June is over already?! Whaaat?!?! If you didn’t catch my short story on Hellz last month, now’s your chance! Here’s part 2 of June’s story… click for parts 1, 3, and 4…. (And don’t forget to read part 1 of this month’s story, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell) Enjoy!
As I’m wrapping these picture frames in bubble wrap, I stop. My erratic breathing catches and I actively force myself to swallow a throat full of tears. Surrounded by box after box after box of my clothes, shoes, pictures, and belongings, I feel a sense of displacement.
I neither belong here nor there. I no longer belong here, as I’m packing my things up. I can’t stay here, I can’t leave myself here. I don’t belong there yet… my future apartment is currently empty, dark, unknown. I have not yet made any memories, imprinted any footmarks. I belong in boxes, somewhere in between. I am in limbo.
My entire life as I’ve known it now fits into 10 boxes, into 1 U-haul, parked in 1 driveway. I’ve never felt so small nor so insignificant, ever. I take a second and vow to make a bigger difference, to create waves, to build opportunities and open my own doors. I promise myself to be remarkable, starting today. I tell myself that I am all that I have. No one will be there to bail me out, pick me up, pay for my rent…. and I better not let myself down.
I walk out into the driveway and see that look again. I go down the line of people standing there, waiting. Waiting for me to get up and leave. Waiting for me to start a new life. Waiting for me to drive off into the sunset so they can finally let themselves cry. My mom, then my Dad, my sisters, my best friend, and then Him. He is the last one in line.
He hugs me. He hugs me so tight, I can’t breathe.
“I love you. Don’t go. Please.”
It could be so easy to just say fuck it. Run back upstairs, unpack these measely 10 boxes into my old room, order pizza, and resume my life. But as much as I’m unsure about my future, I do know this: I know that I do not belong here.
After he hugs me, I grab his hand. It’s a hand that I’ve grown to love over the course of our relationship. It’s the hand that held mine as we walked down the street to dinner. The same hand that comforted me when I was sick and wiped away the tears from the loss of my grandmother. Its the hand that caresses my face in bed and points at me during our uncontrollable bits of laughter. I know this hand as it has become my safety net. I hold this hand as tight, and as long as I can bear to stand.
And then I hear this little voice inside my head say, “I want a bigger life, therefore I will be the bigger person.”
So, I let go.
Because letting go isn’t about giving up. It’s about growing up, and its about damn time I do so.