The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”–Lewis Carroll
I look around my room. It is neat, orderly. The books and movies were shipped yesterday, the pictures are packed and away. The walls look empty and sad.
The bed is made with old blankets and pillows. The newer ones are coming with me. The desk is empty, old paper thrown away or packed, for nostalgia’s sake.
The closet is half empty. Left behind clothes that will be given away years from now, old school sweatshirts and T-shirts with childish writing–We love you! Never change!–from camps, counselor and camper both.
The floor is swept and clean–probably the first time since you’ve lived here. You want to leave it nice for your parents.
The dressers are bare, the mirror clean. The toiletries packed, the pens put away. Dolls and stuffed animals stare at you accusingly from their perches, begging you to take them with you.
You don’t.
(ok, maybe you take one or two. You’re not heartless.)
What you have is two full suitcases, four boxes already on their way to your new apartment in New York, a breaking heart inside, and two heart breaking, waiting for you in the car. They knew this would come, but they still can’t believe it.
Neither can you.
No matter how long you’ve planned for it–the hours slaving away from enough money to move, the college classes you took to ensure a future, the years it took, feeling like you weren’t going anywhere–it led to this moment. Where you leave. Where you move away, miles and miles away, and you start over.
How do you tell your parents how much you own them?
How do you not hurt them when you decide to leave them behind?
I don’t know yet. I guess I’ll be learning as I go.
