Confession #1: My life is one big movie series.
Confession #2: Some of the movies are “in my head.” Some are as real as the ones on my MacBook computer.
I know what you’re thinking: That’s crazy, girl!
Crazy. Creative. Crafty. It’s all about perspective.
Here’s the latest horror film that happened yesterday in the Louis household.
Disclaimer: Some scenes may (or may not) be exaggerated for dramatic effect.
The opening credits roll in, slow and bold.…
Always on the Move:
The Sad, Lonely Life of an Air Force Brat
Starring: Annabelle Daphne Louis
Directed by: Annabelle Daphne Louis
It all begins on a dark and stormy Friday evening. Dad makes dinner — a fall-off-the-bone Puerto Rican stewed chicken dish called pollo guisado. If you have never eaten this, then you don’t know what it means to feel alive.
“Family meeting in the living room!” Mom announces, just as I’m sopping up the last forkful.
Mom loves meetings. I’m more of a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. Mom holds meetings about chores, meetings about “achieving goals,” and my favorite: meetings about when we’re meeting again.
We all take a seat on the carpet, because we’re not completely moved in to the new house yet. Outside, the wind is smacking a tree branch against the window. Gotta love when nature adds its own special effects. Mom lights a few candles and clicks the dimmer on the light remote. Dad clears his throat and lets out one long-winded breath. If I didn’t know any better, I would think they were about to summon a ghost.
And cue camera zoom…
Mom starts talking. “Annabelle, we wanted to tell you the real reason we’ve moved to Linden.…”
The camera is zoomed in so close to my face, I’m sure the viewing audience can see every freckle. The skin under my eyes sinks lower and lower as seconds turn to minutes and Mom draws out her speech. The audio fades in and out, and all I hear are words like “leave” and “assignment” and “alone.”
The sounds and their words mix together. I try to shake the scene out of my head. Tell myself to quit making a movie out of every moment in my life and get back to focus. But then it hits me.
“What did you say, Mom? You’re getting… what?” My throat tightens.
TDY… TDY… TDY…
Temporary duty yonder. Fancy Air Force words for Mom’s leaving — this time without us. The letters repeat over and over until the final image closes out.
“Wait, there’s more,” Mom says.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a sequel.
Dad adds in his piece. “Since this will be Mom’s last assignment before retiring next year, we’re going to stay in Linden and live civilian life. She’ll commute to Fort Dix for work until it’s time for her TDY. And with the transfer, I landed a new Cisco client based in New York, which means I have to travel into the city a few times a week, so—”
“Slow down,” I say. “What about homeschooling, Dad?”
Mom and Dad lock hands and look at each other, then back at me. I know what’s coming.
I am going to middle school. Real school, with teachers and seventh graders and eyeballs and gym.
“You guys tricked me!” I’m standing now. The camera angles upward to make me appear larger than I am.
I should’ve known something was up. Just a week ago, we were living happily ever after in Germany, where Mom was Master Sergeant in the Air Force and Dad worked from home for Cisco, all while homeschooling me. Life was perfectly fine. Then Mom comes home one day and announces we’re headed to the city she once lived in — Linden, New Jersey, land of Targets, Starbucks, and an oil refinery that occasionally makes the whole city smell like a gigantic fart. Her words, not mine.
She’s been acting funny ever since. Extra clingy with me. Extra lovey-dovey kissy-face with Dad. UGH!
Mom and Dad spring to their feet too. The camera pans up and then zooms out.
The next scene plays out like a game of verbal Ping-Pong, with me asking questions and Mom firing back answers.
ME
How long will you be gone?
MOM
Six months, not much longer.
(A ghost whizzes by and punches ME right in the throat.)
ME
Why can’t Dad and I go with you, like we always do?
MOM
I’m sorry, Annabelle. This is not like it was before in the UK, Spain, and Germany. I cannot bring you to Afghanistan. You understand, schätzchen?
(MOM calls ME “sweetie” in German to soften the blow. It usually works. Not this time.)
ME
When do you leave?
MOM
After Christmas.
(Insert massive thought bubble above my head. That’s four months from now. DAD grabs ME by the shoulders and pulls ME in for a hug. I transform into ice, blocking out his warmth.)
ME
I won’t go to school with a bunch of people I don’t know! It’s bad enough you guys moved me away from the one friend I have in the UK. Now you expect me to start all over again?
(My eyes are stinging now. I will not cry. I will not cry.)
DAD
This will be a big change for everyone, Annabelle, but together we’ll get through it.
(DAD refuses to let ME go. Zoom in on MOM, wrapping her arms around us. The warmth of MOM and DAD melts my ice block, even though I don’t want it to. Outside, the rain stops falling. The tree branch no longer smacks against the window. And that imaginary ghost has faded into oblivion.)
MOM
Everything will be fine, Annabelle. My Air Force buddy, Pete Fingerlin, is the counselor at McManus Middle School. I called him yesterday to explain the situation. He set you up with a buddy to give you a tour bright and early Monday morning.
ME (thinking)
Buddy? Sounds like a code word for babysitter. Call me psychic, but I have a feeling this whole middle school thing will go horribly wrong.
End scene!