I’m moving in mere weeks, across a couple of rivers and into a whole new state. Right now is the time for inertia, though – too early to start packing and selling and donating; too late to reconsider (did we pick the right place? Is this all a mistake?). So for now my move is all just in my head, and in the lone document I had to sign.
There are things I’m giving up. A car , which I am glad to leave behind. Cable. (It’s an experiment, but I think I’ll survive just fine.) A shared wardrobe.
There are things I’m gaining, too. More things than I can count, I think.
Today I got a sunburn on the back of my neck and in the shape of a V on my chest, and ate fried Oreos and street food, and patted my parents’ dog, who I call Grandpa, because he’s mellow and observant and quick to sit. Back in my apartment, my family asked how K. and I were splitting up our furniture. Everyone seemed concerned. But it’s easy to decide. I’m losing my favorite bookshelf, the one that houses all my Baby-sitters Clubs, but I’m keeping the antique framed print of the John and Jackie Kennedy; K. is taking the turquoise curtains, but I’m snagging my grandmother’s sewing chair, with its so-old-it’s-ugly print, an identical pattern to the one on a footstool I came across in a vintage store in my new neighborhood a few weeks ago.
By the time I realized I wanted that footstool, though, that it did indeed match the chair, it was gone.