She Moves, Part 2
She found what she dubbed The Great White Duffle Bag at the local Goodwill: one of her favorite spots to shop. Even though it definitely needed a good bleach, she knew it would do the job. Once clean, The Pamster helped her use fabric paints to give it the look of San Francisco and its surroundings: waves and wild roses, plus abstract red and orange doodles inspired by the ones adorning her school notebook margins (especially in Algebra…ugh). Her mom embroidered her name on a side pocket using a different color for every letter of her name. She chose colors that helped her think of her hometown: all the bustling life and movement and color the city had galvanized in her jumping off the fabric. She could picture herself riding the cable car home from school, her hair not much different than the color of that slow, deliberate street crawler (even if their color was the only thing they had in common).
Now, dragging the duffle out of the backseat of their Chevy and onto a sidewalk not unlike the one outside the home they left behind, she was struck by how sad and out of place it looked in this alien environment. It felt like her world was busting open and shrinking at the same time, and the Great White, sagging a bit but still containing her west coast clothes and west coast jewelry and west coast…everything was the mascot for the idea. Sighing, she hauled the bag up over her shoulder and made her way up five steps, across wooden porch planks, through a propped open front doorway, and upstairs to what would be her bedroom.
Depositing the bag on the floor with a thud, she could vaguely hear rap music (maybe 2Pac?) coming through the wall. She paused to wonder what the neighbors would be like, worried, as she had been for the entire cross country drive, about what her social life would entail here. Everything in this place seemed the colors of icy unwelcome: gray and blue laced with dark green and a lack of inspiration. She knew she was being unfair and should listen to her mom: “Give the place a chance, honey.” But, she couldn’t help but feel an intuitive dread. She’d learned better than to ignore her intuitive pulls when they came, but she also knew they could be deceptive.
Shaking her head to bring herself back, she decided it was time to make her case for takeout. “Mom!” she called. “Let’s find someplace that makes an edible Lo Mein!”
