The Beginning
“Morgan Elisabeth Jacobs! Get down here and eat something! Your flight leaves in three hours!”
I groaned and turned up the volume on my iPod. I had to leave for the airport in an hour. The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed. My mother had already forced me up to get dressed and finish packing. But I was going on a hunger strike. I was going to be spending 90 out of 98 days of the summer between sophomore and junior years in Charlotte, North Carolina with my Uncle Steve. I was abandoning sunny Huntington Beach, California, all my friends and any chance I had of landing a recording contract to go somewhere I didn’t even want to go.
My original plan had been to hang around LA, join my best friend, Leigh on her week-long trip to the Big Apple and record a demo CD, but my plans were shot down when my parents decided to send me and my brother to be with family. I guess I could’ve been happy that I wasn’t going to Wisconsin to be with Aunt Bess and Uncle John and their holy terror daughter, Abigail. At least there was a beach where I was headed. But it was still not what I had planned and I was still protesting.
Half an hour later though I decided I should get something to eat before the five-hour plane trip. I’d learned from experience that airplane food has a similar texture to cardboard and a similar taste to chalk. I chose to play it safe. I cranked the volume even louder so I wouldn’t have to listen to my family talk, but the look my mom gave me when I reached the bottom of the stairs said, “Out with the ear buds or else . . .” I didn’t need to know what “Or else . . .” meant. I reluctantly obeyed.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” My brother Gabe said as he passed me to the kitchen.
I shot him down with one look. Gabe was a year and a half older than me and he knew well enough when to bug off. This was one of those times.
“Are you going to eat?” Mom asked.
“No!” I plopped down into a chair and rested my head on the table. I was using this last day before departure to exaggerate the fact that I did not want to spend my summer on the east coast with and uncle I’d only met twice.
Aside from not eating, I’d also dressed for the occasion. I wore black denim shorts and black Converse boots. A black “I (heart) LA” shirt and a pair of black fingerless gloves finished off the beginning-of-the-worst-summer-of-my-life look I’d been shooting for. I’d planned on dying my auburn hair black and cutting it all off but I figured that would make them want to send me away even more.
My dad motioned for me to lift my head up from the table and I slowly did. “The silent protest is not going to change our minds, Morg. You’re going to Charlotte to spend the summer with your Uncle Steve. Period.”
I sighed dramatically and reached for an apple. “I guess I will eat then. It’s the last meal before fried crickets and mystery meat stew.”
Mom glared at me and I shut my mouth. I quietly ate the apple before Dad decided I should go pack up my stuff into the car. I groaned again and stomped up the stairs. I was probably over-exaggerating my point a little bit but I didn’t care. I grabbed my black and lime-green suitcase off my bed and my messenger bag off my desk chair. I’d tried to convince my parents to let me bring my guitar with me. That way I’d have something to do in North Carolina but my parents complained about not wanting to pay any more for shipping and that – they didn’t need to tell me – was that.
I sighed one final time before dragging my stuff downstairs and climbing into the car. I figured I’d make my point once more on the way to the airport. I stared out the window and spoke dreamily, “Goodbye, California. Rest in peace, summer 2011. Say hello to my only chance of becoming a recording artist in the afterlife.”
My dad gave me a look in the rearview mirror which I took as my cue to stop talking. I did. But my brain kept on thinking. We passed all the familiar landmarks; my favorite diner; Leigh’s house; the beach. The “overdramatic sigh” was becoming a very important part of my life.
We showed up at LAX promptly at nine, I checked my bag and did all the airport stuff. Finally my plane started boarding and I said my goodbyes. I sat in the window seat next to a guy about my age who said his name was Conner. I introduced myself but I was in no mood for talking. I was doomed to spend my summer with someone I didn’t want to, in a place I didn’t want to, doing things I didn’t want to. The plane took off a few minutes later and I slouched back in my seat.
This was going to be a long 90 days.
