• San Fran to Monterey

    by Savannah Mitchem

    You can reinvent yourself, she says, that’s what I always say. She likes the fresh start, but she could never be anything less than herself. Me and Mom. We go where dad goes, where the wind blows, where God knows.
    I started out as a California zygote riding trolleys and my mom buying us fish for a treat. I’ve been a rolling stone since I rolled out of her, a nomad of the hunter-gatherer type. I can’t see life for me that’s stationary. Home is where the love is, and it’s really everywhere. Family is always a drive and a half away, and friends surface wherever we go.
    He says Freedom is a close relative to Summer, and Moving has a little sister Joy. He says if you don’t put your name in, you won’t know. He says we will be fine and love it there. I say okay, I believe you.
    The little one doesn’t say much actually. Not much at all. He sits in the back and goes quietly. Well, it’s bittersweet, we both say together. It hasn’t hit us, really.
    Dad takes leave, we pack up and head out in the unknown and nothing has ever been completed except our hearts. Pictures are leaned against the walls, never hung, collecting dust. I don’t like pictures anyway, I like memories. Anything we can put off till the next house we do, except they painted my room pistachio green. We put off me leaving, but I will have to leave the next house for good. On my own, to college.
    So I will come full circle to California. California, around the world, and then back again. And end my career as a kid table, back seat inhibitor. I will buy my own fish and eat it with my own mouth, and I will get tilapia, not salmon. I don’t like salmon. I’ll drive off and look back often.

    posted to Cedar Street Times on February 1, 2013

    Topics: Young Writers' Corner


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