I've never really liked airports. I've always thought they made your life shorter. The purpose of the airport is to wait, like a hospital. Three hours later and you've wasted three hours of your precious life. I say your precious life because mine is already wasted. It was almost 4 o'clock in the morning but I felt misteriously wide awake. Must have something to do with the four cups of coffee I had drank in the last two hours alone.


The lonely girl. The emo girl. The insocial girl. Heard it all. Don't care. I've always been the girl who ends up being forced to socialize. Mainly by my brother, Brent, who had made it his life's goal to get me to socialize. He gave up on that dream 6 months after I moved in with him. Of course, he stopped caring altogether when Amber, the love of his life came into the picture. I'd like to blame her for wasting my life in an airport.


Who the hell gets married eight months after meeting someone? Brent is the correct answer! After meeting Amber, the cheerleader from the Cubs or the Bulls or whatever the name of that basketball or baseball team, his life changed. Me barfing. They got married approximately 13 hours and 45 minutes ago. As soon as the carriage was out of view I yanked the fancy hairdo from my head, took the bus in my expensive yellow dress, my ugly yellow dress, which I chucked from the 5th floor of the apartment I used to lived in with my brother, and took a cab to LAX.


Do you have that one relative that you didn't even knew you had until you see a picture of them with you in their arms when you were born? That happened to me exactly one month ago today. If you do have a relative like that, would you be willing to live with them without meeting them? Normal answer is no, but since when do I have a say with what happens in my life. I've learned to not fight. I've learned to just let things go. It's easier that way. Less trouble for me and everyone around me. It seemed brother dearest spent the last month looking for long-lost relatives to take me in. The reason why I was getting on an airplane heading to Washington, the state not the capital.


Emily Young is my aunt. I say aunt because we're not actually blood relatives. My mother was adopted by Emily's parents. Speaking of Judy, my mother, I didn't get a chance to meet her. She died when I was born. I've lived with my dad, Harry, until he got married to some slut, I'm sorry, I meant Jessica. That's when I passed to Brent's hands. He was a great brother. Notice the past tense. Anyway, I've never met Emily, so living with her and her boyfriend was going to be an interesting and horrible experience.


"Welcome to Port Angeles," read the sign above my head as I stepped out of the plane. I followed the passengers out of the terminal. According to brother dearest, Emily and her boyfriend would be waiting for me at the baggage claim.