Chapter 1:

       U-HAUL

»I stared at it for a while. It just sat there, inconspicuously, on the floor. It wasn't hurting anyone. At least, that's how it seemed. But I had my suspicions. It seemed to have an aura around it, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Despite it's innocent guise, I was intent on discovering its true nature. And what better way to do that then stare at it endlessly? Sooner or later, it would have to make a move, and that's when I would catch it in the act.

Of course, it was only a packing box. And I knew that. I wasn't completely bonkers. Just a little. But something about being surrounded by mountains of brown boxes triggered my imagination. So I continued to stare at one container in particular. Who knew what was inside, probably kitchenware or something. In my mind, however, it was another story. This package held nothing but evil and malice. But for who and why, I'll never know, because my fantasy was cut short as a figure invaded my world. Without even asking, it picked up my story's antagonist and carried it away, saving it from my scrupulous glare. I watched as the man placed it carefully in an orange-striped truck with five letters printed on the side.

"Freakin' U-HAUL," I muttered to myself. I suppose the truck could've taken that as an insult, but by that time we knew each other so well that I'm sure it could tell that I was only joking. Unlike my relationship with the suspicious boxes, the truck and I had become good friends over the years. We were both strangers to the outside world in our own unique ways. It was lonely... the truck I mean. I had noticed that about it the first time I saw it, many many years ago. Something about the way it swayed and shifted on the road reminded me of a small child crying silently in a corner. No matter how many miles it put between itself and the past, it was always sad. I pitied that truck.

I walked up to my old friend and reached out a hand, tracing my fingers along the lowest dash of orange. Despite the glare of the sun, I could see my reflection in the truck's white exterior. I looked tired. And with good cause. Marie had kept me up all night to help her with a painting she was working on. Something about an insect trapped in amber. By the way, Marie is my mom. It's just never felt completely right calling her "Mom" or "Mommy" or even "Mother". Those names just don't fit her, so I call her Marie. She doesn't mind. At least, she's never told me to stop.

She walked out of the house at that moment, carrying another of the mysterious cardboard containers. Handing the box to a packing man, she glanced at me, then at the truck, and greeted us both in her own magical way. Without a word, she could convey almost any emotion; joy, sorrow, fascination, suspicion. She could even speak with nothing but her eyes sometimes, like she did at that moment. It was as clear as a starry sky that she was greeting us with a "Hello again. I hope you're doing well today," and yet her lips never moved. I loved it when she did that.

I smiled back, trying to imitate her expression, but failing miserably. I just didn't have the same spark that she possessed. But I didn't mind all that much.

One of the moving men went up and said something to Marie and she nodded slightly, glancing past him to me and my friend. When he left, she glided over to me, her sheer skirt flowing behind her long, lean legs.

"It's time to go now Banana. Are you sure you got everything?" I nodded. She came up with the strangest nicknames, but they never lasted long. One day she'd call me Fruitcake or Bunnybear, but nothing seemed to stick. At the moment, it was Banana. Next week it would be something else. So I just smiled and tolerated her. I knew no one would laugh at me for it.

As Marie moved toward the car, I mouthed a quick goodbye to my pal, glancing over my shoulder once as I followed her down the driveway. Our car was reasonably small though not too cramped, complete with sunroof and beaten-up bumpers. If I had been the one to make the decision, I would've chosen something a bit more snazzy, but I'm not the one with the checkbook. So I got what I got.

Marie took the passenger seat and I climbed in the other side, placing my hands gently on the wheel. I had just started to drive a few weeks ago, but Marie was set on the idea of having me take us all the way across the country to California. I wasn't sure if I could do it, but I didn't see the harm in trying. It would take us about a week to get to Stinson Beach and if I got too tired along the way, my mom would take over for a while. But that wasn't going to happen. I was determined to make it from one coast to the other without an ounce of help. I guess I was just stubborn that way: believing that I didn't need anyone's support, that I was completely independent at the mere age of 16. In some ways, I was. But in the eyes of the world I was still a baby, yet to take my first step. However, the day when I finally put one foot in front of the other was approaching fast and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Only one question remained; was I ready? Or would I fall flat on my behind, settling for a simple crawl?

AUTHOR'S NOTES; So I wrote this forever ago, but never ended up posting it. Don't ask me why cause I don't have an answer... but anyway, here it is now and I hope you enjoy it!!!

» layout credit