Before I turned 18, I had a home. But on that one sunny day, the only sunny day during the otherwise foggy, gloomy, miserable month of October, I stood alone. Before I even walked into our rundown trailer I sensed something troubling. It had been my home for 18 years; I was even born there. I just popped out before my mother’s scumbag of a boyfriend could finish his beer and drive her to the hospital. Why I came out so quickly? I don’t know. Maybe I was eager to join this hellhole of a world or maybe my mother’s constant smoking while pregnant had become too much for my tiny lungs and I just needed to get out. Either way, I was born.

She named me Dizzie Dawkins. She doesn’t remember why, says I just looked like a Dizzie. Dawkins is her last name. The man who fathered me isn’t on my birth certificate...There’s no way for me to trace him, not that I’d want to anyways. He apparently has another family; my mother was just a side thing. After she told him she was pregnant though, he yelled and hit and kicked. She ran. Ran far away, across a few states, to this small rundown trailer where I stood outside of. The mossy green paint had mostly chipped away, showing a rusted down trailer. Like usual, I hadn’t bothered with the front door, walking straight to the back to jump through the bedroom window. She wasn’t home much. Working, she’d say. I knew she just hated being there. I carefully pulled the screechy window open, threw my backpack inside, and squeezed myself in. The room was wiped clean. Nothing left but the trashed bed. On it lay a note.

Happy 18th
I sold the trailer, new owner is moving in tomorrow.
You’re old enough to take care of yourself.

I immediately opened the closet, empty. Cupboards, empty. Drawers, empty. Dressers, empty. Everything, empty, empty, empty. I didn’t have many things, but they were all gone. She even took my college fund. Every month when I would receive my paycheck from working at Hungry Joe’s Diner, I would set aside money for college. My only way out of this life was college, so I needed every penny of that fund. The fund that was now gone.

I had nothing left in the trailer, so I left. I tossed my backpack out the window and squeezed out. I hated the sun in this moment. Why did it shine? Did the world not see that I had just lost everything!? Where was I supposed to go? It hit me then that I was homeless. I had endured so much to make it to senior year, fought back against all the damage I’ve been dealt. I believed in optimism. I thought that life practiced fairness, that it knew what we deserved and that it would rightfully give it to us when we earned it. But in that moment I realized that it wasn’t and that sometimes we lose. Was I really surprised that my mother left? No, she never wanted me anyways. I give her credit for sticking it through 18 years, at least that.

I threw my backpack over my shoulders and walked through the other miserable trailers there. The only trailer that looked decent belonged to Gracie Cook’s. She kept a flourishing garden with roses, lilies and daisies. Her trailer, painted an inviting pink with a yellow door and light green trim, showed the beauty of Gracie Cook herself. Living by herself at the mellow age of 68, Gracie maintained her status as the neighborhood grandmother. She took care of everyone; I knew she’d take me in as well. I went and knocked on her door, the paint had started to slightly chip away from all the rain. When she opened the door and saw the look on my face, she didn’t even ask. I was lead in and immediately she poured me a bowl of steamy potato soup and handed it to me. It was then that I cried. I broke down and just let it all fall apart. Through sobs and tears I fed myself the soup while she sat knitting on the faded blue couch. After, I spoke.
“My mother left.”
Silence. She was letting me speak.
“She took my college fund. She took all the things I’ve collected over the years. She took my clothes. I just have my backpack. She probably would’ve taken that too if it had been at home.”
She nodded with concern.
“I have school tomorrow. This is my last year; I planned on going to a good college. My grades are solid, I work hard. I’ve never let my situation get in the way. I’ve constantly fought the things that were thrown at me. How could she just leave?”
“Some people don’t understand that they’re a parent for life. They think that when you turn 18, they’re done. You can stay with me. There’s not much room here and you’ll probably have to contribute a small amount for food, but I’ll do what I can. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and in no way do you deserve it, but it’s out of your control. How you react to it is your choice, but it will either make you or break you.”
“Thank you.”
That’s all I managed to say. I looked at the quirky clock on the wall, 3:28pm. I headed to work.
My thoughts were elsewhere the whole time. I wrote two orders down wrong, but luckily caught the mistake before it was too late. Then, while carrying two trays of fries, I almost toppled over a kid that was running around. I could not let myself get distracted! This job was even more necessary than before. I always tried to make it better. On slow days at work I would conduct science experiments there. Many slow, rainy days lead to an idea for a way to make biodiesel out of the extra oil from the fries. I kept perfecting it daily but there were a few problems I needed an extra hand on that my old science teacher, Mr. Wyatt, would know how to resolve
I walked back to Gracie’s house at 12am. She kindly left the door unlocked and had set up sheets on the faded blue couch for me. As much as I wanted to sleep, I stayed up doing homework. Finally, at 2am I passed out. Waking up at 7 in the morning was difficult, but I managed. The whole world kept turning even though mine had stopped. Distractions of my runaway mother cluttered my mind the whole day. It wasn’t until school was over though that I managed to forget my problems. I walked eagerly to Mr. Wyatt’s to ask for help on my biodiesel experiment and he was very enthusiastic about the whole project! He told me about a science competition called Imagine Tomorrow at Washington State University where students from all over, even Canada went with their own ideas and inventions for making the world a better place. He really wanted me to compete, so I agreed. Thankfully, the competition was free so that anyone could compete. The grand prize was a $5000 prize and a full scholarship to WSU. When I told Gracie about it, her enthusiasm gave me the approval to start working on my project. For the next few months, any spare time was dedicated to researching biodiesel and working on my reactor. The competition wasn’t until the end of May, so for months I worked hard. My number one school of choice was WSU because of their research and science programs. After months of stressing, I anxiously opened a letter of acceptance from them! I accepted, but then feared that I’d have to decline because I wouldn’t be able to afford it. From working I saved up more and more, but I feared it wouldn’t be enough. Still though, I had hope.

By May I had done all that I could. The drive to WSU was painfully long, but I managed. Staying up late, I practiced for hours. The next morning, after setting up everything, the science competition began. I presented to 18 different judges. By the last judge, everything was solid, but worry still waved around me. That night I would know if the last months of hard work and preparation would be rewarded. During the awards ceremony anxiousness hit me. I couldn’t wait. The presenter started calling out names.
“Sixth place, Janet Andrews.”
“Fifth place, Rebecca Wilson.”
“Fourth place, Michael Jones.”
“Third place, Thomas Regis.”
“Second place, Dorothy Smith.”
“First place, Dizzie Dawkins!”
That was me, I did it! I won. I ran up on stage excitedly. I won, I won, I won. Gleefully I took my trophy and let them take a picture. Mr. Wyatt came up to me excitedly and congratulated me. This was going to change everything. All my worries done with. I immediately called Gracie and told her the amazing news.
She had saved my life.