Packing For Life (Part II)

Here's the rest of my personal narrative....

My Auntie was never one to spoil me. I was always expected to do certain things independently. At the age of nine, I was expected to do my own laundry and iron my own clothes. As a result, early on, I saw many days with wrinkled clothes and overflowing hampers,. Doing these simple things were going to “teach me independence” is what Auntie would say as I groaned about doing them. She always stressed how she hoped I would become a "strong, indepedent, black woman. At 13, I was learning to handle more responsibilities, but like every 13-year-old female I was answering the inevitable call to puberty and womanhood. Life was awkward and became ten times more awkward as a result of my situation.

So despite all of the independence I had acquired by this point, I still wanted and needed some guidance especially today. I had just made a decision that would change my life drastically. Having my Auntie there to talk to and hash out all of the anxieties and nervous feelings I was experiencing would have been nice, but unrealistic. It was as if there was an invisible line separating us. She would not speak to me and I did not know what to say to her. She would walk by me and very easily not look at me or in my direction. I knew what this meant too. I had hurt her. When you hurt Auntie, she did not want to speak with you or even be in your presence. She only spoke if it was an absolute necessity. She was distant and silent. I had been living with this for two days and it continued down to the zero hour of my departure.

As my father drove up, I was tying up loose ends. I made phone calls to my best of friends to remind them I would stay in touch. I called extended family and friends to say my goodbyes. I made my last attempts at reaching my Uncle, which deemed unsuccessful. I reluctantly wrapped my arms around our starch white, short haired Lab, Thunder, goodbye. She had been around since I was seven and I was going to miss her. She seemed unknowing and I tried to tell her that I wasn't coming back, well not soon anyway, and my throat began to well up.

By now all of my extra large black garbage bags, filled with my belongings, had surprisingly filled the trunk and back seat of my father’s white Toyota Camry. It was time for me to go. With butterflies in my stomach I headed towards the door. These were butterflies stemming from a paradox of emotions; happiness and excitement because of the opportunity to embark on a new life journey to hopefuly create a bond with my mother and extreme sadness for leaving behind the people and the life I had led up to this point. Most of all, I was hurting because I began to see the hurt that my choice had imposed upon my Auntie.

I turned to my Auntie, as my father waited outside, to say goodbye. We embraced quickly. During that embrace, she told me she loved me and I replied the same. I walked to my father’s car and exhaled deeply once I got into the car. ‘Wow, I did that without crying,’ I thought to myself.

The next few moments were surreal and seemed to happen in slow motion. My Auntie, a picture of stoicism for the past two days, had broken down. She was sobbing heavily, hanging out of the screen door, pleading and sobbing into the cold November night “Please, take care of my baby!”

For a while I was in a dream-like state. I wasn't aware of my surroundings, none of it seemed real. The lump that warns you of a cry was resting in my throat and exploded into a rush of tears when my father said in his soothing fatherly tone, “It’s ok to cry, honey.” The storm of emotions brewing inside of me must have been apparent in my facial expressions. Seeing my Auntie so hurt, hurt me. It was as if he had given me permission to feel and express the emotions I had been afraid to feel for a while. I cried as we drove down the dark roads of the Merit Parkway from the city to the countryside, not knowing what lay ahead on my new road in life.