Stacked below four older siblings I often felt like the last pancake at the bottom of the stack. Soggy and inedible. My parents were always too full to pay me any attention, busy with the four pancakes before me that took up all their time and energy and space. They were full. And I was left forgotten in a syrup drowned plate, floating limply. I knew I couldn't blame my siblings for their boisterous personalities or my parents for being too flustered to give the quiet kid the time of day. But I was becoming sick of constantly being ignored, of having to curl up in a ball, legs tucked under me, and sit in the cool leather chair overlooking the backyard and read while my siblings fought and bickered and cried and whined, while I smiled and tried not to add another weight onto my moms already sagging shoulders. The constant phone ringing with friends calling. The sizzling of my mom making dinner before she had to rush my brother to another doctors appointment for the current injury he’d have. The creak of the garage door opening, car door opening and closing, before my father entered with a loud, “Hello!” for everyone to hear, his cologne overpowering my nose. I couldn’t take it for much longer. And after another day of going from errand to errand for my older siblings when all I wanted to do was go home and sleep, not spend the first day of summer trying to help my sister find the perfect outfit for her end of the year party. I tried to make eye contact with my mom in the rearview mirror, and when my efforts were fruitless, I finally cleared my throat loudly, reddening with all the attention now directed towards me. I said meekly into the now quiet car, “Do you think I could go to a summer camp or something this summer mom?” And as I anxiously awaited her response I glanced around the car to see my siblings reaction. It wasn’t like in the movies where everyone turned towards me and stared in shock and betrayal that I would even suggest leaving my family for a short period of time. Instead my mom made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, her clear blue eyes a perfect match for mine, and looked at me warily. She knew how much I sometimes resented being left in the dust of my elder siblings. Her only response being, “You sure? You haven’t been away from home for any long period of time.” Not trusting my voice, afraid that she would hear the tremor in my voice from the anticipation and slight fear of leaving, I only nodded.

Three weeks later and I was just arriving to the camp I had requested to go to, Black River.  I was silently stewing in the back seat. Sweating with nerves, as two of my older sisters laughed loudly in the two seats in front of me. The tires of our gold minivan crunched along the gravel, as we rolled slowly into the summer camp that I had diligently researched and specifically chosen. 1 week at a horse camp away from all my family. As girls wearing red and white checkered shirts, who appeared to be old and wise to my eight year-old self, got my name and told me want cabin I would be in, I was nervously wiping my sweaty palms on the capri shorts I was wearing. As we pulled into a parking space to start unloading my things I quickly stepped out of the car, leaving my mom and dad to get my hand-me down bags out of the trunk and instead observed what would be my home for the next week. The hot June, almost July, sun was beating down on the gaggle of girls that seemed to have infested the open space. There was a small lake, probably man-made from the size and shape of it, that was sitting still under the glimmering sun. You could smell the horses in the air, and although you couldn’t see them the scent manure and hay rolled through the wind, an undeniable horse scent. All the building were painted red with white trim, labeled with different names: Ghostbusters, Trailblazers, and Broncos were all I could see before large oaks blocked my vision from the other cabins that seemed to be scattered around. Signs were set up pointing the clueless campers towards the mess hall and barn. I didn’t need to look back for my family, hearing their loud voices over the quiet talking of the rest of the families around us. My mom shot me an apologetic glance, knowing I hadn’t wanted my sisters to come along, I just smiled, because the fear that had taken a hold of me when we pulled in was gone again as soon as I took that first death breath of air that, although I never smelled anything like it before, sparked my imagination of the place I could imagine my future home smelling like. Serene and calm with no obnoxious arguing or stressed fights, only joyous laughing from other girls my age. I smiled the whole walk to my cabin. I smiled as I bid my family goodbye, kissing my mom and dad on the cheek with a promise to write as I practically pushed them out the door, back to my sister how were already bored and back waiting in the car. I smiled as I met my fellow cabinmates, introducing myself with a smile. I smiled when I first got on a horse, feeling it’s body move beneath me as I adjusted to it’s gait. The entire week was absolutely perfect. I made friends and learned about horses, all the while playing games and having fun. Never once having to worry about how my behavior might add stress to my mom, or how my comments weren’t wanted in a conversation. But I couldn’t help but feel unsettled as the week came to a close. No matter how perfect that week was, I couldn’t overlook how my toothbrush was smushed from being crammed into my toiletry bag. And how sometimes the meals we had to eat in the dining room was cold when my cabin finally made it through the long line of other hungry campers. But the worst part was how I couldn’t read from my book. At home, no matter if I had homework or soccer practice, I was always able to slip away to curl myself in the black leather chair that overlooked my backyard. But here at camp the regimen was so strict, every minute of everyday planned out in advance so that no progress could be made in finding out whether the stolen piece of artwork was ever found by Sam and her friends. All of the counselors were never busy or distracted enough to notice when I tried to sneak away and be by myself. To have some alone time. When Sunday, the last day of camp, rolled around, and families were milling about, trying to spot their child through the mass of people, the sound of my older brothers laughter guided me through the throng of people to my awaiting family. Beaming with joy at seeing them all again, I jumped smiled and laughed along with them, ignoring my mom’s surprised look as she saw her seemingly transformed daughter. Piling back into the minivan, squished between two older siblings, I eagerly awaited to hear the shenanigans and stories my family had compiled over the week I’d been gone. To my surprise I realized they were equally excited to hear about my week away. So I prattled on and on about all the great things I had done that week; the crafts I made and horses I rode. Never noticing my dad’s satisfied smile in the rear-view mirror or the tears that gleamed in my mom’s smiling eyes. And with my arms being squished together, and legs pushed up to my chest, crowded together in the back seat I realized that maybe it wasn’t my family that was too loud. Maybe I was too quiet. Because it seemed that all along, they were waiting for me to tell my tale, and instead I retreated inside my shell, not even giving them the opportunity to listen.

I laughed quietly to myself. Remembering the first time I went to Black River during the summer of my eighth year. Now I sat at the wooden dining room table chipped from falling plates and fading from time, filling out college applications and taking practice ACT’s. Fear creeps into my veins everyone in a while when I think about the future and what it holds. How my toothbrush could easily become smushed again and how this time it wouldn’t be only a week away from home. But all I have to do is remember how excited my family was to hear about my week away, asking questions and listening to the answers. I always thought my family was too loud, too energetic. But what I didn’t know was that all the commotion I was listening to since the first time I tucked my legs underneath me in the black leather chair was the noise of life. It was the noise of love. And no matter where in the world I go, I know that I’ll always have my family to come back to. Listening to the sounds I grew up with. The sounds I love.