The Art of Moving on
Written by Presley Tobey ’28
I grew up acutely aware of the fact that I was the youngest. I was constantly picked on and ignored when I wanted to play because my siblings were ”too mature” to play dolls or build block towers. As I grew up so did they, and as I started to evolve from Barbies to books and homework, my siblings and I became closer. We finally had things in common, and we tolerated each other’s presence more and more by the day.
We kept growing and eventually it was time for my oldest sister Lennon to go off to college. She chose UCF in Orlando. At first, I was happy she was going, I felt like the bright, blissful yellows of a summer sun. I would get her old room, with all the cool bookshelves, and I would have privacy from my little brothers at last. She was always the meanest one, so bossy. Never wanting to play, or talk, or even just sit still and watch a movie. She would only be 2 hours away, not too bad I thought, we would still see her all the time. After the initial happiness had faded and I saw her room empty, boxes all packed up, mattress stripped, and walls bare, I was sad. I felt like the pale blues of flower petals as they started to wilt, all crumpled and bleak. I didn’t want her to leave. Who would I barge in on and ask to play Uno with? Who would I go to when I wanted book recommendations, or new musicals to listen to, or when I desperately wanted to take funny pictures with the doggy filter on Snapchat?
I thought about it and realized just how ingrained her presence had been, my big sister Lennon had never not been there. She had always been a hallway away when I needed her, and now she wasn’t. Now she would be 2 hours away and only visiting on holidays.
About 3 years later my sister Campbell graduated. She chose FSU, the same school my mom went to. Tallahassee is 4 hours away which meant she had even less time for visiting. This time around I didn’t have much to be happy about, I wouldn’t be getting a new room or getting rid of what I thought was a mean older sister when in reality, it was just me being rude. I didn’t jump right into being sad either, I was stuck in some sort of emotional limbo. Not quite sure what to feel, like the greys on a palette, or the shadows of a painting, not completely devoid of detail but not the focal point either.
Campbell didn’t have much stuff in the first place but somehow it still felt emptier. I’m pretty sure I cried when she left (God knows she did) The sadness seeped in after a week of her being gone, like the steady blues of a sky mixed with the dark grey brigade of thunder clouds rolling in. School had started up again and I felt her absence in the lack of a warm body next to me while I brushed my teeth, poking me in the stomach and making me choke on my toothbrush. Instead of her soft hands and warm voice coming to greet me in the morning, there was the harsh buzz of an alarm clock.
I even missed the thing I used to hate, like when she would yell at me for getting to the car too late, even though I had to walk all the way from the middle school. I missed how she would wake me up extra early when she had a club meeting in the morning, or the loud country music she would play on the way to school when the rest of us were barely awake. The bittersweet longing was like a soft lavender sky at the end of a sunset, you miss the vibrant, fun oranges and reds as they slowly fade into pinks and purples, finally settling into the same blue night sky everyone is familiar with.
6 days ago, my older brother Bennett left for college, he chose FSU. The same school my mom went to, the same school my sister goes to, and the same school I will probably go to. Right now, I feel like the blaring reds of a sunrise over a burning land, I am filled with heat and hate for my older brother, he has left me all alone with my mean old parents and pesky little brothers. He didn’t even send me pictures of his dorm. My mom showed me how he decorated and said, “Isn’t his room so cozy?” and all I could think was that it looks absolutely miserable, simply because his room is no longer down the hall from mine. Right now, I am the angry red of inflamed skin around a cut, but I suspect soon the cut will close and make way for a purple-ish-blue-y bruise. I suspect soon I will make my way to his room late at night, wanting to go for one of our 11 o’clock ice cream runs. Out of muscle memory, I will make
to knock on his door, and I will then remember that he is no longer there. I will look around at the empty rooms surrounding me, realizing that I no longer have a cranky older sister to play Uno with, or a gentle older sister coming into my room in the mornings to make sure I’m up on time, or a funny older brother to barge into my room as I’m getting ready for bed and somehow trick me into paying for ice cream.
In about 3 years I will move off to college. Maybe I’ll get into FSU and get to spend a year with my brother before he graduates, or maybe I’ll go to UCF, and my older sister will come to a football game with me, both of us in the stands cheering on our team. Maybe I’ll go to USF, or UF, or FAU. Maybe my little brothers will miss the way I blare my music when they’re trying to sleep, or the way I always sneak up behind them and tickle them, or maybe they’ll miss our trips to the cafe in the front of our neighborhood. Just like me they’ll feel the purples, and blues, and reds, and just like me they’ll learn the art of moving on.
Presley Tobey…need a byline
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