When Dad came home to deliver the news, my mom, sister, and I were already eating. Dinner was Mexican seven-layer dip with tortilla chips, eaten while sitting around our cream-colored, plastic dining room table in the back of our comfortable, brick rental in Savannah, Georgia. I'm sure my sister and I were swapping stories about horses; horses ran our life back then in a very serious way. My sister just got a horse for her birthday (read the story here) from my parents, and while I was still jealous and annoyed in some moments, in the remaining the minutes of my days I was on my way to getting over it.
Dad walked in and wasted neither time nor words: "We're moving!"
What conversation we were having before was now over. With bits of guacamole and tomato and chip still in my mouth, I started to digest what he was saying. This move was unexpected. We'd been in Savannah for two years, and we usually stayed in a place for three. But I was just nine, so...it's not like the track record had been long, and two exceptions were already under my belt. The three of us froze, waiting for the punchline. Where would it be? The next destination. The end of a long car ride. The place our mail will be forwarded. The house where we'll unpack our boxes.
With that information, there was only one thing a girl could do: Run from the table, crying. Hawaii?! A place so far away?! So unknown! I buried my head in my pillow and cried. My sister sat, stunned with the news. She knew it was impossible to take her (older, much-loved-but-not-worth-a-lot) horse with us. She'd owned Late Summer for approximately 6 weeks, a time during which she managed to be high on life and happy as could be and now...down she came, with the surprising news that we were moving overseas. And we were leaving in one month.
Hawaii. We practically spit the word out.
Funny, that thing called perspective.