Packing. :(

Almost as soon as I came home from the funeral, I had to pack my things. :'( Lanie was standing there, looking around my bedroom to see what to pack first. I pointed to my nightstand, and she nodded in consent. She walked over there and started packing away the pictures of father :'( and I on the table. I was carrying a cardboard box full of my top fifty favourite books that I have to have when I move to America. My mom(read Lanie's post to understand what I mean) thought it was 'personal items', so she took it to the moving van. I began packing up the extra pillows on my bed, and my mom put them in a vacuum sealed bag so they wouldn't be so bulky during shipping. I walked into the library, that had books from floor to ceiling. I said goodbye to my books, and I closed the door and locked it. A tear was streaming down my cheek. :'( I looked at the floor and walked sullenly over to my personal study(room to study in, like an observatory, but different) to begin packing my studies I've found out about life. There were science project worksheets I had created, world maps, books I was forced to write about the Apocalypse, and my trigonometry books. With one clean swipe of my hand, I pushed everything off the desk and into the box I was holding. I then organized everything so I could fit more items in there. I looked at the one thing I had missed in my clean sweep: a photo. It was of father and I during my first trip to Paris when I was four. I set the box on the floor, and I shakily grabbed the photo. I noticed a few of my tears were falling on the picture, and I wiped them off with my sleeve. I remembered when I picked out the Eiffel tower shaped picture frame at the airport gift shop with my father. I remembered how the escargot I was eating in the picture had tasted, and how my father laughed as I spit it out; disgusted with the taste. The tears were stinging my eyes, my body filled with sad memories that I couldn't stop thinking about. I grabbed a sheet of special packing paper, and I wrapped it carefully around the picture frame. I wouldn't have any more memories like that in my life; considering I just met my mom, and we don't really have the connection Lanie thinks we do. Lanie came in to my study, and she saw me curled up in a corner of the room. She realized this wasn't a good time to ask about what is good to eat. When I came to my senses, I walked into my father's bedroom. I hadn't been in there before, and it was painful to go in there. I ran out and closed the door behind me. I couldn't handle it. It was too much f his memory in one place. Lanie saw that I wasn't in my fetal position anymore, so she asked me what she was going to ask previously. "What's good for lunch? I'm STARVING!" "First off, if you were starving, you wouldn't be talking that easily. Second of all, ask one of the servants in the kitchen. The one named Marissa is the BEST chef we have!" Lanie thanked me, and she bounded out of the room. I noticed I was hungry, so I stepped down two flights of stairs into the kitchen. The smell of sweet pasta sauce(spaghetti, I believe) lingered through the air as I stepped into the room. Lanie had already left the room, but I heard her downstairs, playing with Henry. I ran downstairs to play, too. Lanie was on the floor, scratching Henry's stomach. Henry had his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth with contentment. Lanie was speaking "animal language," where you talk nonsense in a sweet and endearing voice, and the animal loves you afterwards. I came over and beckoned her upstairs for lunch. Her face lit up, and I whistled for Henry to follow us. Henry trotted upstairs behind Lanie and me. The table was set, and we each took a spot next to each other. There was a bowl of spaghetti, a small chicken(roasted), and a salad bowl. Not the most lavish of lunches, but I'm pretty sure it was because the servants didn't know what Lanie liked. I took my share of everything, and I passed the bowls to Lanie. Once she took her serving of everything, she passed the bowls to mom. Mom passed the bowls to the servants, and they eventually set it in the table center. Lanie told me ALL about her garden, her pet bunny, her little sister, her 'sisters' of whom I semi-met, and about how she knew someone out there was related to her. I nodded in agreement to everything she said, and I shared my thoughts on the topic. I was actually starting to enjoy being around my sister! It was a pleasant lunch, until Lanie asked me where I was born. My answer was England, but then my mom piped up. "Sweetie, you were really born in Boston." That was all it took to make me upset. Father had told me that I was born in London! So... is my whole life a lie? Who WAS that person in the picture I recently packed away? The father I knew didn't lie. Unless... Was lying when he told me that! ~Willow Clarice Pine