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The Place I Call Home

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I took a long look around. My room was small and crowded making it seem cozy and at home. My bed took up a quarter of my room at the very back. A thick red blanket covered it radiating color into my bland room. The window stood right above my bed and the shudders cast a dark shadow to the back. Outside stood a white world blanketed in a thick layer of snow.   Suddenly, I remembered that it was "The Day". I saw my clothes laid out on my desk where I would normally have piles of books sitting.  A nauseous feeling washed over me and my throat clumped into a lump. Sadly and slowly I put on my clothes that I had picked out the day before. Dark jeans and a white shirt that I wore on most other days.  Ever slowly I walked down the stairs in gingerly small steps. At breakfast, my mother showed that strict face that parents have when they are stressed, with her soft  brown eyes darting from the clock to the phone and to the stove in what seemed like an infinite loop.
“How are you?” she asked me. To avoid conversation I replied with a simple “fine.” I looked up from my plate and saw the wondrous white world again and stared for a long time at the snow falling down from the sky. So relaxing and happy, not anything like the sorrow of dark rain.


Later on I hustled downstairs through a long and somewhat narrow staircase. Pictures of my ancestors hung on the walls.
      

My older brother was sitting on a bench under the staircase looking distant and lost.
      “You ready for the trip? ” I asked him.
       “About so,” he muttered.
       

I decided to leave him to his thoughts and walked to the front door. The door had a dark red layer of paint on it. It had windows that you couldn't see through and a dark almost rusted door handle. I opened the door to the white world outside. A cold gust of wind, filled with powdery snow, blew into my face spiking my skin. Closing the door and going back to the corner I grabbed my thick black coat, threw it on, and walked back into the white. I stood in the empty driveway knowing that this might be the last time in years I'd be seeing this unforgettable beauty.
       “Close the door!  You're letting the cold in! ” I heard my brother growl.
       “We won't be in this house for much longer,” I growled back.
       “Just close the damn thing,” he snapped.
        

Avoiding an argument, I closed the door. Memories washed over me of the times I would go sledding or my treehouse in the woods. Of the veteran who lives on Schonbornstrasse, a short walk away, his attic was filled with small military models. The times I have walked to school in the blowing cold wind singing, because I was always scared. Nevertheless the memories, I bent down and touched the snow with my bare hand. At first it was nice holding the white powder in my hands. Seconds  later my hand became wet from the snow and started to burn. Not caring I let my thoughts wander.
       

“California,” I thought. The place that I would soon call home. My body jumped suddenly and I felt my optimism rose. I have heard of the term “The Land of Opportunity” and was anxious to see what that meant. That burst shuddered to a stop by the thought of leaving the place I call home.
        

I  looked up the hill and something caught my attention. In the distance, I saw two bright dots coming toward me. The wind blowing snow into my face made it harder to see. Suddenly the light hit me in my face blinding me. The rest was a blur.
     

I ran back to the house and called out, “Taxi is here!” What seemed like a  matter of seconds we were riding to the airport . As we embarked through the white world with my hometown falling farther away from me I wanted to cry,  but something inside of me dammed the tears from spilling over. The excitement of a new world drowned my sorrows for the place I called home. As we drove past the white fields, the purr of the engine, its slow and rhythmic tune slowly lulled me to sleep.




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