Final

     With both my parents in the design industry, art has always been a part of life. As an infant, I scribbled on my Leapfrog Doodle Pad. As a child, I sketched my mind. As a teenager, I was exposed to the world of photoshop. But although I had always knew art to be my career, I never gave it a serious thought until I entered the ninth grade.
    My cousin, Christy, and I always had a distant relationship. I was raised to embrace people and she was raised to be a more conservative person. As a result, she never reciprocated my desires to bond with her.
    Of course, she wasn’t my only cousin. In fact, out of all my relatives, the two of us might have been the most different. But there was one thing about her that made her stand out above the rest to me. She had a talent that many of them lacked; a talent that I strove for.
    She loved to draw, and she was good at it. She was capable of sketching anything she saw. I loved to watch her, too. She would sketch, color, and occasionally frame her work. And sometimes, I would just stare at the wall filled with her artwork, speechless and amazed. But aside from art, we didn’t have much else in common. She was a loud, rebellious teenager and I was just an innocent little child. But I longed for her to see past our differences and accept me.

    “Andy...Andy, wake up. We’re here.” said Dad. I had been riding in the car for the past two hours, and though I was only awake for about fifteen minutes worth of the ride.
    My family hurriedly walked out of the car. My mother handed me a cardboard box. Inside was a pot of steaming hot soup. I needed to be careful.
    They speed walked up to the front porch with excitement. I trotted behind like a penguin. After three knocks and about ten seconds, Uncle Jack opened up the front door and welcomed us in. As I waddled in, he relieved me of the cardboard box, placing it onto the counter, so that I could take off my shoes and jacket. After my parents and I finished, we formed a circle in the living room, with inevitable family discussion up ahead.
    “Merry Christmas!” announced my mother. She was shy around strangers, but she was quite a talker to those who knew her.
    “And to you, too!” responeded my Aunt Polly, who sat between Uncle Jack and their son, Derek.
    “So how’s school, Andy!” he asked. I didn’t respond. Actually, I didn’t hear him. There was something wrong; something missing. The treadmill looked the same as last year. The furniture hadn’t budged since the very first time I was here. And Wesley was barking outside.
    But then I noticed what was missing, or rather who.
    “Where’s Christy?” I asked with my innocent eight-year-old voice. Suddenly, my uncle’s smile shifted into a slight frown. His shoulder’s began to slump. But after a quick pause, he reverted to his original position and said with his usual glee,
    “She’s just out hanging with her friends.” He responded. My father nudged me a bit and gave me a slight look telling me not to bring it up again. And so, obediently, I didn’t, but I knew something was wrong.

    Because I have not been given permission, I must leave out the details, but Christy had used her right as an adult, as she was now nineteen, and left home. And I wouldn’t see her again for another five years.

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    When I saw  her again, at age thirteen, she had been living a relatively unpleasant life prior, and was getting short or resources. So when she stood at
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From the summer afternoon that I, now thirteen, saw her again, our relationship changed. She had been living a relatively unpleasant life prior, and was getting short on resources. So when she stood at my family’s doors, we openly welcomed her in and housed her. From there, we slowly grew closer to one another.

“Hey Christy. Can you help me with this?” I asked as politely as an oblivious boy could.

“Errr” she made a small pause. “Sure. What do you need help with?”
    “I can’t seem to draw this guy right. I just don’t know what’s wrong with him.

“I see.Well, for starters, his head is way too big and his legs are way too short.”

“Oh?” I said. “I hadn’t noticed.

“Well that’s because your eyes are too used to the drawing already. Try looking at it backwards” Obediently, I flipped the paper to its backside.

“You’re right!” I exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”

Merely one of our many new experiences. Christy was my role model in the past because of her amazing art. However, our different personalities made it difficult for me to connect with her. But this dramatic event in her life allowed me to strengthen the bond we had, and in time, strengthen me.

8: 56 PM. Christy, my mother, and I formed a triangle around our living room; making small talk before Christy would leave for Japan. She was to join her on-duty husband in Okinawa. This would be the last time we would see each other for quite a while, even though it was only two weeks prior that she had announced it.

8: 57. Her phone rang. Her cab was waiting for her outside the house. The three of us had our final goodbyes. Then she stepped off the front porch and onto the overgrown pathway; the cab awaiting at the end.

8: 58. My mother had already gone back inside. I stood at the door watching her pack her luggages into the trunk when she signaled me over to help.

8:59. The luggages were packed. The two of us were facing each other right outside the open car door. She had ordered me not to hug her. I did so anyways.

9:00. All was silent. The cab had left. I stood alone on the curb in front of my house. There were many things I was going to miss about having her around. Her help with chores, help with homework, and help with friends, occasionally, were gone. There are times to be independent, but there is nothing wrong about asking for help. That was her unintended lesson to me.

9:01. My mother signaled me back inside, and I obediently came back in.