Sunday, August 17, 2008

This is Yellow.

"And in every place he abandons he leaves something vital, it
seems to me, and starts his new life somewhat less encrusted, like
a lobster that has shed its skin and is for a time soft and vulnerable."
-E.B. White, from "Goodbye to Forty-eighth Street"

Our apartment is empty and seems oddly smaller in size.  The rooms I feared missing, the ones where we fell in love, made dinners, survived arguments, planned, laughed, and cried, don't look like ours anymore.  Lifting the last of the boxes into the moving truck I realized that what made that apartment so much our home was not inside that building at all.  Instead, there it was boxed up and packed tight amongst our furniture, right next to the most important part- sweaty, 6'2, smiling through the heat and grime, telling me that everything is going to be okay.  

He's right - everything will be okay.  Tomorrow morning at 6 am we'll pack our traveling bags and all the bananas we can grab from our hotel's continental breakfast into the cab of a large truck and head West.  It's strange how sudden it can feel to make a move you've been dreaming of for years and planning seriously for months.  As surprising at it seems, the most difficult part of this process has been the reality of getting what we want.  We're doing this thing, this little idea that once seemed so far off, a little dream you map out but never quite believe.  

By the end September I'll be in classes, wearing scarves, soaking up Fall and making daily trips to the public library next door to our apartment.  Andrew will be exploring, he always is, making mental lists of all the places we'll have to go and see, all the histories I should know about where we live.  In no time at all we'll have carved out a niche in Bellingham, making it ours in the same way Savannah has been ours all these years.  I'm ready for the change, the opportunity to love a city in a way that Savannah and I never could achieve.  There are people and places I miss already, worn paths I can hardly imagine not walking again, but as we look around on our last day here, I feel certain that in many ways, we're already gone.  

I've got two cameras, a handful of film, an empty notebook and a pen all ready to record the road.  There's an entire box of books being towed in the jeep for easy access, and thanks to Andrew, all of Wes Anderson on the ipod.  We're moving across country - we're heading West - we're changing our lives - we're going to be okay.


Kirsten said...

I can't imagine how exciting and terrifying at the same time this is for you. I know you and Andrew will be fine. I'll miss our ladies lunches and laughing with you. But don't forget, JJ and I will fly out when you have some time off from school. We're looking forward to taking the ferry to Alaska (only not sleeping in a tent--JJ and I actually had a conversation Friday about toting a tent through the airport and checking it with our luggage--we decided against it--a cabin it must be!).

You and Andrew are in my prayers as you travel across the country and will continue to be as you setlle into your new life.

K A R I™ said...

Have a safe trip! You will be missed more than you could ever know! I can't wait to hear all about your adventures in your new home and see all the pictures! I'm so excited for you guys! Now we have yet another reason to get out to the West Coast for a visit!

hannah banana said...

eeeee! I can't wait for you to get here! I'm actually scheduled to be in Bellingham at the end of September with work, so maybe (definitely?) we can do dinner! God speed on your travels!