It was a warm, sunny day in late June. I believe it was the twenty-fourth. The sky was untouched by clouds, but a warm breeze skimmed across the front lawn, weaving it's way in between the branches of the sweeping magnolia tree. It was the sort of weather that made you want to lie down in the sunshine and enjoy a cool glass of lemonade. A few people strolled aimlessly past 42 Spade Drive, but paid no attention to it. A bird swooped by, oblivious to the turmoil inside the house.
I stood in the kitchen, the sun dappling patterns on my shirt, having the mother of all fights with, well, my mother. She was at the sink, one hand on her hip, and the other by the water tap. The look on her face was indescribable. "Annabel Kay Weaver," she said, in what I took to be her attempt at a threatening tone, "there is no way in heaven or in hell that you are leaving college to participate in that program!"
I think I should get one thing straight. My mother never yells. Not even during that time in sophomore year when I punched a girl because she called me a name that I won't repeat. But now Mom was getting dangerously close to the point of raising her voice.
I rolled my eyes. "It's not 'some program', Mom, it's a government-funded organization."
"Oh, where did you get that information?" she replied scathingly. "Off the brochure? I'm not letting my elder daughter get sucked into a poorly fabricated scam."
"It's not a scam!" I protested. "I looked the man up, the man who sent it. Joseph Esterbrook. His information checks out. He really did publish a book, he really did win a Nobel Prize—"
My mother snorted.
"Listen," I said, taking a softer tone. "This is what I've always wanted. To be involved in something like the Morpheus Project, to be able to—"
"Your biggest dream has always been to go to college!" My mother contradicted, raising her voice a slight bit.
"That's your dream, Mom," I said. "But with this, I get to experience new things. I get to travel to new places, and meet new people. It's a whole new cultural experience!" I tried to appeal to her creative side.
Mom clicked her tongue in disbelief. "If you call rushing off to DC or wherever you're supposed to go at a minute's notice 'traveling'."
Finally fed up with her disbelief and disapproval, I resorted to my last line of defense. "I'm eighteen!" I yelled. "I can do what I want, and you no longer have the legality to stop me! The only reason I've stayed here for the summer is because I wanted you to have the most time with me possible before I go off to join the program!"
"Annabel Kay Weaver, don't you dare talk to me like that!" she yelled back, finally raising her tone to a shout. "I'm still your mother. Don't think that you're so independent now that you've come of age!"
You can stop calling me Annabel," I said spitefully. "I've changed it."
"Changed what?" she asked suspiciously.
"My name."
She exploded. She started spouting all sorts of rubbish at me, about how Annabel was the name that she and my father had given to me, and I had no business changing it, and what is your father going to think about this, and how will your sister feel? My father was currently at work, and my sister, Marissa, was lifeguarding at a local pool that she worked at during the summertime. Neither of them knew about this fight with Mom, although they both knew I had gotten a "callback" from the MOSS Project. I didn't want to think about what Dad would say, and it pained me to even imagine Marissa's face when she heard the news.
"I don't care!" I yelled childishly. "I don't give a crap what they think! My name is changed, and that's that. End of story."
There was a sudden silence in the room. We were both breathing heavily, and she was red in the face. I looked nothing like her, with her round face and wispy hair. I was several inches taller than her, and much skinnier. I didn't take much after my father or sister either. My father was balding and short, and my sister had the classic "golden girl" looks; long, curly blonde hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. The only difference was, she had a beautiful personality to match her good looks.
"Out," Mom said finally. "Go. You get what you want. Just leave."
I exited the kitchen silently. My bags were packed already, waiting upstairs in my room, and I had a considerable amount of cash in a bank account, saved up ever since I was nine. My parents' money that they had planned to spend on my college was included as well.
I grabbed my bags, ran back down the stairs, and started out the door. I knew I could catch a cab from about a mile away. Luckily, my bags weren't that heavy, and I was used to walking. But before I stepped out, I took one look around my childhood home, wondering when I would see it again, and knowing it would not be for a long time. I let the screen door slam shut behind me. Hefting my bag over one shoulder, I noted how ironic it was that my mother had been so upset at my new moniker. She didn't even know what names I had chosen, or why.
Kay Annabel Collier. Kay after my middle name (I had always liked it better), Annabel for the name that my parents had given to me, and Collier for my mother's maiden name.
This change was only the beginning of my rebirth.
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