KateAshe: переводы

→"Kel, wake up," I whisper. "We've reached our destination."

→I drive past the house about fifty yards so that I can back into the driveway where the rear of the U-Haul will face the front door. Before I put the gear shift in reverse, I reach over and shake Kel awake. He's been passed out since Indiana.

→Our new landlord e-mailed us pictures of the house so I immediately spot which one is ours. It's small. It's really small. We had a ranch-style home in Texas on several acres of land. The miniscule amount of land surrounding this home is almost nothing but concrete and garden gnomes. The front door is propped open and I see an older man who I assume is our new landlord come outside and wave.

→The cul-de-sac is not very long, lined with about eight single story brick houses on each side of the street. There's a basketball goal in one of the driveways, which gives me hope that Kel might have someone to play with. Honestly, it looks like a decent neighborhood. The lawns are manicured, the sidewalks are clean, but there's too much concrete. Way too much concrete. I already miss home.

→"My destination," I laugh aloud to myself. My GPS doesn't know squat.

→As I make a final right-hand turn onto our street, my GPS informs me that I've "reached my destination."

→Over the course of the next few days my mother and I alternate between driving my jeep and the U-Haul, stopping only twice at hotels to sleep. Kel switches between Mom and me, riding the final day with me in the U-Haul. We complete the last exhausting nine-hour stretch throughout the night, only stopping once for a short break. As we close in on our new town of Ypsilanti, I take in my surroundings and the fact that it's September but my heater is on. I'll definitely need a new wardrobe.

→***

→I place the hair clip in the pocket of my jeans and head back out the door, locking up my home for the very last time.

→“Hurry to says Mom Layken!” he says, backwards.

→I walk to the sink and turn it on, rubbing my thumb over the thirteen years of grime collected on the hair clip. Kel walks backwards into the kitchen, just as I'm drying my hands on my jeans. He’s a strange kid, but I couldn’t love him more. He has a game he likes to play which he calls ‘backwards day’ where he spends most of the time walking everywhere backwards, talking backwards and even requests dessert first. I guess with such a big age difference and no other siblings, he has to find a way to entertain himself somehow.

→I favor my dad in all the ways that count. We had the same dry sense of humor, the same personality, the same love of music, the same laugh. Kel is a different story. He took after our dad in the physical aspect with his dirty blond hair and soft features. He’s on the small side for nine years old, but his personality makes up for what he lacks physically.

→I look more like my mother than I did him. Mom and I are both of average height. After having two kids she can’t really fit into my jeans, but we are pretty good at sharing everything else. We both have brown hair that, depending on the weather, is either straight or wavy. Her eyes are a deeper emerald than mine, although it could be that the paleness of her skin just makes them more prominent.

→I wore that clip in my hair every day for two months and my mother never once mentioned it. Now that I look back on it, I realize he more than likely told her what I had done. But when I was five, I believed in his magic.

→I looked at our reflection in the mirror and felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I didn't know of any other dad that had magic clips.

→When dad walked into the bathroom and saw what I had done he just laughed and scooped me up, then positioned me on the countertop. “Mommy's not going to notice, Lake” he promised as he removed something out of the bathroom cabinet. "I just happen to have a piece of magic right here." He opened up his palm and revealed the purple clip. "As long as you have this in your hair, Mommy will never know." He brushed the remaining strands of hair across and secured the clip in place. He then turned me around to face the mirror. "See? Good as new!"

→“Mommy's going to be so mad at me,” I cried. I thought that if I cut my hair, it would immediately grow back and no one would notice. I cut a pretty wide chunk out of my bangs and sat in front of the mirror for probably an hour, waiting for it to grow back. I picked the straight brown strands up off the floor and held them in my hand, contemplating how I could secure them back to my head, when I began to cry.

→I was five years old and my mother had left her trimming scissors on the bathroom counter. Apparently, I had done what most kids of that age do. I cut my own hair.

→“It'll grow back,” Dad said.

→I'm standing in what is no longer our kitchen when I catch a glimpse of a purple plastic hair clip exposed under the cabinet in the space where the refrigerator once stood. I pick it up, wipe the dust off of it and run it back and forth between my fingers.