The decision was made. With only two months left of the school year me and my mom packed up (sort of) and left. We didn't take much that I can remember. Just some clothes, books, movies, and toys. Things that would fit in those big rubbermaid containers. We left pretty much everything in the apartment we were living in. We even left Happy, this gigantic stuffed bumble bee that was bigger then me (not that big of a feat). That broke my heart. We took a Greyhound from Northern BC to the middle of Ontario. If you don't know, that's a three and a half to four day journey by bus, since they stop so much. It was a bit more comfortable for me then for most people, since at age nine I was still small enough to lay head to foot across two seats and not have my feet in the isle, so that's how I slept much time. But it was LONG and BORING. Thank goodness God gave me an imagination, I don't know how else I could have lasted it.
When we arrived in Ontario it turned out that Dean didn't have a house. He didn't own one, and he didn't rent one. So we long-term rented a hotel room. That wasn't pleasant. And so began School 4, and I was still in grade four. It was my first Catholic School. I don't remember much about that hotel room other then I preferred being outside - it was quieter - and there was a restaurant across the street that had really nice people working there. And that I once won pizza at school. Since at that school every week if a teacher caught you doing something good you could put your name in a draw and at the end of the week the principal drew out a name and that person won two full pizza's to take home. I won because I would always read when I was finished my school work.
School 4 was also where I was introduced to Harry Potter. The two friends I had manged to scrape together both liked Harry Potter, and they had it into their heads that they were witches, me too of course, and that when we were eleven we would be heading off to the Canadian version in Hogwarts (I believe it was supposed to be hidden somewhere in Toronto). Please remember here, that I was only nine and I had a vivid imagination. I also spent more time in a fictional world I had created then in the real world. So at the time I really truly believed them. Looking back I realized they were just playing, like normal nine year olds do.
Speaking of which, my imaginary world. Where would I be without my imaginary world? I truly believe that God gave me an imagination as a way to keep me sane and safe and alive until I was to encounter Him. Do I have scripture to back that up? No. Will I ever have scripture to back it up? Probably not. It's nothing more then a vague impression I have.
See growing up I felt like a slave child. A true Cinderella in the making. My mom would always need "help" around the house. Help meaning (not stretching the truth I promise) keep every room except hers clean. And if I complained she would scream and threaten on how I never help around the house, that Dean was too much for her to handle, and that she was tired of having to do anything. I was the ungrateful brat. Her favourite saying was "I brought you into this world. I can take you out of it." As a friend of mine just recently pointed out - "I didn't realize giving birth made homicide legal"
However, feeling like this I would slip out of the 'real' world so to speak. Instead of being the slave child that had to do everything I was a princess who wasn't allowed to do anything. Instead of being forced to clean and getting in trouble if I didn't, I wanted to clean but would get in trouble if I did. I would pretend that I was sneaking around to help the servants - always on the look out to make sure the King and Queen didn't catch me cleaning.
At night I had issue's going to sleep. Mom and Dean would be fighting, or other things that make it hard for one to sleep. Or if I moved around to much my mom wouldn't think I was sleeping and I would get anything from a spanking (truly terrifying to wake up to) to being yelled at to go to sleep. I was also afraid of the dark. Sleep didn't come easy. So at night in order to fall asleep (and be able to stay asleep) I would fold my blankets as if they were a hospital bed, arms over the blankets and me on my back. I would pretend I was in the hospital with IV's in both arms so I couldn't roll over or one of the IV's would pull out (and would thereby hurt). Pleasant I know.
So finding out about this school in Toronto (which doesn't exist) and thinking I would actually be going there and getting away from my mom was amazing. That summer when we went to visit my dad, my cousin lent me book 2 in the Harry Potter series. Granted I had never read book 1 but I spent almost the entire time I was there reading that book. I didn't quite finish it though before I left. But it was enough. Enough to spark an interest and love for this fictional world. Enough to keep revisiting in my imagination when I went back to Ontario. Enough to start me off on a subtly wrong path.
When I returned after that summer we had found a place to rent. This place wasn't a hotel room. It was a house. It was also too far away from where I had been going to school at the end of grade four. So the beginning of grade five was the beginning of School 5. I don't remember School 5, other then it was very small. It only went up to grade six while all the other elementary schools went up to grade eight. It was also Catholic. After about two months we moved in to a smaller (and cheaper) place. And again it was too far away from School 5 for me to go there. School 6 was in walking distance of me. So two months into grade five I started School 6. I had officially been to more schools then the grade I was in.
But what happened there will have to wait until next time.
Hollie.
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