TOMORROW the move is official. A couple signatures, a handshake or two and my parents will finally put to bed weeks of quiet anxiety and a final couple days of furious packing.
Unfortunately, the anticipation of it all makes sleep rather elusive tonight. I keep unintentionally checking the clock and counting down the hours until dawn. I'm trying to imagine our new life away from 3342 Conquistador Ct., our home of 10 years, but my thoughts are stuck on the past.
And I'm already beginning to miss this house. Perhaps it's because I've never taken a moment to listen, that I can hear for the first time an eerie sound floating through the house. My mind reasons that it must be a combination of the refrigerator motor whirring away, the air conditioning blowing through the vents in the floor and ... something else. Something that I can't quite put my finger on. No one else is awake to hear it with me or to point out the absurdity of the situation I'm now in, but that won't stop me. I'm tempted to shake my sister from her sleep to see if she too can hear it.
But, alas, I've learned the hard way that high school girls don't like to be awoken for anything, much less by their older brother to listen to a sound that, in reality, is probably absolutely nothing. But it's there nonetheless, tucked away in the walls somewhere. I like to think 3342's whispering goodbye. Maybe I should whisper it back. Mom and Dad have thought about moving for almost a year now, and I guess I always figured it was somewhere down the road, never really realizing how quickly it would approach. I've only seen the new house once, and that was just last week. Now it's time to say goodbye to this one. It's all just happening so fast is all.
My mind is struggling keeping up with the changes. On the floor in front of me sits a cardboard box that, on the outside, is completely indistinguishable from the six other boxes in the room. Only my mother's cursive writing elegantly reveals the contents within: "Lamps & Umbrellas." That makes me chuckle. How strange and yet how fitting that the lamps would be packed with the umbrellas. I didn't even know we had more than one umbrella. Everything's all got to go I suppose, every lamp, fork, rug and picture. Every little piece of something that once gave a room personality or served as a simple reminder of a person or a place now sits gently positioned in these identical looking brown boxes. The statue of the Virgin Mary that for years rested on the kitchen countertop is currently wrapped in bubble tape and stored in a "Kitchen Things" box. She's no longer in her usual spot to watch over what we eat and brighten up this room.
I can't get a simple drink of water anymore because the drink glasses are each individually wrapped in tissue paper and stored away, eagerly awaiting the new cupboards of the new house. All the small funny things seem gone, and I miss the character they once injected to a room. I'll miss this house. I'll miss the great spot on the street where I once parked my car, or the second to last step on the staircase that always creaked, no matter where you chose to step. I'll miss the landing where, as kids, my brother and I routinely held chin-up competitions. Most importantly I guess, I'll miss knowing every corner of this house. Of comfortably sleep walking into the kitchen for a late night snack while instinctively skipping the creaky step and dodging the hall table at my shins. Even tonight, it feels those memories are already beginning to fade.
Boxes are everywhere, making it impossible to walk into another room without tripping over something. The paths that I once knew are filled with clutter that's waiting to be taken away. All these boxes in this empty house make for a good transition, I suppose. Moving isn't supposed to be a sudden unexpected event. Fortunately, it takes time to pack up a home because unfortunately, it takes time to say goodbye to a routine. It takes time for the weight of any major decision to sink in, to really appreciate what you once had and what you are now giving up. This move feels extra significant because home-home has always been the same. Sneaking away from Charlottesville on some random weekend to come home was so enjoyable, not necessarily because Mom always cooked great food, but because it is a chance to fall back into a routine in a comfortable environment. To return to a routine we exercised for years before leaving for college.
Nobody ever said change was easy - it certainly isn't. Maybe I ought to wake up Megan, Jack and Mom and Dad. They should hear what they're missing. It's time to say goodbye to a member of the family.
(Luke Ryan is a Cavalier Daily columnist. He can be reached at lryan@cavalierdaily.com.)
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