November, 1981
I am nine-years-old, standing in the empty living room of the apartment I've lived in since I was three. Someone came this morning and turned off the electricity, but it doesn't matter much, anyway because all of our lightbulbs are outside in the moving van. Mum and Dad are downstairs with the van, too. I can hear them arguing, their voices carrying up from the street, over the balcony, and through the open sliding glass door. Dad finally got the Firebird hitched up, but he can't get the blinkers to work. They're cussing, and he keeps saying to "fuck it," and he'll "just tow the old bitch without them." He wants to be in Barstow by midnight.

We have to leave tonight. Tomorrow, the fat, sweaty man is coming and he wants the money he gave Dad. Dad doesn't have it, though. I think he spent it all on Ludes already. When the fat, sweaty man called yesterday, Dad told me to tell him he wasn't here. After I hung up, he told me to go in my room and put all my clothes in the red suitcase, and that he'd come back in a little while with some boxes for my Barbies. He went into the city and got Mum, and they brought lots of boxes and that van.

But they had to park the van all the way over on Pacific because the manager would get pretty mad if he found out we were leaving. I don't think we payed the rent. Dad says he should shut his trap and fuck off. He says that we're doing him a favour since after we leave, the manager can raise the rent to holy hell.

So, tonight, after dinner, they went and got the van, and put everything in it. All my stuff's packed, except Bankshot and Merlin. Mum said she put on them on the floor of the Nova so I wouldn't be too bored on the trip. And whether or not Dad gets the Firebird's blinkers to blink, we're leaving.

February, 1982
"Where are you from?" Melanie asked as we walked into my new classroom.

"Hollywood, Califor..."

"Hollywood?!" Melanie stopped and stared at me, as did most of the kids already in the room. "Hollywood?!" she screeched again. "You couldn't be. Nobody's from there."

"Yuh-huh," I nodded. "People could be from Hollywood. It has a hospital and everything."

"What are you, a movie star?" Melanie asked. She half turned and declared to the rest of our 4th grade class, "Get this, everybody, the new girl says she's a movie star."

September, 1982
"Where are you from?" Joanne asked as she showed me where our 5th grade classroom was.

"Los Angeles," I told her.

"Oooh, Los Angeles. Do you know any movie stars?"

April, 1983
"Where are you from?" Stacey asked as she showed me how to get to the cafeteria.

"Around here," I told her.

"Cool."

March, 1985
Two men in a big blue Caddy dropped Dad off the other day. Since, he's been on the warpath, and I've stayed locked in my room. He told me I didn't have to go to school for awhile, and that I should start sorting my belongings. Then, he piled a couple boxes and a roll of tape outside my door. I guess I should really go up to the attic and find the red suitcases.

When I woke up yesterday, Mum and Dad were both out. I couldn't find my cat, either. I stood at the back door and called him and called him. Moving always upsets Suckey so bad. Now, too, his hearing and sight are going, and I'm worried that he got himself so worked up that he's lost.

Later, Dad came back in a U-Haul. He said he sold the Firebird and got just enough to rent the truck, and that whatever doesn't fit in it or the Nova just ain't coming. I asked him if he'd seen Suckey. He told me to shut the fuck up about that damn cat and go finish packing.

Last night, Mum told me Suckey wouldn't have survived the trip anyway. It was better this way. Better that Dad had the Vet put him down peacefully. I didn't want poor old Suckey to suffer anymore, did I?

Today, while Mum was at work, Dad sold the antique table and chairs, the armoire and the dressing table. Now, he says, we can afford to eat for the next 3,000 miles, too.

April, 1985
"Where are you from?" Tasha whispered at me in Science Lab.

"Virginia," I told her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Vagina, huh? Are your parents cousins?"

"No, dear," I said. "That would be Georgia. Oh...sorry! Isn't that where you said you're from?"

August, 1985
"Where are you from?" Carla asks as she opens the locker three down from mine.

"I don't know." I tell her.

She grins. "Me either."