Back and Forth

by Anna G.

“Where is it!? Shit! I have to have it for tomorrow!” It’s 3:30 and I’ve just biked home as fast as possible to study for my math test. I become a frustrated whirlwind throwing things out of my path. “Fuck! This sucks! Where did I put it!?” I can’t find my book anywhere, I’ve checked the “usual” eight places a do my homework… “Not in my bed, not at the kitchen table, not at the desk in my brother’s room, not outside in the backyard, not on the living room couch, not in the bathroom, not by the heater, and not at my desk!” Maybe my math book is at my mom’s house. I was over there the other day using it, could I have left it there?

Back on my bike and back out the door. All I can think about is the valuable time that I’m loosing that should be spent studying for my test. I live one week at my mom’s house and then one week at my dad’s house, with nights in between at my friend’s dorm and dad’s girlfriends house. I live out of a suitcase and am still carrying my favorite shampoo from house to house. Every Monday night I toss anything that I think I’ll need for the up coming week into my small duffel bag. Shirts, shoes, pants, deodorant, textbooks, homework assignments, my teddy bear.

I arrive at my mom’s house quickly, which is thankfully only about a mile from my dad’s. We haven’t moved to Richmond yet, thank goodness! Another strain I am not ready for. The idea of trading a 10 minute walk for a 30 minute BART ride is quite depressing. I jog around into the back yard and wave to the upstairs neighbor, while pulling out my keys and fumbling with the lock. Oh goddamn it I don’t have time for this! Once finally into the house, I take up my frantic search again. It is much harder to act as a hurricane here though because everything is all boxed up. We are in the process of moving homes…again. A few days ago I boxed up all the things in my room. I now begin to search through each box wondering if I may have accidentally packed away my math book. I keep imaging the yellow cover and all the obscene things scratched by previous students of the hated math analysis.

I tried labeling boxes but gave up after the first few because it seemed meaningless to try and write over the markings used from the last couple moves. The boxes in my room said things like “Tiles Box #57” and “Glaze Box #41”. I had simply grabbed some of my mom’s art boxes from when we moved in. I finally found my boxes of books, which made up the majority. I had thrown out most other cheesy childhood toys. I sorted though the book boxes for that yellow cover… but no luck. I was beginning to feel hopeless.

I sat down in my empty walled room and tried to imagine where I had the book last. Wednesday night I had been studying at my friend’s dorm. He had graduated the previous year from Berkeley High now attended the prestigious University of California Berkeley. I love visiting him and getting a taste of the college life. I consider it my third home, as I spend about three night’s a week there. My belongings are all thinly spread across my three homes as I have a drawer of my things at my friend’s place too. I knew he was in class and would be of no help in finding my book. So I got back on my bike and decided to go up to the dorm and look for my grail… my math book.

At each of my three homes the rules are all very different along with the people that inhabit them. My mother’s house is filled with art and the walls are plastered head to toe with wallpaper and masks and teacup and you name it. My friends are overwhelmed and baffled when they walk into our colorful cave of a house. My mom has strict rules and never lets me come home late. As opposed to my dad’s house where there are less rules and a lot more freedom. And then there is my friend’s place, which has no rules. Week by week I must adapt to each of these settings. It’s a comparison and trying to make one place like another, it’s simply fitting into the rules and definitions of the place. I am molding myself to my surroundings to make things run smoothly.

But now where the fuck is my math book! I’ve got he keys to my friend’s so I let myself in and begin to search all over again. I kick aside a bag of beer cans and look under the bed and then in my drawer and on the desks. It’s nowhere here and I feel that dark rain cloud come over me again. I’m on the brink of giving up, just collapsing onto the bed and sleeping.

At each home the people offer something different, a new thought on something I show them, a new opinion, a new way of saying something. Some Monday nights I dread and others I look forward to, Sometimes I am so fed up with one house I can’t wait to move to another. And sometimes I’ve finally found the rhythm and the switch just messes me up and starts me all over again at square one.

Duh! Anna you’re so stupid! It’s in your locker you dumbass. Wow I felt like an idiot, I had left school so quickly that I didn’t go to my locker and take out my math book. Back outside and back on my bike. A new breezy downhill ride straight to Berkeley High. It’s about 4:45 and I’m hoping that the school is still open. I know one door right by the ceramics room that doesn’t close until seven or so. I speed over to it not even bothering to dismount my bike. As I lock my bike outside the door I am filled with memories of ceramics class. I loved waking for 1^st period every morning to get my hands dirty and have all my thoughts evaporate as I dug my hands through the gritty clay. I’m able to manage all the junk in my life my occasionally just letting go. Just relaxing and remembering that things are good. Just remembering that I’m happy and have the world in front of me. I’m calm as I stroll through the foot beaten halls of Berkeley High. I even break into a little bit of a dance as I hear the janitor’s music blasting from one of the classrooms.

I arrive at my locker and turn the combo nice and easy, nice and slow, like I’ve got all the time in the world. The lock slides open and there sitting next to an old sandwich is that yellow cover. I feel as if it’s almost laughing at me. It’s says something like a told you so and I reach for it and tuck it under my arm. I just need to slow down and take time to see it all. You can run though life with your eyes half open and expect to open them in the end. You’ll miss everything on the way. My favorite quote is “ focus on the journey not the destination”.

I don’t think about when I can finally live on my own and not have to live out of a suitcase, but instead I think about how switching where I live can benefit me. I think about how it makes me a better person. I can take all the rules and the opinions and beliefs of the three homes and combine them to form my own opinions, and dreams and thoughts and views. I can use my surrounds so formulate and define myself. With the vast variety of lifestyles I am constantly exposed to I can formulate my own. I am proud to know what both sides of the scale look like. I love to think of all parts of the equation, weather it be math or a debate between friends. Living in different homes has showed me a small window to the multitude of variety in the world.