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My dad has the kindest eyes.
Just like the sun beaming above, his eyes are warm and true, and they always burn affectionately brighter anytime they are looking at me. Much like they are now.
“How about you take one of the smaller boxes instead, kiddo?” He chuckles with a wink when he discovers me trying to lift one of the heavier boxes from the U-Haul truck we rented out.
“If I only take the small boxes, then this move is going to take forever, Dad,” I exclaim, pointing to the endless amount of larger boxes behind me.
“It’ll take whatever it needs to. We have plenty of time.” He smiles fondly, picking up the box I was trying to carry, whistling all the way back into the house and leaving me empty handed.
That’s my dad for you.
Always Zen, as if he has all the time in the world, and nothing ever gets him riled up. I wish that was something else I could have inherited from him. Unfortunately, I’m more like my mother in that regard, too—always restless and fretful. Or maybe it’s because of what happened to me that I always feel like I’m working against the clock. Almost as if I have a certain amount of time to do all that I want to until it runs out. It could also be the reason why I’m so excited to start this new life in a new place. Maybe now I can finally breathe and just enjoy every second, instead of worrying about if the next one will arrive or not.
Most twelve-year-olds would dread being uprooted from their childhood homes. The idea of leaving all their friends behind, having to go to a new school where no one knows your name would be daunting for most girls my age.
Me however?
I see this as an opportunity to actually have all the things I’ve missed out on.
Aside from the nurses and doctors, who I saw on the day-to-day basis, and the other cancer patients who got their chemo at the same time I went for my dose, I had no real friends to count on. No one to really miss me moving away to Texas. Not even my own mother.
But now that my life is finally my own, I’m going to do everything on my bucket list that I hadn’t been able to do when I was sick. And if I’m really lucky, Dad will see how happy and healthy I am, and start living his own life, too. Maybe even start dating. Who knows? The possibilities are endless, and I for one can't wait for us to start living our best life, away from divorce papers and hospital rooms.
Since Dad is adamant in doing all the heavy lifting, I pile three of the smaller boxes, one on top of each other, to bring back inside. He’s probably going to frown at my stubbornness, worried that I’ll exert myself, but he has to get with the program sooner or later. I’m not made of porcelain. I won’t break or have a seizure just because of a little strenuous activity.
That was then.
This is now.
The sooner Dad comes to terms with the fact that all our fears and worries about my health are in the past, the better. And for that to happen, he’s going to have to lighten up and give me a little wiggle room to try new things that, up to this point, were unthinkable. For instance, he’s going to have to let me do chores around the house, and when I start my new school later this summer, he can’t say no when I tell him I want to try my hand at sports. And he’s definitely going to have to let me eat junk food like any other preteen.
I can’t keep the small giggle of excitement contained at the idea of eating a juicy cheeseburger at the mall, or doing everyday tasks like washing dishes or taking out the trash. It might sound stupid to some, but I welcome the normalcy of it all.
Bring it on!
Normal never sounded so sweet.
With these enthralling mundane images dancing in my head, I jump giddy off the truck with the three boxes in tow, only for the sun’s rays to blind me and keep me rooted to the spot. When my light eyes finally get used to the glare, I see two boys across the street, throwing a football from one to the other. I bite my lower lip to suppress the giggle that wants to come out, when the boy with the shaggy brown hair doesn’t pay attention to where he’s throwing, since he’s too busy waving at me, and lands the football right into his distracted blond friend. The brown-haired boy quickly runs over to his friend, now lying flat on the grass, and holds out his hand to pull him up. They are both too far for me to be able to hear what they say to each other, but it must be funny, because they both start laughing, pushing on each other’s shoulders as if nothing happened.
Suddenly a loud whistle slices through the air, stunning them into a standstill and embarrassing the hell out of me.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth, my cheeks flushing crimson.
“Watch and learn, kiddo.” He winks at me as he waves the two boys over to us.
I can’t help but chuckle as I watch them try to make up their mind if they should come over or not. But it must not have been too much of a dilemma, because within seconds, they’re both crossing the street and walking up my driveway.
“Hey, are you boys interested in making a few bucks?”
“How few are we talking about, Mister?” The one with the football in his hands asks with a cock to his brow.
“How about ten dollars for each of you? I’d say that’s a fair amount for an honest two hours of work for helping me and my daughter unpack this truck.”
The other boy, the blond one, looks into the U-Haul and then lets out a long exhale, rubbing the back of his head as he begins counting all the boxes.
“By my count, this looks more like a four-hour job for the two of us, sir. But if you throw in lunch and pay us an extra ten dollars, I can call on a buddy of ours and we’ll get this done in the two hours you want.”
“You drive a hard bargain, son. Pizza okay with you boys?”
