It’s quiet. The static hiss of the air conditioner is the only thing filling the room. No furniture yet, simply an inflated air mattress in the corner. I have been thinking about this move for a long time. Not a far one, but an important one. 45 minutes away, over the bridge or through the tunnel, to a city that I have glorified for as long as I can remember. I used to sneak into Manhattan to get the rush of the night, to feel the chaos of the air, and get a glimpse of a world a mere train ride away. Now, I live here. This move symbolizes a fantasy beginning to come to fruition.
But as I sit on the cold wood floor, eating take out sushi, I am tired and nervous. The quiet is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. There are no dogs barking, or friends gossiping on the other side of the door. I don’t hear Dylans stomps upstairs, or Anni’s whisper like in College. Dad is not in the living room going down an endless YouTube whole, Jack’s laugh is not radiating through the walls as he plays (insert video game I don’t know), and Mom is not here to tuck me in on the nights I cannot sleep, like at home.
My parents cry almost every time I leave for college. No, not just freshman year. Yes, after thanksgiving, and Christmas, and spring break. We are knit together with a wool that doesn’t like to pull. I don’t know why I didn’t expect this move to come with the same emotions as all of the others. Maybe it is because I am so close, or maybe it is because the logistics of this adventure have come so quickly.
We did not cry today. But the attitudes were out. Tensions were high, snarky comments bounced off the empty walls, and when they left, I just felt confused. Alone. I have never been alone. I have never been in a space that is so quiet, so empty, so mine. What is this place and what will it be to me?
Thoughts, Comments, Concerns 