I reach the lake with time to watch the sun shine over the water and project its amber color into the cold depths. I hardly ever witness that; evergreen trees contour the lake, blocking the sunlight for most of the day. There’s a massive rock surrounded by smaller rocks on the water’s edge. When I was seven, I learned to climb up to the highest stone. I colored my initials on it and claimed it as my throne. That way, my friend Kyle and my brother Kevin knew to stay away. It really is a throne, in a sense; I can see the whole lake from up there.
I have some good memories from this place. I used to come here a lot with Grandpa. We camped and fished out here during the summer when I was younger. I miss those moments with him, because I’ve never had times like that with Dad. I spend more time with my horse than I do with my family.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life, my past, and what I want for my future, and I wish Grandpa was here to talk to. He was the solidity in my life, and I know he could tell me what to do if he were still around. All I have now, though, is Bader. Grandpa gave him to me as a birthday present. Dad didn’t like the idea of me riding by myself, especially on Bader, a Friesian horse. He’s tall, bulky, and fast. Grandpa still thought it was a more appropriate gift than the bow and arrow Dad gave me.
It was the beginning of deer hunting season when Dad gave it to me, and he wanted me to go with him. I hit two bucks and I only used two arrows. Dad and everyone else were impressed, but I didn’t even want to be there, so I made sure to get it over with as fast as possible. I had only wanted to come home and ride Bader.
I never really had much in common with my dad. We like different things, we think different things, and we expect different things from life. I’ve always kept my thoughts to myself, though, and worked hard to maintain a good relationship with him. I ignore things that bother me and I appreciate the good things he does for me. I know he wants the best for his kids, but sometimes, I can’t help myself.
I should do what I think is best for me, what I think will make me happy, and not what would make him happy. I get the impression that he’ll always support me just as long as I do what he wants, and that’s another reason why I can’t wait to live a life all my own.
3 Livia
Five hours later, we land at Seattle-Tacoma airport. I wake up feeling like I’ve only slept an hour.
I stumble after my mom to the baggage claim, where Dad would be waiting—he got here early to retrieve our dog. He’s there with Bento when we spot him, and the boys dash in his direction.
“So how was the flight?” Dad asks as we approach.
“It was awesome!” Gabe, filled with excitement, is the one to answer. “I even saw snow on the mountains! I saw volcanoes!”
“Yeah, we saw volcanoes!” Ian added.
My little brothers are very excited about all these volcanoes in the area, and they can’t wait to take a trip to see one up close. I remember visiting Grandma here in the nearby town of Bellingham on my summer vacations, and she would drive me to Mt. Baker. But it’s been a long time since we came this way, and I haven’t visited her in about six years now. The last couple of times I saw her, she came to New York.
Dad comes closer placing his hand on my head. “How about you, Livia? Enjoy the volcanoes, as well?”
“I enjoyed sleeping.”
“Oh, so you missed all the fun?”
“Believe me, I’m glad.”
“‘Sleep is the best medication’,” Dad quotes and I’m starting to feel a little guilty for getting it right every single time. However, I do enjoy showing off.
“That one’s easy; the Dalai Lama.”
“You never miss one!” Dad smiles and I nod. It’s not like I can forget.
We get in the car and Bento finds his spot under my feet, which makes me a little uncomfortable, but I know he wants to be close to me. Then, we’re on our way to Whidbey Island.
Recently, I read that Whidbey has more than half of its population living in rural areas and there are lots of farms. It’s a large island, thirty-five miles long and one and a half to twelve miles wide, with 168.67 square miles, making it the 40th largest island in the United States. The downside is the rain—a lot of it; to the tune of thirty inches a year.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll run out of room in my memory. I wonder, too, if it might actually be a relief to start forgetting factoids someday, like cleaning the clutter out of my desk drawer.
Every couple of minutes, I hear one of the boys asking, “Are we there yet?” It couldn’t be more annoying.
But I understand their excitement about starting a new adventure. We’ll finally have a yard, land, and fresh air to breathe. We used to have a house in Lake Placid, near my Uncle Henry’s stables in upstate New York, and I have high hopes that our new home will be even better than that house.
I used to ride Maya, a beautiful Appaloosa, on the endless miles of trails up in Lake Placid. When Dad first told us about moving to Whidbey, I begged him to consider buying us a horse of our own. He knows how much I love them, and our new house has enough land for that, but all he ever said was, “You’ll have to talk to the neighbors about riding theirs,” and he’d pull down his emotional filter. He would concentrate his thoughts on a different subject, something that had nothing to do with what we were talking about. By doing that, his emotions changed. It’s not easy for him to do this; it takes a lot of effort, and his emotions go back and forth between completely different feelings, and that’s what I call a shield.
My uncle came up with the “shield” idea, and I once told my parents that, while it prevents me from knowing exactly what they are feeling, I would still be able to tell that they were trying to hide from me. I don’t care though; it’s better this way.
“We’re getting to the ferryboat, kids! If we don’t hit the ferry traffic, we will be home very soon.”
“What do you mean by ferry traffic, Dad?” Ian asked with concern.
“If too many people are trying to cross to the island at the same time, we will have to wait for a while,” he explains, “but I think we’ll be okay. The traffic usually starts later, when everyone is going home from work.”
Dad’s sentence brings chills up my spine. “Too many people” in any context makes me apprehensive. I don’t even like to imagine being stuck around crowds and all their chattering emotions.
When we reach the ferry lane, it’s all but clear, to my relief, and we drive in right away. Mom insists on getting out of the car to check out the upper deck.
“It’s a beautiful view from the second floor’s balcony,” she says, “especially on a sunny day like today.” The sky is indeed perfect today, a cloudless blue, which we won’t be seeing very often.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, opening the car door. “I need to stop by the restroom, and I’ll meet you back at the car.” I don’t wait for an answer. I walk my way up the ferry staircase, following the arrows toward the restroom.
While I wash my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror. I am in need of a shower, some makeup, and a good night of sleep. I have dark circles under my eyes, and I look like I haven’t slept for days. I need to thank my mom for allowing me out of the car while looking this bad. I run my hands through my hair, trying to loosen it up. No help. I’m just going to have to put it up in a ponytail.