get out! This is my house, you stole, and I want it back! It's your fault for ruining my life, all your's!" Yes, I knew this wasn't fair at all, at least to her, but it would feel good to shout at somebody, I thought. Father was already eyeing me, so I just scowled at her from my window. She smiled brightly, which just annoyed me even more. (after i had calmed down a bit) Later, back at home, as I reflected on everything, I sorted everything together and came up with a guess of what had really happened to me. Not an unbearable, stressing, nightmare, I realized, but a gift. A miracle. Mother said such things were nonsense and that miracles are for fairy tales, not for life. And that "miracles" in life were just a dramatic change that happens to turn out with a good ending. Maybe she was right. Maybe the past few years had just been a change. I decided I had been to stubborn to notice that moving to the U.S. would help me. In growing my mind, meeting new friends, learning new things. I felt like I had just completed a thousand-piece puzzle. And for once I stopped hating the U.S. and turned to other matters, such as finally learning my American dollars and the silly little presidents. Now I was truly interested in them. Maybe i'd even learn why the giant green toga lady likes to scare people with torches. Who knew? There was so much to learn, and at 11, my teachers looked down on me for not knowing these things. Hm. I opened a Google browser. I'd be on the computer for a while, thinking solely on the present, not on what used to be.
