The year I turned four, my family moved to the United States from our homeland, . At the time I didn’t exactly understand why we moved, except that we’d live closer to Nanma. She was my favorite relative since she always sent lots of candy and toys for my birthday and Christmas. The possibility of her giving me even more now that we’d live closer excited me. ‘What if she gave me presents and candy every day’ was all I really thought about and I soon forgot about . Not that it really bothered me anyway.
We lived in a small, rural village a few miles out from the city, Hildesheim. It was a nice, peacefully community. Everyone knew each other and there weren’t really any rude people who lived there. The streets were usually filled with people roaming around or walking their dogs and neighbors were always nice to one another, having a conversation over the hedges that separated the houses. Like I said it was nice and peaceful.
The playground usually had kids playing games and I wanted to play with them, but mom never let me since I was too young and little and the older kids could be mean to me. I would pout every time she’d say no and follow her around the house until she sent me to my room. I thought it was unfair. I wanted to be a big kid too.
However, I didn’t have any friends, not even in the village daycare. It was mostly because I had a temper and had to go sit in time out whenever I slapped or pushed someone. I knew my anger was justified though because the kids were always mean to me. They’d call me bad names and steal my food and toys. They also made fun of my eyes for being two different colors. I didn’t like them.
I didn’t like the daycare workers either. Every time I tried to tell them what the other kids were doing to me they never believed me, and even if they did it didn’t last real long. All the kids who were guilty of bullying denied that they had ever done anything bad to me. Of course, majority ruled and the workers believed them over me. It pissed me off to an unlimited extent.
That’s why I thought life in the States would be better than in . Maybe there would be at least one person my age who could tolerate my temper. I wondered what it’d be like to finally have a friend. The problem was that my English wasn’t good. Both of my parents were fluent in the language but rarely spoke it at home. So I never got a chance to learn it.
Mom did try teaching me some simple English words and phrases before we left though. Like if I needed to use the little boy’s room I would ask ‘Can I go potty?’, or if I was hungry then I would say ‘I’m hungry’. She even taught me how to tell people what my name and age was. Since I was four, I found learning new things fascinating. I promised mom I would get better at English. She’d ruffle my hair with a smile and tell me she believed I could. I was determined to keep that promise.
Nanma was the first one to help me with my English when we arrived in America. She was an elderly woman who lived in the state of Colorado. She lived alone on the outskirts of a busy town and the closest neighbors were at least two miles away. Her house was two stories tall, surrounded by trees that were just starting to sprout their leaves. The mountains were close enough that you could see its peak and crest towering over the tall trees. Mom would always comment on how beautiful the sight was. Unlike her, I never really noticed or even cared.
Black metal fencing wrapped around the house, separating the yard from the forest around the property. Dead vines from hedges tangled around the cool metal, drooping down, almost touching the ground. The house’s sidings were grey, its paint cracking and peeling. The porch was made of slowly rotting wood and if you looked close enough you would be able to see the termite damage. A dirt path led up to the porch, weeds peeking out in between the small pebbles. The grass around the house was yellow and dried. There were a few green patches here and there though, showing spring was on its way. A very old oak tree stood tall and proud in front of the house with a swing attached to it.
On the outside, it looked rather creepy and old like a haunted house.
On the drive there, I had fallen asleep in my car seat with my teddy bear, Bär, laying loosely on my lap. Mom was driving a car uphill on a dirt road, the vehicle jerking a little every time we rode over a rock.
I didn’t know why dad wasn’t with us. When I asked mom where he was, she told me he went into town to look for a house and that we were going to stay with Nanma for the time being. I got so excited because I could just imagine all the toys and candy I would get. I told mom this and she laughed at my excitement. After that, I got tired and fell asleep.
It wasn’t long till we finally made it to Nanma’s place. I didn’t wake up until mom called out my name and shook my shoulder a little.
“Eren, it’s time to wake up.”
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Hello! I just wanted to share a small portion of one of the stories I'm writing. I'm way too proud of this story so I had to share some.
Oh! Also, the last line is said in German but it's translated for all of my fellow English speakers.
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