Breathe Me - C.R. Jane Page 0,4

on me. Dad said living in Texas would take some getting used to, but I'm not worried. If the warm San Antonio weather is what I have to look forward to all year round, then I'm just fine with that. We arrived a few short hours ago, and already, I can tell how much we are going to like it here. Sure, anything compared to the gray somber streets of Detroit is an improvement, but I like the idea of actually living in a proper two-story house this time—with a back and front yard to boot—and not some shabby apartment in a twelve-floor building, where no one knows their neighbors or even cares to.

This house is a symbol of our new beginning—a place where Dad and I can actually be happy and start fresh.

When packing for our big move, I made sure that nothing in this home would make us think of Mom or her absence. I threw out every little thing that could remind us of her leaving two years ago. Dad said I'd regret not keeping at least a few photographs of her, but if I want a reminder, all I have to do is look in the mirror. I have her dark, jet-black hair, her olive-toned skin and her full, ruby lips. The only thing I inherited from Dad was his golden-hazel eyes, for which I'm thankful. Instead of seeing all the traits I got from my selfish, vain mother, I focus on his and the purity of my eyes.

My dad has the kindest eyes.

Just like the sun beaming above, his eyes are warm and true, and they always burn affectionately brighter anytime they are looking at me. Much like they are now.

“How about you take one of the smaller boxes instead, kiddo?” He chuckles with a wink when he discovers me trying to lift one of the heavier boxes from the U-Haul truck we rented out.

“If I only take the small boxes, then this move is going to take forever, Dad,” I exclaim, pointing to the endless amount of larger boxes behind me.

“It’ll take whatever it needs to. We have plenty of time.” He smiles fondly, picking up the box I was trying to carry, whistling all the way back into the house and leaving me empty handed.

That’s my dad for you.

Always Zen, as if he has all the time in the world, and nothing ever gets him riled up. I wish that was something else I could have inherited from him. Unfortunately, I’m more like my mother in that regard, too—always restless and fretful. Or maybe it’s because of what happened to me that I always feel like I’m working against the clock. Almost as if I have a certain amount of time to do all that I want to until it runs out. It could also be the reason why I’m so excited to start this new life in a new place. Maybe now I can finally breathe and just enjoy every second, instead of worrying about if the next one will arrive or not.

Most twelve-year-olds would dread being uprooted from their childhood homes. The idea of leaving all their friends behind, having to go to a new school where no one knows your name would be daunting for most girls my age.

Me however?

I see this as an opportunity to actually have all the things I’ve missed out on.

Aside from the nurses and doctors, who I saw on the day-to-day basis, and the other cancer patients who got their chemo at the same time I went for my dose, I had no real friends to count on. No one to really miss me moving away to Texas. Not even my own mother.

But now that my life is finally my own, I’m going to do everything on my bucket list that I hadn’t been able to do when I was sick. And if I’m really lucky, Dad will see how happy and healthy I am, and start living his own life, too. Maybe even start dating. Who knows? The possibilities are endless, and I for one can't wait for us to start living our best life, away from divorce papers and hospital rooms.

Since Dad is adamant in doing all the heavy lifting, I pile three of the smaller boxes, one on top of each other, to bring back inside. He’s probably going to frown at my stubbornness, worried that I’ll exert myself, but he has to get with the program sooner or later. I’m not