2 days ago I had a coffee date with the girl "in charge" of the house I'll be moving into this Sunday. Snuggled down in a sweatshirt over a white chocolate mocha during a drizzly afternoon we went over last minute details to make sure she and I were on the same page. As we wrapped everything up, she told me to wait and dashed to the car; coming back in with a polka dot gift bag I had only eyes for what lay behind the curled red ribbon tying the two handles together: two shiny silver keys. Inside the bag was a beautiful red journal and a heap of candy from all the girls to welcome me into the house, but I couldn't get over the feel of those keys in my hand with fresh cut grooves.
I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's real and it's mine." Not the keys, but what they represented: the decision to do this. A decision that had taken months to finally act on. She smiled widely and said, "Yeah...yeah it is."
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Yesterday I had breakfast at Starbucks with one of the girls from the house that I'm already good friends with. One muffin and one Caramel Machiatto later, we came back out to her car, planning on exploring a local well-reputed candy shop and poking through an antique store before I went in to work. "I can't wait until you move in with me. It'll be so cool to just hang out with you whenever I want to." With a characteristic laugh, she started the car as I tucked away the encouragement of those words. These are the things I've been hearing from her and other girls in the house for months, words of love and support. They are the reason I want to live in that double; the fact that I'll be living in one place for the first time in 5 years will be a fabulous feeling, not to mention the independence (which comes with responsibility I know), but it wasn't my 2 closets asking me with hopeful eyes three months ago "So when are you gonna move in?"
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This morning I was woken by a joyful text from yet another girl in the house, trying to share in my excitement at how the the hours till M-Day are dwindling down. I spent the next half hour laying in bed staring at my wall and at my dresser, brimming with memories and trying to think of the best way to transport my fragile collection of dried flowers. My wall is pockmarked with clusters of pictures from different places. Over the light switch is the dried bouquet of dozen roses from Dave that he gave me for our one year mark; over that is a burnt bottle rocket and pictures of Dave nursing a burnt thumb on the night before 4th of July in my mom's driveway. In the top left corner are pictures of my 17th birthday party. In the middle at the bottom is a wide blob of pictures covering Prom Experience 2005, where I have pictures and corsages of all three of the separate dances I ended up attending that Spring. Looking at all the pictures I had to think about how I am going to box this stuff up, what clothes I'm going to leave behind.
Extricating myself from my comforter I sat up and looked at the folded Little Debbie boxes my stepfather had given me, just waiting to be rebuilt and refilled. More and more I'm realizing what a big decision this is that I'm making, but the necessity of it has not dwindled. I don't like making significant changes, I kind of like my ways and how I set into them, but I'm determined to do this and I'm confident of the help I'll have. 2 nights ago Dad and I had "the talk" and told me, in sum, that I have his love and support. A day or two before that my mom and I talked, and she told me how she thinks this is going to be a really good thing for me. And of course Dave and the girls have been nothing but encouraging and supportive all process long.
I think I'll go start emptying the dresser. I already have a box set up and ready for the clothes I want; what I don't want I'll just put in my sister's drawer and pretend they were hers all along. She's a soccer-playing anti-girly-girl and the last thing on her mind is something so meddlesome as keeping track of whose clothes belong to whom. All the better for her to unknowingly inherit a few extras in my wake. :)
I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's real and it's mine." Not the keys, but what they represented: the decision to do this. A decision that had taken months to finally act on. She smiled widely and said, "Yeah...yeah it is."
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Yesterday I had breakfast at Starbucks with one of the girls from the house that I'm already good friends with. One muffin and one Caramel Machiatto later, we came back out to her car, planning on exploring a local well-reputed candy shop and poking through an antique store before I went in to work. "I can't wait until you move in with me. It'll be so cool to just hang out with you whenever I want to." With a characteristic laugh, she started the car as I tucked away the encouragement of those words. These are the things I've been hearing from her and other girls in the house for months, words of love and support. They are the reason I want to live in that double; the fact that I'll be living in one place for the first time in 5 years will be a fabulous feeling, not to mention the independence (which comes with responsibility I know), but it wasn't my 2 closets asking me with hopeful eyes three months ago "So when are you gonna move in?"
----------------------
This morning I was woken by a joyful text from yet another girl in the house, trying to share in my excitement at how the the hours till M-Day are dwindling down. I spent the next half hour laying in bed staring at my wall and at my dresser, brimming with memories and trying to think of the best way to transport my fragile collection of dried flowers. My wall is pockmarked with clusters of pictures from different places. Over the light switch is the dried bouquet of dozen roses from Dave that he gave me for our one year mark; over that is a burnt bottle rocket and pictures of Dave nursing a burnt thumb on the night before 4th of July in my mom's driveway. In the top left corner are pictures of my 17th birthday party. In the middle at the bottom is a wide blob of pictures covering Prom Experience 2005, where I have pictures and corsages of all three of the separate dances I ended up attending that Spring. Looking at all the pictures I had to think about how I am going to box this stuff up, what clothes I'm going to leave behind.
Extricating myself from my comforter I sat up and looked at the folded Little Debbie boxes my stepfather had given me, just waiting to be rebuilt and refilled. More and more I'm realizing what a big decision this is that I'm making, but the necessity of it has not dwindled. I don't like making significant changes, I kind of like my ways and how I set into them, but I'm determined to do this and I'm confident of the help I'll have. 2 nights ago Dad and I had "the talk" and told me, in sum, that I have his love and support. A day or two before that my mom and I talked, and she told me how she thinks this is going to be a really good thing for me. And of course Dave and the girls have been nothing but encouraging and supportive all process long.
I think I'll go start emptying the dresser. I already have a box set up and ready for the clothes I want; what I don't want I'll just put in my sister's drawer and pretend they were hers all along. She's a soccer-playing anti-girly-girl and the last thing on her mind is something so meddlesome as keeping track of whose clothes belong to whom. All the better for her to unknowingly inherit a few extras in my wake. :)
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Over and out
~nate~