Why I Live Where I Live

Write the story of why you moved to the place where you currently live.

I moved here after my parents divorced. That was two years ago. My mom said she was tired of taking care of me, and now it was Dad's turn to be a parent. I wasn't supposed to hear her say that, but I did.

I didn't know what to think about moving here. I used to live in Chicago, in an apartment on the fourth floor with Mom, and with Dad when he was around. At night I fell asleep to the sound of traffic. In the daytime it was always easy to find other kids to hang out with. I liked it pretty well, I guess. I didn't know anything else to compare it to, so I couldn't imagine whether living somewhere else would be better or worse. I wasn't all that excited about moving. Some of the other kids said they were jealous, but I didn’t believe they really meant it. Chi-town was my town -- we used to say that to each other, all proud, like we lived there by our own choice or something. When kids said that, they said it like they meant it.

We could have gone to live with Dad a long time ago, but Mom didn't want to leave. I guess Chi-town was her town too. I used to wish my dad was a lawyer or a policeman or a trash collector, so he could be around all the time like other dads; but now that I know him better, I can't imagine him ever being anything but what he is. Mom used to say he is a man with a one-track mind, and then she would shake her head like she does when she doesn't want to talk about something anymore. Now I can kind of see what she meant. When I see them together now, I can't figure out why they ever got together in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if the distance wasn't the only thing about their marriage that worked.

One of the first things I remember, when I was a little kid, is my dad taking me outside at night and pointing out the constellations. "That's where I work," he said. "Up there." Back then I thought maybe he was responsible for taking care of the stars, like keeping them in the right order and working properly, maybe like some sort of electrician for the night sky. I was just little; I didn't know any better. But now I do, of course.

Now I eat dinner with Dad every night that he doesn't work late, and sometimes he helps me out with homework, and sometimes we play chess or racquetball or watch a movie. He is a pretty good guy, my dad, but he gets distracted a lot, like he's working out problems in his head even when he's off work for the day. He really loves his work a lot. Sometimes when he explains it to me I think I can almost understand what he's talking about, but mostly what I understand is that it makes him really happy. Our apartment is a lot smaller than the one in Chicago, but it's still pretty nice. And I have a rabbit now. I could never have pets before, because my mom's allergic.

Instead of a whole neighborhood of kids, there are only eight of us here -- ten if you count Rosa, who is three, and Gaurav, but we never see him. So when you get in fights it kind of messes everything up, because you can't just go find some other kids to play with. And some of the other kids hold grudges for a long time, especially the girls. Especially Monique. At night -- well, we call it night, but we're really on East Coast time, no matter if we can see the sun or not -- at night it's very quiet in our apartment, so quiet that I have to play music to fall asleep. When I first got here I had trouble sleeping, even with music. I had dreams about falling through space with nothing to hold on to. So I would get up and push back the window screen and look out at the earth, and try to imagine houses and cars and playgrounds and grocery stores in that big blue smear. I couldn't really do it, but after standing there a while staring into the blue haze, remembering what it was like to live there, I could usually go back to sleep again.

We went back last Christmas to visit Mom. It was weird to be back on Earth again, and to know that I was walking around on the big blue thing I used to watch out my window. Mom lives in a different neighborhood now, in the suburbs with her boyfriend, so it didn't really even feel like going home at all. Nothing looked quite like I remembered it, not even my old street in the city. And I got this weird feeling when I looked up at the sky at night. It's hard to explain.

I'm from that place, but I don’t have a place there anymore. But the weirdest thing is, my home now isn't really a place either. It's basically a big box that floats in circles around the planet. It's all right, living here. I like the pool and the gardens and the zero-g room, and even Monique when she's not mad at me. But it doesn't feel like a real place to live in, a place I that can tell people is my place. I don't think this is a real story either, so I guess I've pretty much flunked this assignment. Sorry Ms. Baranski.