Definition Essay On Eviction
Eviction. The dictionary definition states that it is, “The action of expelling someone, especially a tenant, from a property,” but eviction means so much more than eleven measly words. It means families are ripped apart. It means seeing your mom eat junk food and killing her lungs with ‘cigs’ because she is just so stressed out. It means packing up and trying to hurry before the deadline comes. It means being snapped at for no reason but you can’t blame her because she can’t help it. It means your ex-step-sister stops talking to you because she somehow thinks it’s all your fault. It’s seeing your little sisters running and playing around the house oblivious to the fact that their lives are about to be turned upside-down, inside-out, and everything
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in between. It means hearing your hero cry when she thinks no one is around, trying her hardest to hide it and stay strong but you know that not even superwoman could do that. Eviction isn’t just eleven damn words. Eviction is a lifechanger, a stressor, a homewrecker, and my worst enemy.
The day before I had to leave was nerve racking to say the least.
I hadn’t eaten, the only ‘food’ in the house was ramen noodles- and Lord knows how sick of those I was. I had been sleeping on the small and red and rock-hard loveseat for the past two weeks because my bed was taken apart and leaned up against my lime green wall. The TV was permanently off- it will never be turned back on in this house. The next time I watch CSI Miami or Law & Order I’ll be in a different world. A world where people don’t have to drive twenty minutes away to get to any part of civilization- a common task when you reside in the country. A world where my living space will shift from a four bedroom, three floor, farm house with eleven acres and horses and chickens and a giant garden, to a small, two bedroom, tiny living room, cubicle. A world where my community- everything I know- will be no longer there for me to fall back on. I won’t have my friends, my (ex)step-family, my school, my teachers, or my animals. The only people I knew were the ones that I’ve been in the same class with since third grade. There was only 200 people in my K-6th grade elementary school and although it was incredibly small, it was nice. But now I would be in a class of 323 students- in my grade alone. This thought was terrifying and exciting all at
once.
I hope the people who live here next like the color green in a bedroom because that’s not going to be covered up easily. My room is a complete disaster. The dirt that had accumulated under my bed had been swept into a pile of miscellane that sat in the middle of the floor. The wood stain canister sat in the corner from the time I tried to stain my floor a few months back. I had gotten bored and given up, and it stayed sticky to the touch for weeks. My sewing machine sat in the corner on this rickety old table we had gotten at some yard sale. My mahogany wood dresser with the giant old and terrifying mirror attached to the top stood pushed up against the wall. And yet my family sat downstairs on the couch. I don’t understand- how are they not stressed out like I am? How do they not worry about the fact that if we weren’t out by April 15th, our stuff would no longer be our stuff?
We didn’t have many boxes so we had to pack our clothes in trash bags. The hardest part was packing up our food. All of the non expired food cans that filled our cabinets- some even dated back to 2008- had to go with us. Our fridge was empty because my mom didn’t see the point in buying food that would perish in a week. What food we did have was old hamburgers brown with freezer burn and with the same properties as a rock. I was forced to fill trashcans with old clothes and toys and books that we just couldn’t take because of the size of our new apartment. It was depressing. The day we were leaving my hometown, we had my aunt and cousin come help us. We took everything we could outside and left it in the yard to pack up the moving trucks. We couldn’t afford to pay for moving people- I mean we were being evicted and all. My step-dads racist father came to help too. He was a mean man and hated anyone of color. “Now don’t you go and be datin’ any black boys, ya hear?” were the last words he ever said to me.
in between. It means hearing your hero cry when she thinks no one is around, trying her hardest to hide it and stay strong but you know that not even superwoman could do that. Eviction isn’t just eleven damn words. Eviction is a lifechanger, a stressor, a homewrecker, and my worst enemy.
The day before I had to leave was nerve racking to say the least.
I hadn’t eaten, the only ‘food’ in the house was ramen noodles- and Lord knows how sick of those I was. I had been sleeping on the small and red and rock-hard loveseat for the past two weeks because my bed was taken apart and leaned up against my lime green wall. The TV was permanently off- it will never be turned back on in this house. The next time I watch CSI Miami or Law & Order I’ll be in a different world. A world where people don’t have to drive twenty minutes away to get to any part of civilization- a common task when you reside in the country. A world where my living space will shift from a four bedroom, three floor, farm house with eleven acres and horses and chickens and a giant garden, to a small, two bedroom, tiny living room, cubicle. A world where my community- everything I know- will be no longer there for me to fall back on. I won’t have my friends, my (ex)step-family, my school, my teachers, or my animals. The only people I knew were the ones that I’ve been in the same class with since third grade. There was only 200 people in my K-6th grade elementary school and although it was incredibly small, it was nice. But now I would be in a class of 323 students- in my grade alone. This thought was terrifying and exciting all at
once.
I hope the people who live here next like the color green in a bedroom because that’s not going to be covered up easily. My room is a complete disaster. The dirt that had accumulated under my bed had been swept into a pile of miscellane that sat in the middle of the floor. The wood stain canister sat in the corner from the time I tried to stain my floor a few months back. I had gotten bored and given up, and it stayed sticky to the touch for weeks. My sewing machine sat in the corner on this rickety old table we had gotten at some yard sale. My mahogany wood dresser with the giant old and terrifying mirror attached to the top stood pushed up against the wall. And yet my family sat downstairs on the couch. I don’t understand- how are they not stressed out like I am? How do they not worry about the fact that if we weren’t out by April 15th, our stuff would no longer be our stuff?
We didn’t have many boxes so we had to pack our clothes in trash bags. The hardest part was packing up our food. All of the non expired food cans that filled our cabinets- some even dated back to 2008- had to go with us. Our fridge was empty because my mom didn’t see the point in buying food that would perish in a week. What food we did have was old hamburgers brown with freezer burn and with the same properties as a rock. I was forced to fill trashcans with old clothes and toys and books that we just couldn’t take because of the size of our new apartment. It was depressing. The day we were leaving my hometown, we had my aunt and cousin come help us. We took everything we could outside and left it in the yard to pack up the moving trucks. We couldn’t afford to pay for moving people- I mean we were being evicted and all. My step-dads racist father came to help too. He was a mean man and hated anyone of color. “Now don’t you go and be datin’ any black boys, ya hear?” were the last words he ever said to me.