Choose Your Own Adventure

I always wanted to wake up in one of those choose-your-own-adventure books; you know where each decision you make leads you to an alternate ending?

I feel like I am living one right now, only I have no clue about the conclusion of my story.

For a brief second, a ripple of panic runs through my body, followed by an electric current of delight.

I imagine this must be how the characters in those stories felt; they didn't know how their story would end either.

I sit up and look over at my closet, the floor covered in piles of ordered chaos. This last year I didn't focus on keeping my closet clean, my hours were spent pouring over senior classes and filling out college applications. Sliding off my bed, I sit on the floor and begin organizing my life. Or maybe it's already my past life?

On the opposite wall near the door are three boxes, one says dorm, one says donate, and one says attic.

Mom brought those in yesterday when I told her I needed to start sorting through my things. I still remember the sentimental look in her eye as every recollection of my childhood cascading through her mind like a movie. Her eyes started to mist, and she sniffled quickly and exited the room.

Something catches my eye in the far reaches of my closet, bringing me back to my task. I smile and laugh to myself. Reaching over the pile of barely worn spirit-week outfits, and pushing aside my shiny red wedges, I see it—my beloved choose-your-own-adventure book.

The front cover has an abominable snow creature, three kids wearing snowsuits, a snowmobile, and a tent sitting next to a roaring fire. Nostalgically I flip through the pages; the simplistic drawings that dot every other page make me laugh. To think I imagined myself in this story running from snow monsters that don't exist.

I close the book and lean my head against the molding that wraps around the closet door. I'm not running from snow monsters, but I've done something scarier. This month, I've made some decisions that will alter the course of my fall semester at college; I picked a major for this fall, broke up with my boyfriend of ten months, and sold my car.

My parents said they would have kept it for me in the garage, the car, not the boyfriend, but I somehow felt like I wanted a fresh start.

I've decided not to have a car for the first year at school, to save up for something more reliable than the four-door-one-hundred-thousand-mile-blue-stink-beetle that my dad so affectionally called it.

I look back at the wilted paperback, and I am ready to toss it into the giveaway box when my little sister wanders into the room.

"Mom's crying." She sits down in front of me, she is going into the fifth-grade next year, and I envy her for a second. This week and she and mom went out to buy elementary school supplies, and the smell of new crayons made me long for simpler days.

"Is she ok?"

Sarah nods her head, "She is putting your senior photos into frames."

I nod silently, understanding; mom has such a tender heart. I know when she looks at my senior photos, she remembers me years ago, pigtails, skinned knees, and hair bows. I love her for it, but it makes my heart ache in my chest.

I turn the cover of the book in Sarah's direction, smiling big, "You want this? It was my favorite one in middle school."

Sara laughs, "I've read that one a bazillion times."

I raise an eyebrow in question.

She giggles again, "I would sometimes sneak into your room and take your books to read," She looks at the piles in the closet, "I knew you would never notice."

I lean forward and push her lovingly on the arm. Her room is always so clean. She is one of those abnormal ten-year-olds who likes her room neat and orderly. It's like she is a little old lady living in a kid's body. We couldn't be more opposite when it comes to tidiness.

I glance down at the book cover one more time, letting out a deep breath. I toss it into the giveaway box.

For the next hour, Sarah and I go through things on my floor, and I separate my final year of high school into those three boxes. I give Sarah a little box of her own, an empty Keds shoebox, and she starts to collect her treasures.

Sarah procures two unopened bubble gum pink lip-glosses; she tells me that mom will let her wear lip-gloss to school this year, as long as they are pink colors and nothing loud. She goes on to inquire about what exactly is a loud color, and we laugh at mom for a minute because we all know you can't hear colors. I hand Sarah two new mechanical pencils, a composition notebook with space kittens on the front embellished in turquoise glitter, and a bag of unused drawing supplies from my Art 2 class last spring. I can tell she feels she has just hit the jackpot; art is a passion we both share.

"Oh, this is the best fine liner marker ever," Sarah digs through the bag, "and my kneaded eraser was almost gone, I needed a new one." She snickers at her pun.

I laugh at her comments, and I am glad that I could make her smile.

"I better finish this closet up before dinner," I toss an old t-shirt I painted last fall in the giveaway box, "dad's grilling burgers tonight."

"Mmmmmm." Sarah grins, everyone loves when dad cooks his famous burgers-at least they are famous in our family.

Two hours later, I am almost finished with my closet floor—the time filled as I grab an item, reminisce, and toss it into the appropriate box. I have a few more things to give to Sarah, so I toss them into a plastic Target bag. I know she will be thrilled to see I have almost a whole set of watercolor markers to hand down. My major isn't in art. It's in psychology. I can have a career with a degree in psychology, but I am not so sure I could have had a career in doodling woodland creatures and fairies.

Mom, knowing my love for art, bought me a new sketchbook and a whole set of expensive shading pencils to take to college.

She said if I have free time, I will be able to draw all the fuzzy creatures I want—her words, not mine. I can't even imagine having free time with the class load I have in the fall.

I fish out a picture from the back pocket of the crumpled jeans on my floor. Its Todd, my ex-boyfriend. This fall, he plans to backpack with four friends along the Peruvian desert and study indigenous plants. He's always been a bit of a wanderer; his whole family was like that. He didn't want to break up, but I wanted him to be free to fall in love with a Peruvian girlfriend if that is what he wanted to do.

Thoughts of Todd and a Peruvian girlfriend make me laugh; we were better friends than a couple.

I get on my hands and knees and crawl back to the far corner of my closet to grab one item I missed- a worn green journal with a Save-The-Baby-Whales sticker on the front. Both the sticker and the journal are frayed and peeling.

This was the first journal I'd ever started; I was in third grade, and my favorite teacher, Mrs. Brentwood, introduced our class to journaling. Once, she explained that I could draw my woodland creatures and write about my thoughts; I was hooked.

I scan the journal reading a few entries, and wipe away a single tear that accidentally trickles down my cheek. I toss the journal in the box marked attic and let out a deep breath. Reminiscing takes a lot of emotional energy.

A few seconds later, Mom walks in; I can see her eyes are puffy, but a bright smile spreads across her face.

"How is it going, Hun?"

I know she is excited for me, but I will miss her too.

"It's going well." I glance down at the cream-colored carpet, "I just finished my closet floor."

"Well, that's a start!"

I laugh and look over at my calendar. Bright red X's are in twelve of the boxes this month; I only have five X's to go, and I will be off on my new adventure.

Mom glances down at the three cardboard boxes on the floor, "Looks like you aren't taking much." I can hear the sadness in her voice.

"My room is small, mom, and I only get one half of it."

"I know." She smiles again. "Anything you want to keep here, we will pack up for you and put up in the attic."

She gives my room a sweep with her eyes, "Don't worry about deep cleaning your room. I will give it a good cleaning and make sure there are clean sheets on the bed for when you come home over thanksgiving break."

"Thanks, mom." My voice squeaks just a bit, mom's caring personality is illustrated by the fact that I know she will have clean, fresh sheets waiting for me and all my favorite foods when I come home on break. I glance down at the X's again; I recognize she will be counting the X's until I return.

We hear the door open; dad is finally home from work. He says in a goofy sing-song voice that its burger night, for his three best girls.

He's been overly cheerful these past few weeks, I think he is trying not to think too hard about is the oldest daughter boarding a plane and attending college three states away.

My stomach rumbles, and I hear Sarah running down the hall to jump into dad's arms. He lets out a winded breath as he hugs her and then walks into my room.

"How's my college-bound girl?" He looks at me and smiles, "Are you ready for some burgers?"

My stomach growls in response, and I smile at him and nod, "I sure am!"

I hear dad and Sarah walk out onto the back porch, and mom is still standing in the doorway.

"I have something for you, sweetheart." She speaks softly, but she is smiling.

I look up from the floor. For a brief second, I want to propel myself into her arms and just let her hug me like she did when I came home from school complaining that Johnny Stevenson had just given my best friend Kelly a candy gram and not me.

"What's that, mom?" We both gather our emotions and put them in an imaginary bottle for later.

She pulls a small wrapped rectangle from behind her back and grins.

I look at her, confused.

"Open it." She chuckles, "It's just something small I thought you might enjoy for the plane ride."

I stand up and take the small package out of her hands and unwrap it.

It's a choose-your-own-adventure-book, the cover shows four kids at the entrance to a cave, they all have headlamps on, and one of them is riding a four-wheeler.

My heart stops in my throat, and mom speaks, "I know how you use to read those books until all hours of the night, I thought it might be fun to have something light to read on the plane before you start reading all of those medical books."

We both have a good laugh, and I hug her.

"Thanks, mom."

She sniffles quick and waves the air, "It's no problem, I love you, sweetheart, always remember that."

I nod, but I don't speak because I start to sniffle too.

Silently she reaches in the box marked donate and pulls out my Abominable Snow Creature book, her eyes are misty, but she doesn't speak. She slowly places the book in the attic box and smiles at me. I know now the attic box is just as much for her as it is for me.

She turns and heads down the hall, explaining that she needs to start cutting vegetables for dinner.

I look down at the book cover again and laugh lightly. I've never read this story before, and as much as I am tempted to revisit my childhood by jumping into my bed and prereading all of the endings, I resist.

Opening the cover, I see mom has inserted handwritten a note.

My dearest daughter,

No matter what adventure you choose, always know that I am so proud of you.

Sometimes we don't always know the endings to our stories, but be brave and try new things. If you ever feel lonely or need a hug, you can always come home, and I will be here for you with open arms.

I love you.

It's time to start your adventure.

Mom

My heart sits in my throat for a few minutes, and I try to fight back waves of emotions; excitement, fear, and happiness.

Breaking through my thoughts, I hear dad call me; he wants to give me a lesson on how to make the perfect burger, so I can cook one while I am away.

I laugh at his announcement, and I stick the book in the pocket on the side of my luggage. I think I will let all the endings be a surprise, for now.

I walk down the hall to find dad. What he doesn't know, it's not the burger I will want to recreate while I am gone, but this very moment.

The moment where I am still a kid that likes dad's burgers and reads choose-your-own-adventures late at night in the loving surroundings of my childhood bedroom.