It was December 22nd. The blustery wind swept the countless snowflakes across my front yard. My dad was shoveling the driveway. His nose was red as a cherry. With every breath he took, a white puff escaped into the air. Before you could blink, it disappeared into the cold, crisp air.

Inside my mother was packing the last of the boxes. As I entered the front door, the thought that after today I wouldn’t enter through that door ever again burned a hole in my stomach. I picked up my dog and sat Indian style with him in my lap on the cold, wooden floor. I had no choice but to sit there, for there was no furniture in my house. I sat there in a daze, just thinking. In my mind, there was no just cause for my parents making me, a once happy twelve-year-old, move. I had two best friends right across the street, I did well in school, and I always kept my room clean. Plus, this was “my house.” By no means did I want a couple of old strangers living here. These recurring thoughts danced around in my mind. I had so many questions, but no answers.

Out the front window I could see the orange top of a truck pull in my driveway, and I knew it was the other U-Haul truck. Instantly, three men came barreling in the back door like World War III was starting. The stale smell of nicotine encircled their bodies. I coughed silently, so as not to be noticed, for my eyes started to fill with tears. I watched helplessly as the men, my mother, and my dad loaded the truck. My dog even winced as he stared out the window. I wondered if he was sad too, or if he just longed to play outside in the snow.

The slam of the truck’s doors plugged my eardrums. My mom came in and turned off the overhead light. She zipped up my jacket for me, seeing as my limbs were immobile. A totally empty feeling cremated my insides. My mom was very solemn and spoke not a word. I imagined, for my sake, she felt remorse. I was in a semi-conscious state. For the first time in my life, I wondered what “home” would be to me tomorrow. Mom then put Benji in my arms and followed me out the back door. The sound of the bolted lock triggered more tears. I climbed in the backseat of our red station wagon, shivering. My face stung from windburn and my salty tears didn’t help. Dad climbed in with Mom and he backed down the driveway. I glanced once more at our dainty little white house with black trim and I swear the big pine tree in front of my bedroom window my grandfather planted long ago was waving to me, underneath its snow-covered branches.