I stood in the living room and yelled about how if I didn't get out right now, I could lose my momentum. It made him stop and squint at me and cock his head to the side and ask me what I meant by that, but I was flinging my hands around and pacing and trying to outrun the knot in my stomach.
I lived with that knot for years. I put it there.
If I just kept moving, I thought I might keep from being crushed.
Turns out it doesn't work that way. Nothing is as bad as you think it might be. Sometimes, it's worse.
Even "worse" is better than the dread, though. You know?
And that was years ago. Years and years. We're both okay now, I think. I know I am. I hope he is too, somewhere on the planet. But it's none of my business anymore, and I'm all right with that.
Saturday afternoon, I sat on the porch swing for a while by myself. I looked out across the lawn I mowed so many times. I thought about the tulips Jess and I planted a couple of years ago. Pink and black. We planted hyacinths too. I transplanted some irises and lilies and Jess put in mini hostas over by the sidewalk. We planted morning glories to climb the trees. I planted columbine seeds, but they never amounted to much. Same for my nasturtiums.
I wondered if I should leave a note for the new occupant. "Front flower bed contains tulip and hyacinth bulbs. Also lilies. Please be careful when digging. Skinny little long-legged cat who comes around, his name is Apples, but the neighbors renamed him Boots. He is violent, but he means well. Please be careful when petting him. Feel free to remove the raised beds in the back yard. Just please don't tell me you did so. Please take care of the floors in this house. I recommend mopping with Murphy's oil soap once a week, sweeping as often as necessary and cleaning up spills immediately. Please call me with any questions -- " the note was neverending, so I never wrote it down. The new occupant will figure it out just like we did.
Inside the house, the floors were gleaming. The rooms were empty, just like the day we moved in.
I guess on the day you move out, you can't help but think about the day you moved in.
It felt familiar, that excited hopeful anticipation. But it was different. I wasn't smoking, for one thing, sitting on the porch swing looking out across the lawn on Saturday afternoon.
That's still a little weird for me sometimes, the not smoking. It's a good weird, though. And I quit almost a year ago. Eventually, maybe, I'll get used to it.
Moving in, years ago, I was hopeful and excited, but I was also angry. Bitter. I walked around in a rage-cloud for weeks. Months, maybe. I saw red, red, red, everywhere I looked.
Canta Lok en el obscura region desolada
y hay vapores de sangre en el canto de Lok.
Mists of blood.
But I digress.
Moving out is better than moving in. I will miss the house. I loved that house. I loved living in it. It offered a sanctuary, a refuge, when Jess and I needed one. And now we are done being refugees. We have found our footing and we are ready to move on with the rest of our lives, separately. Finally.
I thanked the landlord. He thanked me. Then he forked over my deposit and we went our separate ways.
And I am happy now, moving forward.
