As I look around me I find I am surrounded by a lifetime's belongings. Shoes, scarves, stuffed animals. A plethora of poems and notebooks, drawings and sketches. File boxes, text books, bank statements. A white dress. A long veil. A box of shells from a beach far away that holds more nostalgia than I can explain.
And most of the important things have already been loaded into the car, a green trunk full of canisters and my collection of coffee mugs. Suitcases of sundresses and faded jeans. A box of candles.
There is still so much I'm leaving behind, and while I know that I won't miss it, and I know there's no room left, I wish we could take it all. I wish I could hold on to every tangible memory, so that when I get old I won't have to try to remember. It will just be there, at my fingertips.
I've been waiting for this my whole life. Anxious to grow up, get out, to give myself to somebody else. And I met that point of adulthood gladly. But there's been this strange delay for the last 4 weeks. I never thought I'd be married, still sleeping in my old bedroom, surrounded by my childhood.
I really am saying goodbye this time. The car is almost packed. In the morning we'll make a pot of coffee, kiss my parents and the dog, fill the tank with gas and I will cry all the way to Chicago.