The Lake House

I stood in the corner of the room observing the chaos around me. The red and blue lights flooded the once empty, quiet street. Paramedics rushed into my house as my mom sat on the stairs trying to breathe. My brother, still holding the phone he had used to call 911, watched my mom intently.The commotion from my little sister’s cries to the paramedics faded to the background. My heart still pounding from the journey to my neighbor’s house in search for help. “Everything is going to be okay,” my neighbor instructed as she placed her hand on my shoulder. This had not been the first time my mom had been rushed to the hospital. However, this time, my siblings and I had been left completely alone. Across the world, my father fought a war, while my

The bright yellow trim around their house chipped away from its base revealing a dull gray that reminded me of storm clouds. The fifty foot gravel driveway to their front porch was infested with tiny weeds. We called these little guys “lemonheads” because of their skinny green stems and thick yellow heads. Their house had a distinctive aroma. One you could never forget but also never explain. It almost smelled of a kindergarten classrooms, like crayons and wood. Some days, when the sun was high and all the doors and windows were open, it smelt of daisies and crisp pine trees. Their house usually was where I started my day. We would assemble in either Kevin’s room or the plastic painted castle on the side of their house and discuss our ideas for the evening. The youngest brother, Robby, always seemed to want to make mud pies or cut each others hair. Kevin and I, on the other hand, loved exploring the backyards of the cul-de-sac. With my whole family owning 5 out of the 7 houses on the court, we had a lot of vast open desert and mountain to venture through and make our own. All the back yards had two things in common. They didn’t have a fence line and they were nothing but broken down cars, sticker bushes, and mountains for miles. The mountains are where I learned

time at their lake house for vacation purposes. When the family gets out of the city after the long week of work and activities, they look forward to heading out to the lake for a relaxing weekend with close to zero labor. The last thing one would want to do when they get out to the lake is to clean and get everything ready for the weekend. So this brings me to the service I would provide while the families are living their weekly lives.

The week before Anabelle and I moved out into the city, I felt the nerves, the jittering butterflies of happiness, and the warm hugs our parents gave us in the limited time that we had left. The week after we settled and moved into our new apartment If I had known what was to come, however, I never would have departed from my parents. All the good memories I and Anabelle shared throughout our lives, were taken away, all vanquished because of one night. Those hours of darkness that which we spent out, I wish so much that we could take back. It was supposed to be a night of fun, an awakening of our new lives as adolescents, but what happened instead was a tragedy. In the blink of an eye, I was gone. My soul, my body, my entirety, erased. And so was Anabelle’s.

The warm air filtering through the rolled-down windows, brushing against my face. We were on our last minute escape before the rush of school started back up again. Music spewed from the radio, my sister’s pitchy voice sang right along, faltering on the words she didn’t know, as we headed off towards Middle Brook, MO. I didn’t know what was so special about the place we were going, but I was excited all the same. My mom and dad had been planning this for a few weeks. But there was one part of this trip that I knew I’d love more than anything.

The door slammed on my way out of the old apartment building. No, I didn’t slam the door; it was a windy morning in the city of Chicago. As I was walking outside, I whispered to myself “This is it.” The wind was pushing against me, almost causing me to tumble over. Along with the wind, the smell of rain filled my nostrils and my clothing started to soak from just a five-yard walk from the apartment building to my dad’s truck. As soon as I got inside my dad’s truck, I was shivering from the ice-cold rain and piercing wind that was outside and I loudly sighed with relief. The slam of the door may seem like a negative thing, but it was actually the beginning of a better life for me. It was the sound of me breaking free from an affectionless prison

It was a long drive. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. As the rickety minivan rumbled down the concrete road, the air was deathly silent. Returning to our home along the Norfolk highway. No one spoke, for nor my sister, father, or I had seen it coming. No more than a minute earlier, my dad had received the phone call that I would be taking a ten day field trip. But this was not any ordinary trip. It was a trip to CHKD.

Imagine a girl, only six, preoccupied with the normal aspirations of a child, clueless as to the chaos bound to ensue. Now envision her life thrown into a pandemonium of distress and disorder. Her father, no longer there, but seven thousand miles away. Her mother, five siblings, and her— soon to follow. But nevertheless, they return, only to face a plethora of inauspicious obstacles. I’m that girl, now seventeen. And this is my story.

The anticipation had been building for a while as the murmurs and whispers of leaving my hometown finally came to be. As a curious eight year old I wondered why my dad was taking me everywhere to get all these important things done. Finally my great-grandmother sat me down and told me I had to be strong go with my father and everything will be all right. I watched my mother cry as we said our goodbyes. I left with my dad and my sisters and headed off to America. A few ours, and culture shock later I would land in New York City. The day sits with me January 14, 1998. It was freezing and I had never seen snow. I wasn't phased by snow and I wasn't deterred by my dad leaving me and my sisters with a aunt I had never met. Growing up in Brooklyn was different

They were your ordinary suburban family; two lovely parents who had great jobs and two kids who were good at everything. This family was often one you dreamt of being a part of. Perfect family-perfect lifestyle. You could catch Olivia rolling her eyes at the sight of them. The Donahue parents had great jobs at OHSU as medical researchers, and they needed a babysitter every day after the kids got home from school. Olivia loved the kids, and soon enough she got a job as a babysitter. Though the job was fun, and she got a healthy pay; she was also excited for her babysitting job at the Donahues to expire. The Donahue family lived in a quaint suburb of Portland. The street felt airy and calm. The sunlight came through their front windows and made the house glow like a lightbulb. Everyone who lived there was friendly and inviting. Every summer weekend there would be block parties. Amidst a sea of playing children were parents relaxing with a cold beverage. How fun it would be to be apart of the fun. The Donahue’s enjoyed their compact backyard and their recurring games of badminton. They enjoyed their cozy home with a fireplace and rescue dog, Roxy. Not to mention, they each looked like carbon copies of each other. Olivia gawked to Benjamin every day whining, “How are they that perfect?” Benjamin always laughed at her comments, he enjoyed how real she

Waking up to the cold ceramic floor. The pain of my face after hitting the floor. I had never slept in a bed that was so high off the floor, or nearly as far from a wall. I knew today was the day I was finally going to see my mother again. I hadn’t seen her in almost a week; doesn’t seem like long but at the age of eight I needed my mom. I had been so far away from my dad and my brother for months now, but I’ve had her; it seemed like enough. Being with my grandparents, from my dad’s side of the family, after all, that has happened. We had come for only one reason; my mother’s mom was sick.

It was the end of second grade when we moved into my parent’s home, although whenever I return it still feels like walking in after a long day of Mr. Minchak’s class. The stain on the TV room carpet still smells of orange juice, but the house and I are the only ones that know about its’ existence, like it’s our little secret. The house whispers memories of emotional detachment, it never raises its’ voice. Twelve years later, past thoughts are still there, but the feeling of home has never existed in that space; my parent’s home was never my home to be begin with.

I packed my life in one night. Again. My cramped bedroom was my shelter for six months, it was the place where I could take a break when my scruffy house was too loud for my thoughts. The door opens. “I am sorry” my host mom said after a bit of reluctance. The puppies are perpetually barking at the Christmas tree downstairs; it’s past midnight and I still hear the hiss from the old television set in the bedroom across the hallway. My mind clings to the memories of my first months lived as the “foreign kid” in an unknown environment where people existed in all shapes and color: black, white, latinos, mexican, the cool people, the awkward geeks. I glance at the letters scattered in my suitcase.

Standing in my cracked driveway you will see two trucks and one S.U.V., which belong to my Dad, my Mom, and me. They are all parked in their correct positions, even though these three cars take up the majority of the space available. Once you evade the three cars in the driveway you enter into the warm hearth that I call home. Entering into my place of residence, the pungent smell of either brownies or some form of pastry, hits your nose like a semi truck hitting a brick wall. This aroma has a creator, Montana Thomas; she is the mastermind behind the permeating smell that seeps through the household. Through the kitchen there is a girl with puffy auburn hair sitting on a chair with an ottoman. Getting her attention is pointless, because she is so emerged in her schoolwork with A.C.D.C. blasting through her Beats headphones. This studious character is Sierra Thomas, my sister who, in age, is right below me. She is obviously the crowning jewel of my parent’s handiwork; her high academic achievements make my parents extremely happy.

There once was a boy named Jonathan (Jonathan Mcslurre, Jonny for short) and his family, ( including his parents, two sisters, and three brothers) every summer would all go rent a lake house. The lake house was secluded, relaxing, and quiet, mostly because it was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a forest, but nonetheless everyone enjoyed it…well everyone except for Jonathan.