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Goodbye #5

February 17, 2016

I successfully moved into #3 thanks to my brother, my son, my nephew and the Iraqi. I completely misjudged the size of an impulsively-purchased sofa, assuming it was a standard size, forgetting that the giant, ancient house my apartment is in is too old to be standard anything. We had to take the door off of the hinges and shove it in. Even the desk had to be disassembled and easily filled up the width of the porch-room. But, by the afternoon, everything was in.

So Sunday I had to go back to #5, pick up what remaining items I left, take the sticky tack and foam tape off the walls and vacuum the carpet. As I moved the vacuum cleaner over the weird, 70s-era, thin, orange carpet I started to tear up. I kept looking at the circle of light created by the single window. The memory of Z haunted the air. So many happy memories of him in that space. The time he said, “I love you,” half asleep, as I kissed him goodbye. The time we were shut in for two days when Lafayette froze over. The long, weird conversations. The many thrilling and tender moments.

And then there was No. 5, the person, after the absinthe party, the unexpected night with the New York Times guy and of course, Mr. Moon….watching Friends and baking cookies.

And that couch. That crappy, ugly, uncomfortable piece of shit couch. How many kisses have I had there? That kiss with Mr. Moon, stolen like a precious object and treasured forever.

And the talks with Liz; laughing, crying, soothing, panicking, analyzing….

Will leaving the space push the memories out of my head? I felt like I was abandoning ghosts of the love I had in that space where the stingy window glows on the orange carpet.

I remember the first time I saw #5. Coming from my home in Ocean Springs with its high ceilings and tall windows, #5 was a bit scary. Oh God, How long do I have to stay here? I thought. I never imagined how many wonderful moments I would have in that shitty little space. Four years later and I’m being pushed out like a baby bird afraid to fly.

I finished up, left the mailbox key on the counter and closed the door for the last time. I drove the two blocks to #3 and walked into my white-washed, sun-filled apartment, my big HOLI print leaning on the mantle, boxes of books stacked in the porch, waiting for proper place on my shelves and a giant sofa wondering what it was doing in such a small room. I plopped down on it and looked around.

I love this place, I thought.

It’s time for new ghosts.



From → Rantings

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