Roots [Completed]

Chapter 1 - Part 1

I meet Christopher when I'm four years old.

It doesn't feel like an especially momentous day. It's summer, so Momma, who normally teaches, is at home. She makes me cereal while Mom gets ready for work.

"They're moving in today," Mom says casually, tying her long hair up in a bun, "it all seems sudden, don't you think?"

Momma laughs at her, turns her around, and pins a fluff of hair into Mom's bun that was sticking up like a turkey tail.

"You'd be happier if the house was empty forever. Don't worry, I won't force you to make nice with them."

Mom kisses Momma on the cheek.

"Cereal," I demand. After they ignore me, continuing with the lovey dovey act, I resort to desperate methods. "Please?"

"They have a boy about Jane's age," Momma muses. I stare at the empty bowl, just waiting for cereal, and I feel desperation fall on me like an anvil.

"Momma," I plead, "cereal."

Momma gives me a look for my impatience but begins to pour the cereal out.

"Don't you think it would be nice to have a friend next door, Jane?" Mom asks me.

"Boys are gross," I reply, digging into the Cheerios in satisfaction. "That's why you have Momma instead."

Mom laughs, but I'm not sure what's very funny. They continue talking, eventually, somehow, coming to the conclusion that Momma would bring them brownies as a welcoming gift. I tune them out, focusing on the only worldly matter I need to concern myself with: the slightly flavored milk remaining in my bowl.

"Thanks Momma!" I say, slipping off of the stool. Mom kisses me and Momma on the way out the door.

As I turn on a movie in the living room, a loud and large van stops at the house next to ours. I sit in the windowsill and watch for a moment as a group of people get out of the van and begin moving large pieces of furniture to the house. They don't look like movers on TV - but they don't looks quite normal, either. They're all taller than even the adults, and they're just wearing normal clothes, not matching uniforms like I've seen movers wear on TV. I get bored after a few minutes, even though they're juggling a large and fancy leather couch. I turn back to the TV, successfully ignoring them.

Until I hear someone saying my name.

I peek through the window again, looking for who is calling for me. Is Mom back from work?

But she's not. The movers are now handling a huge cabinet of some sort, but they're not where my eyes go to first.

Three figures stand on the sidewalk. A mom, a dad, and a - boy. A boy that is probably a little older than I am, but a lot taller. Not tall in the muscley, broad-shouldered way I've seen on teenagers, but tall with ankles that look too skinny to support the height, like a building with no foundations.

But most of all, he is beautiful. I peer out at him, awestruck. The sun is caught in his golden hair, which seems to reflect the light outward, like a mirror. I wish I knew what his eyes looked like. They could be bright and warm as chocolate. He isn't looking at me, but I feel like he is the one calling me.

I almost move away from the window to tell Momma what I saw, but then I realized that - that what if he looks over here while I'm gone and I miss my chance to be seen by him? Because I do want to be seen by him; I want him to look at me and want to know what color my eyes are, and to think about how my hair is as curly as a slinky. That would be cool. And maybe he would want to know the color of my eyes so bad that he would stomp right up to our door and ring the bell and I would be hiding behind Momma when she opened the door, and then he would say "there's a girl I saw in the window and I need to know who she is" and then I would step out from behind Momma - and then we would know each other. It's simple. I've seen it in movies before.