Everything In My House Is Gone, originally uploaded by texasgurl.
On Monday, they packed us. On Tuesday, they finished packing and loaded up the truck. For two days I moved through the rooms of my house, sorting clothes and rescuing objects, trying to stay ahead of the movers. I bonded with Marvin, the foreman of our moving crew.
I only left the house a couple of times for things that had to be done, like shipping all our photographs and memorabilia to Rod’s parents’ house for safekeeping and picking up the rental car. I returned from the post office Tuesday afternoon to find them nearly finished, down to a few boxes and the last few pieces of furniture. Marvin met me at the door, asking for socket wrenches. The bunk beds in Oliver’s bedroom had had to be put together inside the room—there was no way to get them out without taking them apart. I found the guys struggling with the beds in the doorway, trying to angle them out by opening the door and jamming one end of the bed into the furnace closet.
“Stop,” I told them. “I’ll find you some wrenches.”
“What about your friend?” Marvin asked me, referring to Tony, who’d been hanging around the house helping out, and who is, among other interesting things, a genuine rocket scientist. He definitely owned a set of socket wrenches.
So I ran out the front door, dialing Tony on my cell phone and wondering how in hell I’d get back before they damaged the bed or the wall. As I crossed our yard to my rental car, parked in front of Gary and Ivan’s, it occurred to me that I would sure enough eat a set of socket wrenches if Gary didn’t own one. I passed the car without slowing, and bounded right up to their front door and knocked.
The house was quiet, and I wondered if maybe they weren’t home. In my panic, I turned from the front door almost immediately, and saw Gary dragging something through the back gate. “Gary,” I called, already crossing their driveway. “Do you have a—“
He turned to me, his face pure kindness as usual, and suddenly my throat closed up. “Socket wrenches,” I choked, “I need—“ And then, to my utter astonishment, I was fighting tears. Ivan had come out the front door, answering my knock, and I stood between them, fanning my temples with my hands and saying, “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
They got me the socket wrenches, of course, and didn’t embarrass me by trying to talk to me about it. But it was so strange—so disconcerting—to find myself crying and not know why. So I’ve been thinking about it, and I want you to think about it, too. Please, take a moment for me, and think about your home and how much of your life takes place there. Think about what it means to walk away from the building where you sleep, work, make love, and tuck your children into bed at night. It’s where you keep your food, hide your stash, and invite your friends for dinner. Now, think about removing all your things from those rooms where you live, and what your life might look like when stripped to the bare walls.
Can you see it?
Now, go get me a socket wrench.
