I don’t like it here.
Everything is dark, the sky is always cloudy, and it’s always cold. Our house is old and dark. Mommy said we had to move here. She says I’ll like my new house and my new step dad. She’s wrong.
I don’t like either of them.
Back home, it’s warm and sunny. My friends like to play outside in the sun and ride bikes. Here I can’t play outside. The big kids are mean and scary where we live.
I don’t like it here.
When it was me and mommy, we used to have sleepovers every night. Now that HE’S here, I must sleep in my own bed. My bed is all the way upstairs in the cold, ugly house. It used to be called an a-tick? That’s what my mommy said. Up the long, skinny stairs, down the long, long hallway, past all the big glass windows. That’s where I first see her. Gliding through the grass, dressed all in white, her long, curly yellow hair flowing in the freezing wind. What is she doing in our yard? Where is she going? Mommy doesn’t see her, but I do.
I don’t like it here.
Mommy finally lets me go outside to ride my roller blades. I found a great place to ride. Right behind our old, ugly house. It’s where really old grandmas and grandpas go when they’re too sick to live alone. They like when I come visit them, but most of them don’t even notice me. It’s a little creepy, the way they sit in their chairs and just stare… at nothing. I don’t skate by those ones.
I still don’t like it here.
Now it’s snowing outside. It’s not like snow at home. This snow is hard, and the wind always blows and blows the hard snow right into your face. At home, the snow is light and fun to play in. the snow is not fun here. I walk to my room, it’s time for bed. I walk down the long, long hallway, I look out the big windows. Below, in the freezing snow, blowing down in tiny daggers, and I see her again. She hasn’t changed. Her big white dress, and long yellow hair, waving in the wind, but not waving like it should. It looks soft, slow. Not like the snow that’s whipping hard against the house, making “pops!” as the snow daggers hit the house. Flowing like it’s warm again. She doesn’t look wet or cold either because she doesn’t even have a coat. I watch her, glide the same direction she did before. Maybe she’s going to visit her grandma and grandpa at the place I like to skate…but my stomach feels funny when I think about her now.
I don’t like it here.
I don’t sleep that night. I didn’t like to see the girl with the yellow hair. I want to go home. My real home. I want to see MY grandma and grandpa who aren’t old and sick like the grandma and grandpas are here. I want to see my dad, not my stupid stepdad. He has a pig nose and weird eyes. I want my room at grandma’s house. It’s always warm and has lots of blankets. I want my aunts who always played with me, even though they were lots bigger than me. Especially aunt Tina. She had yellow hair, like the girl outside. I cry until I fall asleep.
I hate it here.
I wake up and it’s still dark. I want my mommy. I don’t want to sleep in my cold, a-tick bedroom anymore. I walk down the long, long hallway; I don’t look out the windows this time. Down the skinny stairs. Mommy’s room has two big doors instead of one normal door. One is closed, but the other one is open just a little. I’m surprised! My mommy and step dad are sleeping, but they’re not alone. I see long, yellow hair, sleeping by my mommy. Maybe Aunt Tina came to see me! I’m too excited, but I don’t wake them up. I don’t want to be in trouble if this is my surprise. Mommy knows I hate it here and Aunt Tina will make it all better.
Maybe I can like it here.
I go back up the skinny hallway, past the windows. I’m brave enough to peek this time. The girl isn’t there. I get back to bed and fall asleep, excited to spend the day with someone from who I missed so much.
When I wake, I rush downstairs.
“Mommy, mommy, where’s Aunt Tina!?”
She looks confused.
“Tina’s back home honey.”
Now, she must be teasing me.
“No… I saw her asleep in your bed! She came to see me!”
Mommy looks weird. Why are her cheeks not pink anymore?
“Mommy. I SAW her. She was here. Sleeping right by you.”
She still looks weird and tells me again, “Aunt Tina is back home sweetie. She’s not coming here for a long time.”
I start to cry and go back up the skinny stairs, and down the long hallway. I’m crying and everything is blurry, but I see something outside the window. I bring myself to look out those windows one last time. There she is again. This time, he isn’t gliding through the grass. She’s just standing there. She never looks up at me, and I realize she’s never looked at me. I wipe my tears away, and when I’ve rubbed the tears away, she’s gone.
I think I know who was asleep in mommy’s bed last night.
I don’t like it here.