안녕

안녕

I am 9 years old again. I hand my neighbor and best friend my first bike. I couldn’t take it with me in the car. Colton and his brother (blurred face – what was his name?) looked at me between the half open door. I could see something like a half smile on their faces. Half wow-cool-bike and half a sad why.

I can really have this?
Yeah.
Where are you going?
I don’t know but I’m going tomorrow.
Colton’s mom yells in the background.
COLTON!
I have to go.

I push the bike through the doorway
colton says something I can’t make out from the yelling.
The door closes
안녕.

The seat belt pokes my hip so I roll over on my side and unbuckle the seatbelt. The other passengers, three white garbage bags spilling out of their seats, blow dust from their mouths stuffed full of clothes. I lay my head on their lap. We’re friends now. When you’ve moved several times, you learn how to make friends real fast, especially inanimate friends.

Eomma, are we there yet? (Did I say Eomma? Or was it Mommy?)
No.

Next day: I am the navigator, so I sit in the front seat with my heels on the edge of the dashboard. The label on the sun visor says I should be at least 90lbs. I am 60lbs. But that’s okay, because I have an atlas with a holographic cover and a big AC in my face. (Both of which would do nothing if we crashed) I’m quite flexible too. I flex my feet above the airbags.

Moooooom, are we there yet?
… We’re close.
We drive past an Illinois welcome sign as a semi-truck pulls up beside us.
I look the driver in the eye and make a pulling motion with my right arm.
The truck’s horn puffs and blares
안녕.