Driving home with my mother one day on a sunny August evening, after dropping a friend off, she turned to me and asked simply...
"So, what would you think of moving to a new place?"
"Depends," was all I said. "I’ll think about it."
It was my biggest mistake to underestimate that simple question. Only two weeks later, I was faced with a decision period ranging until about a week to make up my mind on that notion, which evidently became known as The Question. What did it meant was that we were going to move to British Columbia. My mom was by all means not forcing me, as she always kept that vigilant, understanding look to her. I had the choice to remain in Nova Scotia, but I couldn't bear to separate from my mother, even if it meant leaving the rest of my family behind.
So, it was decided. On September 26th, 1999, at the beginning of the tenth grade, I would leave my homeland to move across Canada. The first time traversing out of my coal-mining town and out into a big, new province of strangers and confusion. So, after confirming my choice of what was to happen, mom and I broke the news to everyone in our family. It hurt everyone, but made them joyous for us at the same time. My remaining grandparent, Fran, was overjoyed to hear of news of a bright future and she backed us up on it. But, out of all people, the ones who took it hardest were my beloved brother and father.
It broke my heart when my older brother, Kris, found out about the decision. He didn't want to come with us, for he was in university, and was actually making a life in this dying town. As days went by he began to accept it, but facing my dad was a different story. Two nights before I was about to leave Cape Breton, I went to see my father, for this would be the last time I would see him. Things ran smoothly as I was discussing my plans to him, but I knew that dad couldn't take much more. For the first time ever, I watched a grown man cry. My dad was bawling, I couldn't believe it, and soon I was crying with him; my infantile half-brother and younger step-sister looking on in confusion. That night was painful, and I spent the next day saying goodbye to my relatives and other loved ones with a heavy heart and stinging eyes.
Finally, at six in the morning on September 26th, I woke up and gathered my suitcases. My brother left to live with a relative two days ago, and the house was completely empty. Mom and I got ready to leave, but not even the sounds of us rustling around could break the depressing silence. I packed the final articles of clothing into my duffle and left my bedroom, closing the door behind me, never to see it, or my house again. What hurt terribly... was that I had to leave Tito behind. The cat had been my beloved pet for 3 years, and he was to live with my uncle. Naturally, I cried all the way out of the house, as I had to go down those stairs and watch my cat sleeping on the chair. I ruffled his fur for one final time, soaked sections of it with tears and forced myself out the door. Tito was to be taken to his new home with a relative, shortly after my absence. After that hurtful goodbye, I got into the car to go see my grandmother for the last time. That woman’s support was endless, as she comforted me with words of a bright future and a new life. What killed me even more... was that it was my own brother who was to drive us to the shuttle terminal. Where we would be taken away from him, and many others for a very long time.
The three of us talked the entire time we had driven into Sydney, and searched out a place to park. A Tim Horton’s parking lot was designated, and I sat apprehensively to sip on my iced tea as agonizing minutes ticked by. Those moments were silent torture, and it was evident on my brother's face. Eventually, the shuttle arrived and pulled up, and it was time to say goodbye. Neither Kris nor mom cried, and I didn't either as I hugged my brother goodbye, because I knew if I did, then he would too. So, I watched as he got in his car and drove away and it was at that moment when I went into hysterics. My brother was gone, and I knew nothing more as that humble black car disappeared into the traffic.
It was at that very moment that I realized what awaited me from that very moment. The fear, stagnant in the back of my mind since the day The Question was asked, surfaced all at once. I was leaving my homeland, my family, friends and way of life. A new province waited for me, and it was big and vicious, as proclaimed by my young mind. I climbed into the shuttle that would take the two of us away, and my mind flat lined. At that eight o’clock in the morning, on September 26th… my life ended...
... but was about to begin again.
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(Kill the midi!)