The wind in my head

 “Go outside, get some fresh air.” she told me. “I’ll make you some lemonade.” I slowly loped over to the door. My dry hands gripped the cold handle and pulled. It was stuck. My feet were slipping on the floor as I yanked the life out of me. The handle wouldn’t budge. I called to my sister in the next room, unpacking another box. She came over and gracefully pulled the door open. Perfectly, just like everything else she does. Her silver hair flowing behind her. Outside, the wind was whipping through the swaying trees. The tall, brown-green grass was whistling around me. I walked to the top of the cliff covered in sand. I ran my finger along the cold, sea-softened wood railing that separated me from the crashing waves below. The fresh, salty, ocean air was carried through the wind and blew up into my mouth. I could taste the salt from the ocean on my tongue even though I was many feet above the crashing, tumbling waves. Gulls danced in the wind above me against a greyish blue sky that seemed to stretch a thousand miles. I took a breath of the crisp, dry air and turned around to face our new home. It used to have been a bold light brown with a red roof, I could tell from the remainder of the peeling, chipped paint flecks, spread randomly around the rotting panels of pine. I sighed, thinking of our old, beautiful home, in the center of town, near all of my friends' houses. Here was too windy. No. Here was unnaturally windy. There was something about the wind. It seemed like it was listening. It seemed like there were ancient secrets rushing past my ears. Like it carried the voices of all the people who had ever walked this land before me. It almost seemed to know my future, what was to come of my today, my tomorrow, my life ahead of me. I started to get a headache thinking about a subject so deep. After all, I am only eleven. Wind doesn’t listen to you. Afraid I would become more delusional if I stayed out longer, I decided to go inside to keep unpacking. My uncle had just finished setting up our temporary folding table and my lemonade was sitting out on it along with a plate of fresh pumpkin chocolate chip cookies my mom had made. The days passed normally enough as I waited with anticipation for school to start. One night, I woke up. My alarm clock said two in the morning. My bed was hot and I longed to be able to breathe. I crept quietly downstairs, making sure to skip the step that creaked. I opened the back door and it was surprisingly still outside. It was cool and silent as I stepped out onto the lawn and sat down under the protection of the bumpy, white birch in our front yard. I heard a voice calling out in the wind. “Help! Noooo!” it screamed. I was confused, I hadn’t ever heard someone so scared. It sounded as if they were yelling for their life. I frantically searched for the voice who needed help. It seemed like the shouts were from coming close to where I was standing. Then, it seemed like the shouts were coming from behind me. Suddenly, they were whizzing and winding all around me. A huge wave came up from below the cliffs and wiped me away. My muscles quickly tired as I treaded deep, rumbling water for some time. I had no idea where my house was. All there was was more water as far as I could see. When I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, I fell backwards and shut my eyes. When I opened my eyes. I was lying in bed, surrounded by boxes, and the vibrant, orange glow of the sun was just barely peeking out from under its blanket of mountains. I smelled pancakes and sausage wafting up from downstairs. I was so thankful that it was only a dream, that I forgot to be worried about starting at a new school tomorrow. I have learned one thing about living here so far: While you are sleeping, the wind can slip into your head and mess with your brain so you dream about scary, strange things. I wondered about what tomorrow night would bring as I hobbled down toward breakfast.