5 de marzo del 2017, domingo
I moved out of the 8th street house on a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon. I packed my Nissan Versa to the max with clothes, shoes, and small furniture. Everything else was donated or left behind in the mystery hall closet. The room at the blue house was huge! And cleaning a boy’s room was…well; Fitz had me wait in the living room until he had it swept, mopped, and clear of his collection of empty beer cans. Rearranging and combining our mismatch furniture was a fun jigsaw puzzle. “Where should my dresser go? Do we need my nightstand? We would have more space if we got rid of this broken entertainment center.” The only issue was…the small closet. “How are we going to fit all of our clothes in here? What about our shoes?!” Some major sacrifices were made and I got rid of everything but the basics. I’d have to get really creative with outfits from now on but I had my fella now and he made me burst with joy. That was all that mattered. We were exhausted and sore from the move so we grabbed some beers had some shots and got ready for bed. We watched reruns of Robot Chicken and I passed out in his sweaty embrace, waking up periodically to his snores in my ear. It was beautiful.
This was a new night for us. This was our new bubble- we were now each other’s home. Leaving for work and school had become easier. The pains of missing each other during the day had morphed into an excitement of knowing we would see each other at home-in our room-our world. The wonder and guessing game of when we would see each other next no longer existed. There would be no more anxiety of missing a phone call or a text on the weekends. The chance of me not answering the phone when he got off work to hang out was not a possibility. I would be there in our home even if I was dead tired-I’d always be right there next to him in our bed. It was a silent but understood promise.
A few weeks later Fitz surprised me with our fur baby, a 4-month-old kitty that had recently been rescued. We named him Marley.