Three Years

“Anything else, honey?” My mother asks.

There is one thing I have to tell you guys. I almost say it. It is at the tip of my tongue. But my gut twists and it never makes the leap.

“Nah, I’m good. Have a good evening, mum.” I say instead. I hope she does not notice the waver in my voice. A small part of me hopes that she does. 

The call closes and I put the phone down, looking at the black rectangle for a moment, wondering why I did not say it this time either. There is not much time left. On my table is the eviction notice; this is the old one. I distinctly remember going down to the apartment office for confirmation. As I was there, on a vain hope I asked if I could get an extension. I got another 45 days. Never have I cried at news before that.

I placed myself in this situation; I started university right after college. It was a steady ride for the first 5 semesters. Not to say there were never any troubles, but it was not till the 6th semester that the real problem began. I had never had a job, nor had I pursued many projects under my own choice at that point in my life, so I had little experience in how to set a project together myself. And for the 6th university semester you had to write your Bachelor’s thesis. Initially I had no idea what I wanted to write about, so I put the project off till next year, and focused on the other courses I still needed to clear.

Around the time of my 6th semester I also got an offer for a student flat, which I accepted. My own place (mostly) for the first time in my life. A big change for anyone. Suddenly there were a lot of small daily tasks I had to carry out, or no one would. In relation to my schoolwork it meant that there were no one to check in on me to see if I was doing the work. Now, in university you are expected to police yourself. You are an adult; you cannot rely on others to do it for you from now on. For me, this meant that procrastination became much easier. So, when the 8th semester rolled in and I had to retry the Bachelor’s thesis, you can imagine how that went down.

By this point I had started my first job; a student position doing tech support, so I could earn some money to pay for my apartment and things for myself. Denmark pays student to study, so I had an income before this, but this doubled that, which was nice. The work experience, both personal and academic, was the bigger benefit. 

Now, I said I had to pay for the apartment. That is obvious, but it was never very expensive. It was also quite small, but I never needed a lot of space, so that was fine by me. As the semesters rolled on, the more pressing problem was that I also had to qualify for the apartment. This meant being an active student, which meant being enrolled at an advanced education. My education had a limit of 5 years enrolled in the same course, and I was approaching my 10th semester at this point. Whether or not I could actually finish my Bachelor’s Thesis this time, I would need to find a new place.

I had placed myself in this situation; I had procrastinated on large projects for years, and I had never told any of my family this. To their knowledge, and when they asked me, it was all going fine. The way I saw it at the time, my family was the only people that could help me out of this. I had lost all confidence in my ability to finish the education, but I was losing the flat either way.

But how do you say that? “Oh. by the way, I have been lying to you for the last 3 years and I’m only a few days from being homeless”?

For years I intended to say it. I pondered and pondered how to say it, what to say, what could I get away with not saying. Thinking about it terrified me, so I rarely did, so progress on getting it said slowed. I procrastinated on solving a problem I had created and aggravated with procrastination. And as the semesters rolled by, the amount of lies built up, a web growing and growing almost beyond my control.

Every time I saw my family, I could feel it bubbling beneath the surface, ready to burst forth if I were careless. It needed to be said, needed to be solved, but I could not say it. And now the deadline was drawing very close indeed. By midday in 2 days’ time, I was to hand over the keys to my apartment, for the final time. Without help I would be homeless, a guy on the sidewalk with a pile of furniture to deal with, not to mention my computer and more personal effects.

I wondered how my family would react, what they would say to all the deceit and lies. Surely, they would be angry. Would there be shouting? What about telling my siblings? They had all moved away too so I would have to recount the sorry tale to them too.

What made it worse was that I could never find a concrete reason for why. Why I had lied. And what reason could even begin to justify this extent? These questions swam around my head all the time.

I picked up my phone again. It felt heavy in my hand. My breathing quickened, became ragged. My face grew hot, my legs began to shake. I sat there for a few moments, trying to relax my body. My thumb turned on the screen and flicked through the access pattern. Clicked the ‘Call’ icon and entered a number. My mother’s contact entry appeared on the screen. With one click of a button I could call her. Then there would be no way back. I turned away from my computer and pulled the curtain aside. Outside the sun had gone down, it was getting into the evening. I looked at the letter again. I had written the new date myself with a red pen.

With a deep breath I started the call. I was acutely aware of every breath I took in those few seconds as I waited for my mother to pick up.

“Hi honey, why are you calling us? Did you think of something?” My mother said over the line. If it had been a video-call, I imagined I would have broken into tears there and then.

My gut twisted. The old familiar fear rose as I had expected. But there was no way back now. This was the point of no return.

“Hi mum, is dad around? Can you put it on speaker-phone? I have something I need to confess to you two.” I said, carefully keeping my voice as level as I could.

I laid out what had happened over the last 3 years one by one, stopping to answer if my parents had a question. I could hear this was sudden news to them, a surprise. I was surprised, and very relieved, when they accepted the tale very matter-of-factly. When I told them I had to be out of the flat in two days, they went straight to what we needed to do, rather than shouting or consternation.

When my story was finished, a tear rolled down my face and paused on my chin. More followed it, a flood years in the making. The tale relayed, my voice choked up, and I could get nothing more out for nearly a minute, holding the phone and listening to my parents try to reassure me. I must have been a pretty pathetic sight, a young man crying in an office chair in a small apartment. I cried a lot that night.

But a part of me was happy. I had said it. Now I could find help. I could move on.