Chapter 1 - Moving On

I run out of Lindsey's house, hearing her screaming for me to come back, but I refuse to listen. I cry and pray as I run down the busy streets, pleading for Venus to be alright. She couldn't be at home. She knew it was dangerous back there. In only a matter of days, home turned into her worst nightmare, and she feared what could happen if she ever walked through that door again.

Running as fast as I can, I ignore the pain pressing into my sides as I raced to her. I need to get to her before anyone can hurt her. I need to be there to protect her. If I wasn't, I'd have to kiss the love of my life goodbye.

^^^

All I was supposed to do was sing one simple line in the song "This Little Light of Mine," and I couldn't. That was how I found out I had stage fright. Never had I been more humiliated in my life, and every kid in the fifth grade refused to ever let me live it down. Nothing is more relentless than an entire grade of elementary school kids who are ready to enter junior high. They are on the brink of ending up back on the bottom of the food chain, so they will do anything to hang onto the glory of popularity for as long as they can.

All I wanted to do was sing my one line perfectly for my mom. I stood on that stage, smiling as I looked into the audience where she wasn't sitting. It wasn't until later that night that we found out she was hit by a car on her way to my show and died after being smooshed into a semi-truck driving beside her. As upset as I was not to see her in the audience, I was devastated to know the why.

Throughout all the bullying, my dad was there for me, but I never talked to him about it. I never talked to anyone about it. I stopped speaking. It was my fault mom needed to be at school that night. I was the one who wanted to sing for her because of how much she loved that song, yet instead, I killed her. My voice was the reason she died, and I never wanted my words to kill someone again.

Being bullied for messing up a lyric was bad enough, but being bullied for remaining mute was far worse. I was outcasted as a freak. In gym, I was always picked last, even though I was one of the most athletic fifth graders in the whole school. I was always seated at the end of the lunch table, and people only sat at the other end when there were no seats left. All of my friends left me when I was unable to communicate with words.

I was alone.

Junior high passed by as a rough and lonely blur, along with my freshman and sophomore years of high school. No one had any reason to talk to me unless they had to. And when I was expected to talk and couldn't, I was ridiculed with violent whispers and cackles rattling through the halls. But I was used to it. Life before the harassment was long forgotten, and all I knew was the loneliness of being singled out.

But then, only a few weeks into my junior year, my dad sat down on my bed and smiled. I remember him wearing a red dress shirt with black pants, his work attire. His smile was contagious, and despite not knowing what made him so excited, I couldn't help but be as well. And he happily said two simple words that changed my life forever.

"We're moving."

While dad claimed we were moving due to a job offer he would be "crazy" not to take, I found out a few days before moving we could have stayed in Arlington Heights. It was clear he moved us to Schaumburg for my sake. I knew he hated me being alone, either cooped up in my room on photoshop or out in the town taking pictures. It was apparent that he wanted me to try to make some new friends. I promised to at least try, but it was only for his sake. As much as I hated people, I hated seeing dad upset every more.

None of my peers were upset to see me go. Only my teachers were. Although, I was sure they were more upset over losing a well-behaved student who refused to talk or text in the middle of their classes. It wasn't as though it were a choice.

No one saw me off like a friend would. No one bought me a going away present. All I received were smirks of superiority over satisfaction of seeing me leave. But it didn't matter. They wouldn't have to matter anymore. They were nothing but gum on the bottom of my shoe.

I threw my last bag in the trunk and faced my dad.

How long will it take us to get there? I signed.

With being mute, I had to learn a way to communicate with my dad, so we took a sign language class together. I always felt guilty for causing him to spend money on classes when he could have demanded me to speak again, but he understood it was part of the grieving. He wanted me to take the time to grow comfortable enough to speak again, should I choose to. In the meantime, we needed a way to communicate. It was one of the biggest reasons I loved my dad so much.

"Somewhere around thirty minutes. It depends on traffic."

We both climbed into the car, and dad pulled out of the driveway. The moment we made it onto the highway, I couldn't help but smirk. So long, Arlington. You will not be missed.