I never really thought I would do it. Move out. When I got into an argument with my parents, I always threatened to leave, just pack up. Then go. I would tell myself to never look back, and I would disappear without a second glance. I’ve packed bags before. Maybe I would pack a bag or two at a time, never my whole closet. I only packed the cute clothes, never grabbed books or memory items. Just clothes. Until the day came that I packed everything.
   Maybe the argument I picked to pack after was over something stupid, but it wasn’t that single argument. It was the symbols clashing after a drumroll. There were thousands of little taps into my patience and tolerance. Then there it was, the unimportant part, but the part the finishes it off. The cymbals. I finally told myself that I had put up with enough. I simply couldn’t do it anymore.
   Don’t get me wrong, my parents are good people and they don’t mean any harm. They try their best, but when they are completely different parents around me, compared to around my other siblings, it became a place I no longer felt comfortable living. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t safe. Physically I was fine. I just wasn’t comfortable.
   I could throw out a lot of maybes, because moving out of your house as a junior in high school is not always the best idea. I was held back a year, so I’m a year older. I turn 18 in a few months, and as a seventeen year old, I am legally allowed to decide where I want to live. Getting an apartment of course won’t work though. So, I went where I knew I would be okay. My boyfriend’s house. Brendan.
   I climbed into his car at exactly 2:34 a.m. I couldn’t work up the courage to do it while they were awake. I had packed and stacked everything in bags under my back porch. My dad was asleep on the couch and my mom was upstairs in her room. I snuck under the garage door, and when I hopped into Brendan’s car, I looked back at a mound of bags. He already had everything in the car. I love him.
   Since I met Brendan, he has become the only person that I trust completely. He has been there for me in times no one else seemed to care and he has brought more happiness then I can ever remember having in my life. He and his family are good people and have taken me under their wing. I will be okay here. While trusting him is easy for me, it has never been easy for me to trust anyone. This includes my parents. For many years my parents and I have been on separate tracks. When I tried my hardest to be the perfect daughter and do everything right, they saw me as a failure with a never-ending list of imperfections. I kept trying. I never wanted to stop, until the day I packed everything.
   I hold nothing against them. I know my mom blames herself. She does that kind of thing. It was really just my preference. I would never recommend to anyone moving out just because they can. Even after graduation, that doesn’t make anyone ready for life. I don’t think I’m prepared and ready to take on the world, but I definitely wasn’t figuring out how to survive in the real world by living in that house.
   I’m not stupid. I work two part-time jobs and I am staying in school. I plan to keep all my grades as the A’s they are now and keep myself focused. I chose to live somewhere that I can keep my head on straight. So far, I haven’t even glanced off my path. I’m trying, and school is not even the hardest part.
   I have two baby brothers. They aren’t really babies though. They are 14 and 8. Jameson and Joey. Jameson is my little trooper and one of my best friends. It’s hard being away from him, because I know I’m not there for him. I’m not there to be a good big sister and help him with girl problems or homework. I’m not there to show him how to grow up. I see him at school now that he is a freshman, he hugs me every time. I think the hardest part has been not seeing Joey. A few years ago he was diagnosed with autism and he is the family baby. His diagnosis pretty much tore our worlds apart, but I have always been there for him. My mom used to tell me that I am a better mom to him than she is. Now I’m not there. I love him more than I love most everything on this planet and it breaks my heart not seeing him everyday and listening to the silly, imaginary stories he tells for hours. Maybe if I left him, that means I could never be as good a mom as my mother thought. I worry.
   I worry that leaving screwed me over. I worry that, in the long run, I will fail at life and end up with some crappy job that takes me nowhere in life. I couldn’t go nowhere. I don’t think I could deal with that. I feel like there is a constant restraint keeping me from going on with life as if nothing happened. I guess that’s impossible. They say nothing is impossible. Forgetting is impossible. Pretending is impossible to keep up with.
   Brendan stops in front of his house, looks at me, and says, “I love you.” He makes everything easier, and everything makes more sense with him. “What bag do you ABSOLUTELY need tonight?”
“The big purple one,” I reply.
“Oh geez, it would be the one at the bottom. I’ll get it,” he says as he starts digging in the back of the jeep. I step out of the car and walk up to the door, Bren following close behind, lugging the huge bag. As we walk into his house, I take a deep breath in. The lights are mostly off. His parents are asleep and his cousin is in town. We sit down on the couch, and I breathe. I really just packed EVERYTHING.