The first time I heard that we were moving I was elated. We wouldn’t be going far; the farthest houses my parents were considering only reached the neighboring towns, though even leaving Concord was unlikely. On these house tours, I would shout which bedroom I wanted to have, which rooms could become an art or dance studio (dismissing the fact I didn’t have a flexible bone in my body.)

As time passed, the excitement wore off and I found myself dreading the departure. What if I had to switch schools? Would I still see my friends? My parents assured me I still would be seeing my friends plenty and that we wouldn’t be switching schools, but I still had my doubts. Change has never been easy for me, especially as a child.

In the end, my enthusiasm sparked back up, as we decided that we would be moving only a 15 minute walk away from our previous house. My little sister’s good friend would also be the son of the people moving into the house, so it would still be a familiar structure. Another reason for my change of heart was we would be neighbors with my best friend at the time. Although I was eager to move into my new house, I had a hard time departing my childhood home. Pencil marks on the wall, the stained glass window beside the red gold and blue patterned carpet stairs, the maple tree with the tire swing in our backyard, it would all have to stay behind. Our new house would be foreign and unfamiliar. The neighbors did not have a cat that sat on their porch steps when it was sunny outside, and didn’t grow the sunflower bed on the side of their house every late spring.

The days before our official departure, we dismantled the makeshift structure me and my sister used as a clubhouse, the final step to our move. Soon, the house was no more than an empty shell waiting to be sold.

Years went by and I rarely thought of it, now comfortable to call my new house a home. I had started high school and was looking for a job, as most do. My mom mentioned that I should start babysitting, and although it can be inconsistent, I would make good money. I agreed and began looking for potential jobs. One day, my mom asked me if I wanted to take my sister's place for a babysitting job she was no longer available for. And that is how I ended back at my childhood home that I had not been in for years. I could tell most of the interior designs had changed, although a quick look outside told me the maple tree was still there, tire swing still attached by a fraying knotted rope. I found myself strangely relieved. It was nice to be able to see how the house had changed and what stayed the same. I am now glad to see that the house is now also a home for other children to grow up in like I did.

Recently my mom, my sister, and I were entertaining the idea of moving somewhere in Massachusetts. The conversation soon faded, but the proposal peaked my interest, and I found myself questioning if I would miss my home. It made me realize that I had no special connection to my current house, only the memories made inside. The only things that I would really miss would be my friends and my neighbors. The early memories I made at my old house still echo inside of me, and I never left them behind like I thought I did. When I moved I left behind concrete objects and a materialistic structure. My home is the people I surround myself with.

© Zadie. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.