At this time in human history, kids lives are torn apart by divorces, some end up on the streets because of what they have lost…

I sit down on the ground. The grass is wet and I can feel the damp earth underneath... I cross my legs and look up. The blue sky is covered by the long, reaching branches of the cedar and pine trees. They create an eerie shadow that I love. It feels like nighttime under the branches, but really it’s the middle of the day. I lean forward and dip my hand in the murky water. It has a green tint to it. Most find it disgusting, but I am not most people, the water is what I find most magical about this place. When people typically think of a glorious day by the water, they think of a clear blue sky, the golden sun, and cool, clear water. This is just the opposite. The air feels crisp and I shiver as a cool breeze passes by. I huddle up into a ball but move no more than that. This is my moment of peace. This is the time when I can forget about everything else. I can clear my mind, and most importantly I can be free. A bird chirps, a toad croaks, and a water strider skims along the water. I hear a rustling in the bushes, and then squirrel darts out and passes buy only inches away from my feet. I smile. I feel like I am one of them. One of these animals. I feel like this is my home.

Slowly, I stand up; I stretch my arms up towards the tallest branches, and soak in the coolness of the air. I glance around, there sticking out of the bushes is what I was hoping to see. I walk over to the wooden point and steadily drag it out into the clearing. My canoe. The one that I made with my dad a few summers ago, the one that’s always been here, even when my dad hasn’t. I walk around the boat, checking for leaks. All clear. This boat is the strongest, thing I’ve ever seen. Except for my mom. I walk back to the bushes and pull out the paddle. Shoving the canoe out to the water, I follow my bare callused feet splashing in the warm water. The water sooths my feet, I stop walking for a moment and just stand there, watching the water swirl around my ankles. Finally, I swing myself into the boat. I grab the paddle before it floats away. I love hearing the little splash as the paddle dips into the lake, I love it even more today. I observe the scenery around me, the bright yellow flowers that grow at one end of the lake, the old, frayed rope swing that was hung up years ago by a little girl, the stunning reflection of the proud, tall, trees, and the sound of the front of the boat, splitting the water and gliding effortlessly. I smile of peace, and serenity comes to my lips.

Pretty soon, I am past the middle of the lake and surrounded by bright green lily pads, with small fuchsia flower buds, peeking on top. I stop paddling and eventually, the boat stops too. I let myself float in one place; I close my eyes and think. I think about everything, school, dinner, sports, and past memories. I wish for friends, a dog, and a place that I can call home. But mostly, I think about divorce. The divorce. I think about, what we had for dinner that night, I think about lying in bed and hearing the fighting, I think about my mom’s cries and I think about the door slamming. I remember living without my dad, for a few months, and then I remember being in court. The court where we lost everything, I remember hearing that we lost the house, I remember hearing that we lost all the money, and I remember seeing my dad’s triumphant smile at the end, like he had just won 1st place in a car race.

My eyes flutter and then open. The divorce doesn’t make me mad anymore, but it consumes most of my thoughts. Today, I need a moment of peace though. I lean back and rest my back on the solid wood. I close my eyes again, but this time it’s for a moment of tranquility. I am woken by the gentle splash of a fish leaping through the air and landing a few feet away. My eyes are blurry, I lean over the side of the boat and splash my face with the green water, and I feel completely rejuvenated. I grab my paddle and smoothly and relaxed I paddle to shore. Once I hear the faint scrape of the wood against the rocks I jump out of the boat. I tug it up to shore, and pull it back to its resting spot. I begin to run; I stop to pick a few berries, but only for a moment. My feet thud against the most, springy ground. I feel the wind rushing through the hair, and cooling the sweat on my forehead. I see a clearing up ahead, and gradually, slow to a walk. Cradling the crimson berries in my dirty, blistered hands, I approach the broken down shack, that I am forced to call a home. I dip my shoulder and push against the door with it. My startled mother quickly glances up. A small smile takes the place of a grim look as she scans me thoroughly. She sighs tiredly, but pleasantly as she continues mashing the berries in the cracking ceramic bowl. I toss my berries in with the others, and take my place at the, old cracking table for a meal worth waiting for.