A Brighter Tomorrow: My Journey with Julie

Outside the window, I hear the honks and beeps of the city. I shut the window and curl into the window seat, the only part of my room that feels like home in the new apartment. I had a window seat in my old room in Ohio, but we just moved to San Francisco a week ago, and I’m still getting used to the view.

Through the leafy treetops I can see a whole row of colorful Victorian houses like ours. In Ohio, houses are mostly white or beige, but here they’re yellow, pink, blue, and sometimes even lavender, with fancy trim like frosting on a cake. Mom is an architect, and she says the homes are called Painted Ladies. They do sort of look like ladies dressed up.

I imagine the view from my window seat back in Ohio, the old buckeye tree on our front lawn, the tire swing just big enough for me and my best friend, Chloe, who lived next door. I can almost hear Dad singing oldies in the kitchen as he makes my favorite breakfast, banana chocolate-chip pancakes.

My little brother’s voice snaps me out of my daydream. Zack is seven, but he’s old enough to understand privacy. When I ask him why he didn’t knock, he shrugs and says the door was open, so he just came in.

Zack flops on my bed and twirls a section of his curly hair with his fingers, something he does whenever he feels anxious. Lately, he’s been doing it a lot. I tell him he’s going to get a bald spot like Dad.

Zack swallows and admits that he misses Dad. He wants to go home.

I tell him that this is our new home now, and Dad’ll be here before we know it. But I understand how Zack feels. I don’t think this little apartment in the middle of California will ever feel like home.

When Mom and Dad sold our house in Ohio, they sold the only house Zack and I had ever known. Ever since Dad lost his job over six months ago, he and Mom have been arguing more than usual. When Mom got the job offer in California, my parents decided Dad would stay in Ohio to take computer training courses so he could find a good job when he moved to San Francisco. Mom told us it was a good time for them to “take a little vacation from each other” anyway.

Zack twirls his hair again. He says he hates it here, and I can tell he’s trying not to cry. He asks if Mom and Dad are going to get a divorce. I act like I didn’t hear him and pretend to look at something really interesting outside. I don’t like to talk about the D word.

My mind flashes back to the moment we drove away from our house with the tire swing. Zack cried as he watched Dad fade into the distance, waving. Mom reassured us that things were going to work out just fine. I saw Zack look at me, asking if I believed her, but I just stuffed my earbuds in and listened to my music.

I wanted to say that things would work out, but I didn’t know if they would. I still don’t.

I point outside the window and tell Zack there’s a bulldog outside. He loves bulldogs, but he doesn’t budge. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand and gazes at me with a hard look in his eyes. He asks me why I won’t talk to him. Do I even like it here?

I want to tell Zack that I’m just as sad as he is, but I don’t say it because Zack is depending on me to be a big sister, and a big sister is supposed to stay strong and pretend like everything is fine.

I give him a forced smile and suggest we go get mini-muffins at the coffee shop downstairs. He heaves a sigh and says I should just forget it, then shuffles out of my room. I want to go after him and tell him how I really feel, but I hear a little jingle on my laptop that signals a video chat.

It’s Chloe. I pull the computer onto my lap and squeal when her face appears on my screen. She’s wearing her favorite daisy barrettes in her curly, red hair.

We both tell each other that we wish we were together. It’s Saturday, so it should be our day for our Super Saturday Sillyfest, but this Saturday doesn’t seem nearly as fun without her.

Chloe sticks out her tongue and puffs her cheeks out. I laugh and ask her what she plans to do today. She tells me about a birthday party for one of our friends, where they’re going to make and frost cupcakes. She’ll put a pretty flower on hers. That’s just like Chloe, flowers on everything.

I try to give her my best I’m-happy-for-you smile.

Chloe asks how my new school is, and if I found a new best friend to replace her. I tell her that nobody will even look at me at my new school, like I’m wearing a big neon sign that says “WEIRDO.” I let out a small chuckle, but I can’t bring myself to tell her how close to the truth that is. Just yesterday someone taped a sign to my back that said “WALKING FREAK SHOW,” and I wore it all the way into social studies before a quiet girl named Savannah pulled it off and showed it to me.

Chloe reassures me it’ll get better and asks if the school has a basketball team I could try out for. I tell her there is one, but they’re really good, they win championships and everything. I was decent on our fourth-grade team in Ohio, but I don’t think I can play nearly as well without Chloe and the rest of my teammates.

Then I notice the time. It’s 12:34, time to make a wish. We both squeeze our eyes closed. I wish for Dad to come home and everything to feel normal again.

Then Chloe hears her mom calling and has to sign off. I wish I could go with her to the birthday party, but my eyes start to sting, and all I say is, “Have a great party.” Chloe waves and hangs up.