Eighteen

• Scarlett Allen, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2009

Eighteen


18 and 8 months. According to my mum, that’s far too young. My dad and I disagree with her. Planning. Lots of planning. Everyday a new page in the book filled with scribbles and doodles revolving around this new chapter of my life. Photos pasted neatly next to descriptions of schools and towns. It’s not as if I don’t like my family or anything.

The lights on the runway flash by, blurring together neatly. Take off. Finally. We’ve been sitting on the plane for an hour. A man next to me has been snoring for the past half hour. The lady on my right cries whilst staring at a photo. The plane’s quite large. Larger than I expected.

“Ooh honey, look at this one!” Careers evening. A parent’s field day. This is the day that your parents decide how you are going to live your life. Mum seemed to be enjoying this. “This one has a diploma in lighting!” She held up a brightly coloured pamphlet before shoving more into our bag. It was overflowing with information booklets. I sighed. “NO, mum.” Frustration. Most of the universities have ancient looking lecturers who would still use equipment from ’64. She dragged me mercilessly between the displays. There’s no point I tell her; I’m going.

The lady next to me is quite nice. She has kids who are a few years older than me. She’s very proud and likes to talk about them. The photograph she carries is of her husband who died. She’s moving to L.A to be with family. My mind ticks over. Worry. Will that be me?

Subject selection forms, Wednesday. SET plan interviews, Tuesday. Open Day, Sunday. Useless dates. I hop on the computer and open the internet. Favourites. My body relaxes. The Art Institute of Colorado page smiles lovingly at me. Smiling back, I eagerly re-read the opening paragraph which I could have recited on cue. Next, Webjet.com. 2 hours of my planning are spent comparing ticket prices. Different airlines, different prices but the same journey. First to L.A. That’s a 15 hour trip. Then another 2 hours and I’ve reached final my destination.

Exam time. Every subject, every day. Question 1 answer C. Colour in the bubbles correctly. Papers scatter across the vandalised desks. Ink and lead streak the pages. Eyes flick to the clock, minds tick.


Universities vs. Colleges.
Australia vs. America.
Mum vs. Me.
Apologies. Tears run down creased faces, mixing with make-up to create a smudged and blotchy appearance. Yelling. Fighting.
Acceptance.


Touchdown. The snoring has stopped. Crying has ceased. Smiles light up the interior cabin. Polite hostesses direct us off the plane. Depart the airport. First noticeable difference: it’s colder. There are snow-capped mountains on the horizon. City lights speckle the foreboding darkness; the unknown.
Welcome to Denver, welcome to your new life.