My Shell by Isabella

My Shell by Isabella - December 2017 Scholarship Essay

There is a French saying I learned at a young age permanently ingrained in my mind: “Il faut casser le noyau pour avoir l'amande.” (You have to crack the shell to get the almond). This is the story of my shell. From the moment I was in my mother’s womb, she knew that I would be her best friend. She would sit in the basement of her friend’s apartment, placing plates on her stomach and watch me kick them off. Even in those small moments we shared in the beginning, I was her companion and she would have me forever.
My mother had long dark hair that ended at her waist, hair I entangled my sticky fingers in the first few years of my life. We moved into a new apartment together. We would paint our fingernails blue, while sitting in front of a fan making jokes as we waited for them to dry. Her laugh has always brought me happiness.
One day my mother came back home, a diamond ring tight on her finger. Although, she seemed content, she hid herself from me. After the big U-haul left filled to the brim with memories, we lost our home. The home we had with just the two of us. We no longer shared the same companionship as before. I longed for the times we would watch movies, the times we would create art out of boiled spaghetti that stuck on the wall together. Though the two of us moved with my stepfather, I missed my mother.
When my stepfather found out about the other man, I watched him turn into the man my father was. He would look at me and cry because I looked similar to her. I would hide in the room I shared with my brother and sister, and put them to bed. We would say our prayers, holding hands, trying to ignore the man who loved Jack Daniels above all else. My mother slept in the car, alone.
Repairing a relationship with someone who behaves selfishly was not painless. I remember the day she tried to talk to me again. I was sitting on the beach while she was attempting to be an apologetic mother, I could not look her in the eyes once. That night, I laid my brother down to sleep, I sang “Little Johnny Brown” and scratched his back until he could no longer keep his eyes open. As I sang his lullaby, I laid my head down next to his, my mind filled with memories, the happy ones I’ll never forget.
I moved in with my mother a year later, but she was gone almost every night. She cut her hair, and said she changed.
The following year I moved to my grandparents charming house. It took every ounce of me to leave and escape to a more stable environment. I left my mother, my stepfather, my life, but most painfully my siblings. I felt as if I were my own mother, who abandoned people when life became challenging. At night, I would lay down and think about the two little smiling faces I left behind. Was anyone going to kiss them goodnight? Or say their prayers? Was anyone going to put lemon juice on their apple slices so they wouldn’t turn brown?
Through my endurance I’ve uncovered many almonds of life; However, I plan to crack more layers of my shell. My mother taught me, before all else, take care of myself, so one day I may help others. I have figured out restarting in a stable environment is not a sign a weakness, but rather a sign of growth. The worries, pains, and regrets, are the pressure that cracks the shell, all to get to the almond filled with growth, knowledge and happiness.