Let's Move

When I was about 12 or 13 I would play with my little 6-year-old sister. We lived in SW Washington, a few miles out of town, on a farm. There were not alot of options for playmates. So we both had to work with what we had.

Our older sister, who was 17, had graduated from High School and immediately “got outa Dodge.”  She moved to Seattle, found a job and an apartment.   Absolute Heaven, it seemed to me. It was exactly what I wanted to do too, except I wanted Thee University, before the job. 

Anyway, Little Sister and I would play together and one of our favorite games was “Moving to Seattle.” We packed everything from one of our bedrooms into boxes and then “moved out,” which meant pulling it all out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.  The only thing we left in the room was the bed and dresser.  

Then we'd walk around the emptied room, getting all excited about the “new apartment” we found.  “Look at the terrifc view and all those lights!” I would exclaim while we stood at the window looking out at the apple orchard and big old Maple trees.  My little sister went right along with the whole fantasy. Why not? It was one-on-one attention, the rarest of gifts. 

We brought the boxes of belongings back in and rearranged things, just enough to make it seem like a different room.

“Here, you stack the books,” I directed, “while I put away the clothes.”  

After all the flurry of activity we would sit on the bed and look around.  “We need to telephone Big Sister and invite her over,” I mused, realizing that this was also part of the  impossible dream. Reality collided with the fantasy. 

“I’m going to go pick some flowers for our new place,” my little sister said as she ran down the hall to go outside. “Hey, that’s a good idea,” I agreed, following her.