Today is moving day.
Well, the last of many moving days. At least, that's what my parents say, who've been driving a big ass U-Haul for the past week as we have made our long and difficult journey from New York City to Santa Barbara. They put me in charge of driving the truck, which they thought would put me into a hormonal rage, but I was actually fucking excited to drive in a car by myself for the next week. Being an only child, my parents are on me from the moment I get up to the moment I go to bed. I guess it's nice to know they're watching out for me and making sure I'm safe and shit, but sometimes it gets overwhelming. In the car all by myself, I can blast some nostalgic hits and sing along like I don't give a shit – 'cause I don't when I am all alone. When I'm around anyone else, I sound like a tone-deaf walrus and nobody needs to hear that.
I also get to take care of Tessa, our Australian Shepherd, who sits up in the front bench seat with me. The one car we decided to take to Santa Barbara with us was the old truck, which is actually my car. My dad is supposed to get a sweet new ride when we arrive in Santa Barbara, something to do with his new job. I guess part of the deal of signing on as CEO of a major corporation in California and moving your family across the country was a nice new car, probably a hotrod, my dad always wanted one. Or maybe he's just going to go out and drop three hundred grand on a new Ferrari. He's probably afraid I'll get cocky and take it out for a spin one day, only to crash it into a mailbox or drive it through a storefront (I may or may not be speaking from personal experience). So Dad will get a new car and I'll have to restrain myself from taking it for a spin when my parents aren't around.
We are parked at a rest stop now. Dad had to take a piss or something. They make me stop whenever they have to, which I understand. I don't want to get ahead of them or anything.
Mom is offering me some grapes, which I gladly accept. Driving on the highway makes me hungry. I think we might stop for pizza or something when we get closer. I sneak a quick drive-thru stop at McDonald's every now and then. My Dad drives like any forty-five-year-old would who is renting a U-Haul, so, as you can imagine, it's pretty easy to find where they are after waiting ten minutes for my large order of crispy, golden fries.
When my Dad finally comes out of the bathroom, I hop back into the driver's seat, waving goodbye to them as I wait for them to get situated for the next few minutes. In my waiting, I pet Tessa and give her a dog treat, beaming as she nibbles at it with her sharp teeth. She's such a happy co-pilot. Tessa has been around for the long haul, going on eleven years. But she's still faithfully kicking, getting me through life's shittiest moments - like when my dad told me we were moving to California. Don't get me wrong. California is fantastic – we've visited on vacation numerous times. Still, it pains me to leave New York City. My best friends are there and I grew up used to the bustling streets of Manhattan. I've grown accustomed to riding the subway to school, strolling indie bookstores downtown, and seeing Broadway shows on the regular. Not to mention, I was chosen as president of my school's photography club for senior year!
Also, my parents don't know this, but I was kinda crushing on this adorable guy on my track team, who I think may have liked me back. He loved to tease me in the locker room and we stuck together during practice, bantering on the field while simultaneously competing to beat each other's records. I was thinking of asking him to hang out sometime, but now I'll never know if there was anything between us.
Who am I kidding? I'm never coming out of the closet, and that guy was straight as fuck.
Regardless, I was pissed when Dad told us about his new job and suggested moving. Well, he didn't give us much of a choice. We already knew he was interviewing for the position. My mom loved the idea of moving to California – she adored the coastal towns and thought it would be a healthy change of pace from the bustling streets below our high-rise. When they offered him the job, my mom was ecstatic. Seeing how excited the both of them were encouraged me to smile and go along with it, per usual. Yet behind the cover-up of grins and joyful embraces, I was livid. I stayed up all night talking to Maya, who I've known since elementary school. She and Tommy are my besties from back home and it sucks to think that we won't be graduating together. We spent almost every day of the beginning of summer together, and they practically begged my parents to let me stay. Maya's parents invited me to stay in their spare bedroom, encouraging my parents to not disrupt my senior year.
What can I say? I'm a likable guy.
All joking aside, New York City is my home, and having to leave tore me apart inside. Needless to say, my parents were appalled at the idea of losing me a year before college. Understandably. I'm already going to be moving out soon enough. Expediting the process by staying in New York City would certainly be jarring for all of us. Except the same could be said about separating from Maya and Tommy. I consider them my family too. The three of us are a unit, and I can't imagine what it will be like with us apart.
Nevertheless, we've made plans to all apply to colleges in New York City. We all love it there and the city is an epicenter of culture. Maya adores cinematography and aspires to be a director someday. Tommy is a brilliant artist who has gained notoriety around Greenwich Village for his political street art. As for me, I've had a passion for photography for years. If I could get into the photography program at New York University, it would be a dream come true.
Thinking about Tommy and Maya lowers my spirits, and I hate dwelling on the sadness. So I turn up Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" and start singing along, because sometimes you need a little bit of Lady Gaga in your life to get by.
As I drive along the picturesque desert landscape, which my parents are blissfully unaware of, I'm tempted to grab my camera and snap a photo. My camera and my Mac are both nestled in the backseat, ready for any impromptu photography sessions. The morning sun is cast perfectly against the desert mountains, setting light, pastel tones over the horizon. I can catch a small glimpse of the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, which would be such a phenomenal snapshot. But I try to ignore my itch of inspiration and focus on the road, knowing I'd get carried away and spend the next hour trying to get that one perfect photo. I drive my parents insane sometimes with all the photos I take whenever we go out.
You never know when inspiration might strike, especially in a bustling place like New York City.
Tessa looks up at me with her two gorgeous blue eyes and I pet her spotted fur, which can be found all around my truck and even in the moving boxes. Her long pink tongue sticks out and I laugh at her and her cuteness, itching her chin before swiftly turning my focus back on the road.
I can't believe I'm almost to my new home. Despite my minuscule attempts to stay in New York City, I can't help but get all these butterflies in my stomach as I await the sight of our shining new home and the lovely seaside town of Santa Barbara. I've never visited the city before, but the pictures I've seen online are fantastic! I'm going to snap so many wonderful photos of the sparkling cyan breaches, the rustic wooden pier, and the Spanish style architecture. From my perspective of photography, I'm hardly the artist – all I'm doing is celebrating and immortalizing the world's most astonishing examples of beauty, whether it's the breathtaking waterfalls of Havasu or the impressive architectural design of the Eiffel Tower.
The butterflies are really rattling in my stomach now, and it's impossible to subdue them.
"Just a few more hours," I assure myself.
Just a few more hours.