The Old Apartment
As I wandered through the empty rooms of the place I've called home for the last four years, I couldn't get that song out of my head. Now I'm sitting in my parent's living room, and for the first time I'm really thinking of it as 'my parent's living room'.
This is not home any more.
I don't know when it happened, some time between losing the love of my life, and meeting the man of my dreams.
Some time between watching my little sister get married and having my grandfather die.
Some time between watching my best friend finish Med school and draw closer to his own marriage and finding my own way through a Master's degree.
Some time while I was paying rent and worrying about gas bills and paying for Roadrunner.
Some time between finding a new roommate and saying goodbye to the old one.
Each time I chose to just go 'home' and make myself some pasta instead of going to 'my parent's' for a real dinner.
I guess this is change. And I'm really looking forward to living with Alex. I mean like really really. He's in Amsterdam right now, and he hasn't been able to call me every night, and I miss him. I would have liked to have him around this weekend. It's been rough.
It's only starting to sink in now. And it's weird, because I've got stuff in the basement there and I'm going to have to go over and get when Alex brings the moving truck. But that's anticlimax. The end was looking out the balcony door and sitting on the couch one last time and hearing the echoes of empty rooms.
Is there any sound more poignant than a room full of echoes?
Rooms that rocked with laughter, shook with anger, cried out in joy and wept with sorrow have been transformed into bleached-out skeletons that can only give hints through echoes.
The soot stains on the mantle from when we almost burned the place down.
The cracks in the paint in the living room from when we banged the couch into the wall.
The scratches in the floor we hope the landlord doesn't notice.
The box of broken glass on the balcony.
The windows that wouldn't stay up and the doors that didn't want to lock.
The bathroom door that didn't quite fit and could only be slammed.
The damn shelves in the kitchen that never wanted to close right.
The stuff we found when we moved, and left as is.
The stuff we're leaving for the next tenants to find.
Holes in the wall from thumbtacks and nails.
The last few dust bunnies that escaped the garbage bags that filled the kitchen.
The garbage piled on the curb - a life, in plastic bags.
**************************
But this is what I want. And I'm trying to remember that I'm starting something new with Alex and not to think of it as ending something I've grown comfortable with.
For the first time tonight though, it's really hitting me. Driving out after my parents left, I decided to go see Jack.
And that's another thing - in a weird, weird way, I feel like I'm abandoning him.
And I'm leaving Syracuse, which is home in a way that even Westcott wasn't. And I don't know if I'll ever be coming back to stay.
I'm just hoping it will be worth it.
This is not home any more.
I don't know when it happened, some time between losing the love of my life, and meeting the man of my dreams.
Some time between watching my little sister get married and having my grandfather die.
Some time between watching my best friend finish Med school and draw closer to his own marriage and finding my own way through a Master's degree.
Some time while I was paying rent and worrying about gas bills and paying for Roadrunner.
Some time between finding a new roommate and saying goodbye to the old one.
Each time I chose to just go 'home' and make myself some pasta instead of going to 'my parent's' for a real dinner.
I guess this is change. And I'm really looking forward to living with Alex. I mean like really really. He's in Amsterdam right now, and he hasn't been able to call me every night, and I miss him. I would have liked to have him around this weekend. It's been rough.
It's only starting to sink in now. And it's weird, because I've got stuff in the basement there and I'm going to have to go over and get when Alex brings the moving truck. But that's anticlimax. The end was looking out the balcony door and sitting on the couch one last time and hearing the echoes of empty rooms.
Is there any sound more poignant than a room full of echoes?
Rooms that rocked with laughter, shook with anger, cried out in joy and wept with sorrow have been transformed into bleached-out skeletons that can only give hints through echoes.
The soot stains on the mantle from when we almost burned the place down.
The cracks in the paint in the living room from when we banged the couch into the wall.
The scratches in the floor we hope the landlord doesn't notice.
The box of broken glass on the balcony.
The windows that wouldn't stay up and the doors that didn't want to lock.
The bathroom door that didn't quite fit and could only be slammed.
The damn shelves in the kitchen that never wanted to close right.
The stuff we found when we moved, and left as is.
The stuff we're leaving for the next tenants to find.
Holes in the wall from thumbtacks and nails.
The last few dust bunnies that escaped the garbage bags that filled the kitchen.
The garbage piled on the curb - a life, in plastic bags.
**************************
But this is what I want. And I'm trying to remember that I'm starting something new with Alex and not to think of it as ending something I've grown comfortable with.
For the first time tonight though, it's really hitting me. Driving out after my parents left, I decided to go see Jack.
And that's another thing - in a weird, weird way, I feel like I'm abandoning him.
And I'm leaving Syracuse, which is home in a way that even Westcott wasn't. And I don't know if I'll ever be coming back to stay.
I'm just hoping it will be worth it.