The Continuous Nightmare by Megan NortonNovember 25, 2015
Guest Blogger: Megan Norton
It was the day… my life would change forever.
The day was sweltering and you could see the beads of sweat dripping from my skin. “Friends” was on the television . I was the happiest person ever, it was a Friday and we were going to my best friend’s house for a barbeque dinner.
My dad’s monotone voice echoed through the house when I got called in to talk to him.
My heart started racing… I could feel the room begin to spin. I began to get blurry and all these “what ifs” kept running through my brain.
“…that’s what’s wrong with mommy,” he said.
My whole world changed and I couldn’t do anything about it.
2 weeks had gone by since the nightmare began. Everyone was gone, the rooms were still and lifeless like they understood what was going on. The house sat there wondering what was going to come next.
Once again I was called in to that room. The room where all my nightmares began.
He says “What do you think of New York?” I didn’t know what to say, my emotions were like a cake all baked together. I started to think “Yeah I would like it up there.” But it was only a joke my mind tried to play with me, it was the worst decision I have ever made.
Job had been moved, I began to see the puzzle pieces coming together and I knew that it would never be the same again.
Bags were being packed, I saw all my precious possessions being placed, carefully so that nothing would be broken. There were screams from my family about what we needed to bring. But the most memorable thing was sitting in my room, with walls blue like waves, and clothes scattered around like a tornado had dragged every single piece of clothing out of my closet. That room had feeling and I could hear it saying to me, “Why are you going, your leaving so much behind.” I just sat there and thought, was my wall right, should I be leaving?
1week after that:
Sign in the yard and unknown strangers looking for the good in my house, picking out little bits and pieces to judge and pull apart to make it like their own.
It was MY HOUSE
I wasn’t ready to go, I wanted to stay, my house was me, and I was being plucked from it like a giant picking up a person.
My house wasn’t my house anymore, it was an empty home without a family that loved it. Itwas looking for the memories, the days we cried, the friends that played, and all the parties and milestones that were passed, the big grey door that was always welcoming a friend, neighbor, or relative, the beige walls that had so much life, but with so little color, all the family portraits, and all the lines on the walls that showed how much we had grown; being painted over as we packed our lives away.
The day had come, the last couple of bike packed away into the big white truck and the doors closed. All my remembrance of that house packed into the truck, waiting for the new home, they soon would be in.
We said our last good-byes, took our last selfies, played our last game of football, ate our last lunch with the ones we would soon leave.
The noses began to sniffle, the tears began to roll, and all the prolonged hugging began . We knew we had to get into the black Honda and turn our heads so they wouldn’t see us cry. We would miss them and they knew it.
We hit the open road and BOOM it was over.
BUT…It was just the beginning