Mistchild

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Dealing with the death of my father

has been the hardest thing I have ever gone through. They told me it was a

drunk driver who hit him. No matter who it was,   it doesn't matter to me anymore, because my

father, Michael Boicourt, is dead now. He's never coming back.

And then, my mother packed up all

our things, and moved us out to this hut in the middle of nowhere. Well,

actually, a little town in Oregon called Estacada.  But after coming from San Francisco,

California, this was a speck of dust.  We

bought a two story house complete with moldy walls, and peeling paint.

We took a plane from San Francesco

to Portland. We got a car, and started driving south. On the drive to Estacada,

Davey, who is 10, became immersed in his handheld videogame, while Abbey, 5,

fell asleep. It was just me and my mom. Sort of.

I turned on my MP3 player loud

enough to drown out the engine of the car, but not loud enough to have my mom

yell at me. That's all my mom had been doing lately. Yelling. Or crying. Or

yellingandcrying.  Or

worringandyellingandcrying.

I stared out the window, and

watched the landscapes rush by, not really seeing it. I was immersed in  Breaking Benjamin, and then Skillet, then

Three Days Grace.

I jumped when I felt my mother's

hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, mom. Uh, hi,"I stammered.

"everything alright, Kay?" she

said, stroking my tangled brown hair.

I thought for a minute. I was fine.No, i wasn't.It was a jigsaw puzzle of questions and contradictions in my mind.I sighed. My mom glanced at me with worried eyes. I looked at her and realized

she looked older than her age of 34.. she was thinner, and her red hair was

streaked with grey.  Ilooked at her. She

didn't need anything else to worry about.

"yeah, i guess."

She smiled as relief flooded her face, and i was glad im a good liar.

"hey mom, um can i ask you something?"

"sure honey, anything."

I thought about what i wanted to say, but i realised the words wouldnt fit in my mouth.

"i--i forgot."i stammered

We didn't talk until we drove up a long gravel driveway.

Mom broke the scilence.

"here we  are kids, the new home."

yeah. i thought. Starting over now.  Its harder than it sounds.

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