NORMAL

Victoria, 11th - Oakland, CA
It’s too late to be out on a Wednesday night. I have a test tomorrow, but tonight, my full focus was on my family. The rain is coming down in sheets, definitely not driving weather. The usually quiet town of Saint Helena is filled with continuous whistling wind. My dad runs to the car, using his laundry bag as a shield from the elements. From the porch, my mom looks at me, smiles, though it's more of a grimace, and retreats to her house. Sitting in the car, I dread the hour and a half to come. Not only is it long, but it is also the physical manifestation of the force driving my world apart. 
As my dad and I pull away, I watch the house on Taniter Street. The warm yellow light from inside the brown wood house portrays a family living in perfect harmony. Two parents. Two kids. In the same house. Not real. Inside, my sister lives a parallel life. She is getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, and dancing around with a youthfulness that had been drained out of her years ago. Since the move, her passion and radiance have returned. She dresses the way she wants, plays hours of tennis, and is alive again. Despite all her positive changes, the move has left me in pieces. I no longer have my person. It made Wednesday the best.
There is a void in the car. Today was too draining to talk about anything that matters. I long to return to an hour ago, when we were sitting around the dinner table like it was a normal Wednesday night. Instead, my dad turns on the radio and we prepare for the hour and a half drive ahead. The chorus of “Happier” by Ed Sheeran fills the car. I sink into my seat. Ironic. As we cruise down Route 29, the rain gets heavier. The shoulder is covered in leaves and branches. The visibility goes in and out, and I anxiously fiddle with my big sis necklace. Though it usually brings me comfort, now it is a reminder of the gaping hole in my life.
On the ride up, my mom and I had plenty of things to talk about. There was a hopefulness in the air. We were jumping at the opportunity to cosplay normalcy. We watched as the city turned to suburbs and after an hour—vineyards. Now, I am mourning the return to ordinary life, where my family is fractured. 
My dad breaks the silence. “Do you have any homework tonight?” 
“Nooooo!” I respond, annoyed. “I always do all my homework for Thursday early so we can be in Saint Helena for as long as possible.” Since the move, my parents have forgotten practically everything I say. I constantly have to remind them what time to pick me up at school or what my plans are for the day. 
My dad starts to respond, “Sorry buggy,”
I interrupt, “You and Mama forget literally everything I tell you. Ever since the move…”
I pause and turn toward my dad. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and his lips purse. Oh no. I went too far.
“Vickyyyy,” He groans, “You know we have a lot going on. All of us have to…”
I’ve heard this too many times, so I just tune him out. However I respond, it wouldn’t matter—they won't listen, they can’t. I watch my parents lug their bags back and forth and notice how they cling to every last moment with each other, so I just suck it up. It feels wrong to complain about the three hours of driving on a Wednesday when my parents uprooted their entire lives to provide my sister with a clean slate. I deal—the job of an older sister is to sacrifice. 
“Sorry. I know. I’m just tired.” I say as I look out the window. The suburbs of American Canyon and Vallejo are illuminated, but the Six Flags is empty. Typically bustling with color, energy, and love, now the park is vacant—missing its soul. 
The rest of the drive cruises by. The traffic becomes dense, and the rain slows. Rather than sulking, I turn on a podcast; Crime Junkie. My mind, distracted by the tragedy of others, forgets about my own situation. 
When we get home, I rush upstairs. It’s already 11 pm. A few months ago the house would be dead at this time of night—now it's just empty. Out of habit, I quietly move around; trying not to wake anyone. I comb my hair, brush my teeth, and do my skincare. The double sink is bare on one side—too much space for one person. I didn't notice. In my hallway, I head right towards two doors. Sisters, both white with black knobs, only the small nicks in the paint differentiate them. I walk into the first door and head straight to the bed. The closet light is on, shades are down, and there is a faint reminisce of Victoria’s Secret Bare Vanilla body mist. All normal. Covered in pillows and stuffies from head to toe. I search for the 4’9” warm lump, but the bed is empty. 
Nothing for me here. Just seven more days and one long ass drive.