It was just another day of swimming, except for this time it was at a lake unknown to us (us being my brother and I). My brother Lucas was last into the car  (as usual), and our swimsuits were on and we were ready to go.  We drove about thirty-minutes to get to this “other beach” my dad had found, which we weren’t too excited about since his now ex-wife’s house was on the bay of a decent sized lake. Once at the beach, Lucas lept out of the car, towel streaming after him as I  followed quickly behind. My father took a bit longer to get to the water than we did, his long legs carrying him slowly down to the beach where I was criticing the unknown waters. After about fifteen-minutes of splashing around, us kids had decided that this lake wasn’t as good as the one at home and we wanted to go back to swim. At this point we all went silent, I was tucking my feet into the saturated sand as the soft hum of the wind pushed the waves up onto shore despite their constant protest to rejoin the body of water. Staring across the rippling lake, the reflecting rays of sun being disturbed by the constantly churning water, my father finally shattered the silence.

“I hope you don’t mind the lake, since you won’t ever be swimming at the other one again. Ready to go see the house?” he commented, eyes still resting on the horizon.

“A house? What about our house?” I inquired, not fully understanding why we had made the trek out there anyways.

“That’s not our house anymore, now rinse the sand off before you dry off and get back in the car,” my father said with a slow exhale.

Just before then I had insulted the water, saying it wasn’t clean enough (which was a lie, I just wanted to go home), so I just nodded awkwardly, wrapped up in my towel and scooted back into the Explorer. Before then, there had been no discussion of moving, besides the previous night that his wife wasn’t at the house with us and not a word had been spoken at dinner. About half a block down the dirt road was a house that looked abandoned, its windows eluded to empty spaces where someone had grabbed their belongings and ran. Upon entering the house, my nose was flooded with a dry stagnant scent. The house was barren, besides a few beer cans and bottles and the occasional plastic bag or rubber band. Once it was settled that the biggest bedroom was in fact not Lucas’s, we opened up the windows and headed back to Cathy’s house (my father’s wife at the time). When we got back, the house was close to emptied out. My Stepmom had all of her belongings moved out of the house, including some of our stuff that was mixed in with hers, for what I can only assume was fear that we were going to steal something. Afraid that two kids who barely had a grasp of the situation and a father that was now going through his third divorce were going to take her belongings that were clearly to expensive to be anything we could dream of owning. I went to my room, which was actually her daughter’s old room who was now out of the house, and gathered up my things. Packing didn’t take very long, I brought clothes with me every time I spent the weekend with my dad and brought them home after. I’d never been allowed to touch anything in the room in the first place, as I had only been just a regular guest for those two years my father and Cathy had a relationship (that I knew of). Once we had our belongings in cheap white trash bags, we put them in the car and got driven to Blake’s house (Lucas’s friend who in turn was mine, since no girl had shown interest in being friends with a devout tomboy). It was Blake’s birthday party, and the only I was ever allowed to sleep over (since there were about 6 other boys not including Lucas and Blake and I was the only girl, as usual). I only remember bits and pieces of that night: dancing around to You Give Love a Bad Name whilst chewing gum balls and shooting each other with nerf dart guns, or all curling up in the living room (I got a lazyboy to myself) watching Thumb Wars and scolding the boys for laughing at something so stupid. I’m certain we did a whole bunch of things that evening, and I clearly remember Garrett, Blake’s younger brother, always staying near me or shielding me from the nerf darts or helping me wrestle the boys (he had a huge but undisclosed crush on me that all the boys loved to tease him about). Morning came and my dad was the first parent to show up, smiling with his lips though his brow was strained with false happiness. With a wave ‘goodbye’ at the boys that had lined up near the garage door, I jumped in the back seat. It was in that seat, right behind the driver, where I finally realized this was the last time I would be seeing my friends (besides Blake and Garrett none of them were good friends, since Lucas and I were only there every other weekend). As the explorer pulled out of the driveway the tears had already made their way down the creases of my face as I turned to look out the back. There was Garrett, doing his darndest to keep up with the vehicle that was all too quickly pulling away from him and his damp cheeks. I’ve never saw any of those boys again. Ashamed of my girly tears, I quickly put on mask of calmness as we drove back to Cathy’s and waited in the driveway in the Explorer for my mom to show up. As soon as the silver minivan rolled up the driveway, I was out of the car with my bag I had brought with me, leaving the white trash bag of other belongings in the ford as my dad had instructed. After a quick hug and kiss on the cheek with my mom, I tossed my stuff into the van, turning around to go back and hug my dad. Cathy exited the house at this point, I hadn’t seen her all weekend and to this day I feel a prick of disdain for the happiness I felt when I realized she wanted a hug from me.

“I love you,” she whispered into my ear during our brief embrace.

Once she realized she would get no response from me, I next shuffled over to my father and clung to his large frame.

“I love you, Roo,” his voice rumbled, having become stiff and emotionless ever since the appearance of his soon to be ex-wife.

“Love you too, Papa,” my voice whispered, the gravity of the situation starting so set in as I swallowed my creeping sadness, let go of my father, and climbed into the vehicle.

The van reversed out of the driveway, and this time I didn’t bother to try and get one last glance of that house, or Cathy, as we turned around and drove home.

Cathy had cheated on my dad, and since then my father has lost his license and we still live in that house that had been foreclosed on (and have only made one friend there which lasted about a year then one day I never saw her again). I’ve only gotten bits and pieces, but all I know is the cheating was only half of it. I'm fairly certain they both had equal parts in the splitting up. I’ve never seen Cathy, Blake, or little Garrett since that day, and I don’t think that will ever change. I continually struggle with those years of 06’-07’. Bitterness about everything that went down and what I lost is quite prominent, but I think the hardest thing has been trying to understand that those two years weren’t a lie. That I wasn’t the cause of any of it, and that their emotions toward each other didn’t change their emotions toward my brother and I. Being between the ages of 8-10 through that divorce affected me in ways that I'm still uncovering today, despite my constant annoyance that any of it impacted me at all. Losing a mother figure has shown me how easy it is to replace love with hate, which are both extremes on the range of emotions. I doubt any of those friends that were indirectly mine remember me. It seems to me that remembering the bad times is easy, and I’m hoping that time of their lives was a good time, and they have nowhere near the  recollection of that goodbye that I have held on to.