The House on Medford Avenue

Throughout my life, I've only ever known three places as home. My grandmother's house was the first place I ever lived in. The upstairs flat of their duplex was where I lived for the first three years of my life. My brother, who was fifteen, and my sister, who was six, were growing up at the time. My family is small, and I'm the youngest of the bunch. Our family had to leave that house since my grandmother and my mom couldn't communicate well enough to live there any longer. It was so loud that the windows of the neighbor's house began to shake. We were barely 20 blocks away when we departed. One year later, we relocated to a new duplex, and this time we lived there for that long. A mouse was scurrying around my room with a ball of yarn in its mouth.

When I was six years old, my family moved to Medford Avenue. The moment I stepped out of our rusty Ford Taurus and saw the house of my dreams brought back strong memories of my astonishment. It seemed as if a flower had suddenly sprung into full bloom. After she had left the breathtaking location, I observed my grandmother Vivian go away. It turned out to be a third duplex in a row. The upper floor of my new apartment was my new home. As the steam from a cup of hot coffee dissipated, my dreams began to slip away. I was living with my grandma, whom I hadn't spoken to in a long time. I already knew I wouldn't be content there. That was an understatement, I discovered.

What a Joyous occasion!

Eleven years and nine months separate us in age. When I was approximately three years old, he met my sister-in-law. I've known her for the better part of my entire life. Suddenly, I had a new sibling after my brother and sister-in-law got married. I had no idea that just a few months later, I would become the proud father of a niece.

When I was just ten years old, my brother broke the news to me. In the future I would be an auntie. It took me eight long months of hard work to get myself ready for this new role. It was all going according to plan in my brain. We were going to go to the mall together, and she was going to dress up like me.

Suddenly, everything I had planned fell apart when she was born. She was just a little girl. Gritted out by the diapers, the vomit, and the crying. My head was pounding like a jackhammer with a sever headache. I had no idea how I was going to keep up with her while also playing a video game. I can't handle all of this responsibilities. To her, I was like a block of ice. If I were her mother, I would not lift her or change her diapers. A lump of coal, I was. It was only after she was old enough to walk that I decided to apologise to her. My plan was to bring her everywhere I went, and I actually did. Her age hasn't stopped her from becoming my best friend, despite the fact that she's just 5. The only thing I'd give up for her is my life.

Even if it was four days after her death, my grandmother's death was the day that I learned about her

For a long period, my grandmother was bedridden. Her memory was fading at such a slow rate that it felt like sand in an hourglass. I don't recall the exact moment Mom fell ill, but I had a feeling I was going to have to mature rapidly. After a while, we were forced to place her in a nursing home because of our inability to properly care for her.

Before my journey to Washington, D.C., I went to see her. Though she was unaware of my identity, she nevertheless gave me a friendly grin like she usually had. That she was fine, that she was in wonderful health, were the only words they had for her. To prepare for my upcoming vacation, I returned to my house. Six days later, she succumbed to her injuries. It was the day after I'd returned to my home town from a vacation. About four days later, we learned the truth.

There was something strange about that particular day. After dropping me off early at school, my mother came to get me and she seemed dejected. "Who died?" I said in a humorous manner. I had no idea someone had done this. I was taken to work by my mother, and I spent the first two hours trying to figure out what was wrong. If I could just walk home, like my mother said, would that be okay with you? Her eyes were filled with tears that appeared like they were about to burst like a dam. I nodded and began the short walk back to my apartment. My parents welcomed me into the living room as soon as I arrived home. My father informed me that Grandma had passed away. I was unable to communicate. Everything I said was plagiarized. After the rain, my tears flowed like a river. I have no recollection of that day at all. It's a memory I'll never forget. When everything went black, it was like being plunged into the depths of time and space.

My First... Sort Of Boyfriend

On the first day of my high school career, everything began to go awry. On that gloomy morning, I recall strolling through that massive school. In my resource room, I stepped in and sat down next to the man who would change the course of my life. After peering out the window, I saw him with spiky hair silhouetted against an overcast sky. He had his eyes on me. There was no doubt in my mind that the man in front of me was staring at someone behind me. When I look at him, I know he isn't looking at me. I'm really sorry.

Here we are, a few years later, at our first prom. It was the most bizarre dance I've ever experienced. I only knew one other person in the school, and she didn't even show up for the event! I entered the cavernous room, which was eerily quiet. When I saw him, I decided to ask him if they had seen each other's friends. I made a hasty approach, trying to avoid making eye contact with him. "Do you know where Ashlie is?" “Huh?” "Have you seen Ashlie?" I yelled. “Huh?!” His companion put his chin on my shoulder. After taking a brief glimpse at him, I bolted out of there like lightening. His companions pushed him at me nonstop the entire night. As if my hand were a pocketbook full of fresh dollars, some random girl walked up to me and grabbed it. She drew me closer to him and forced us to exchange phone numbers before she pushed me away. That was only the beginning.

All of this was made worse by the appearance of the infamous Crush can. I received a Crush can in the mail from him. Here we go again. He had a lot of female fans, and many of them were willing to go to great lengths to get his attention. The majority of the girls in my physical education class despise me. He sent me the reddest, most flamboyant Crush can imaginable—the color of fire and love. Afterwards, everything went swimmingly...sort of. of course, When it was time for me to celebrate my birthday, he surprised me with three balloons. He pretends to be my boyfriend, yet he has never asked me out!

Beloved Companion (s)

My closest three buddies are all extremely different from one another. Their likes and personalities are vastly divergent. They all have their own unique qualities. Megan, a friend of mine, is one of the most unusual—yet endearing—people I've ever met. She is always there for me, and she always makes me laugh. As of eighth grade, we've known each other since sixth grade, but we became great friends. She was a lifesaver while I was having a lot of issues. I go to her with all of my difficulties with men, even the most recent ones, and she always has time for me. I wouldn't be able to function without her.

Despite being the polar opposite of Megan, Catherine remains calm as a cucumber. She's a devout Mormon who lives her faith wholeheartedly. Because of that, she's someone I look up to. She is my go-to person if I need someone to listen to my woes. She's a real sweetheart and a pleasure to be around. We have the same sense of style when it comes to clothes, therefore we make for great mall companions. After only one year of knowing her, I already feel as though I've known her for eons.

Chris, my best friend, acts as a buffer between me and danger. In a way, he's like a father figure (but I am older than he is). Anyone who tries to mess with me will be intimidated by him. If I want his opinion on something, I can talk to him about it (and he doesn't like much of what I say), and he will give it to me. He's a fantastic guy to hang out with and play football or soccer with on a Saturday afternoon.

I would be homeless if it weren't for these people. Even though I have a place to sleep and a roof over my head, that does nothing to make me feel at home. Happiness and affection fill my house every day. It's about being kind and generous. It's a way of coping with both good and bad situations. I'm at home when I'm with the folks I care about. My heart is always at home.