Moving Day

Cw// mentions of death/suicide, depression

I frowned.

This room… these walls…

Those windows, my curtains- the gateway to my neighbor’s backyard and second-story bedroom.  

That carpet… can’t forget about the door. 

The door… It holds all the important height measurements of my growth over the years. All fifteen of those birthdays. 

The door… All those lines and scribbles and stickers and dates, each one from a birthday or a holiday. June 21st of 2008, my first birthday. Every single June 21st from then on, we took my height. 

But not this year. Not today.

Today, of all days, I scoff. 

That carpet… It holds stains and vague memories from times I’d have tantrums about naptime and through my sippy cup in my toddler years; the colored water and paint stains as I painted as a young child; the monster energy drinks spilled by my best friend, Erin, as we laughed our asses off together over videos. 

Those windows… all those times I spent talking to Jonah next door, late at night, sitting in the tree that used to live right in between our windows until we’d get caught by my parents (never harsh punishments). 

These walls… They hold coats upon coats of drywall and paint. The drywall for those times I punched the wall out of anger; the paint for the sudden mood changes about the vibe- pink, yellow, blue, ivory, red, purple, and back to red. 

This room… this bedroom. It was my nursery, my safespace, my rage-room, my comfort place, my memory-maker. My home. 

Fifteen years I’ve lived in this room. Once shared, once rearranged otherwise never unless ridding it of insignificant furniture and toys I’d grown out of playing with. We’d grown out of playing with. 

I dealt with my first breakup in that bed against the back corner wall, furthest from the closet and door that reside on the same wall. I read my first book out loud to my father at age three from that bookshelf in between the dark closet and door. I read the time from that digital clock on the table next to my bed at age six. And the mirror on the wall opposite my bed, I stared and smiled proudly, standing there at age five, all giddy and excited about starting school, Mother and Father grinning down at me from behind. 

I lived here, I loved here, I cried here. 

Here. Not any place else. 

This was my place, my home. 

Until the announced divorce. Until my father proclaimed we were moving. 

Two hours ago, precisely. 

Today, of all days, I sniffle, fighting to hold back the tears and pain of letting go. 

June 21st of 2022. 

Mom and Dad have been fighting for days on end. It hasn’t worked in months. They haven’t worked in months, not together. 

The beginning of summer vacation in May was when it really started. A simple disagreement over dinner, then it went to what pair of grandparents to spend the first week of summer with. It escalated to where I should attend school the upcoming fall- I’d gotten accepted into a private school Mother wanted me to attend. Dad didn’t want me to go because he knew I’d be much happier right where I am. 

I never dreamed of leaving this bedroom until I left for college. The day I started my life. 

Things had never been the same since last Christmas. They will never be the same. 

Losing Emily was the hardest thing that ever happened to me, my family, this town. She was so loved, so adored, cared for, but her depression hid that from her. 

It was this room, yet again. It took her, it killed her. She killed her, right here in this room. 

Despite that, it was still my place. We never argued over who’s room it was. When one had friends over, it was hers. Family? “Ours.” 

Ours. 

Until it wasn’t. Until I found her. 

Perhaps it’ll be good to leave those negative emotions behind. 

Leaving… It's all so surreal. Tensions definitely rose after Emily’s passing, but it never snapped until we finally edged to clean her stuff out. In May. We agreed easily to clear it of her things, but that dinner- Emily’s favorite dishes, Hamburgers or Spaghetti? 

Emily… my twin sister. Never separated since birth. Until we were. 

Mom doesn’t want me to stay with her. She owns the house, she’s kicking us out. I’m too much like Emily. 

I’m not Emily, I’m Vanessa. Nessa. Vanny, to Emily. 

“Hey, pumpkin,” my Dad spoke softly from the doorway. I only then realized I had been staring at the space in the corner on the wall with the closet and door, the space where Emily’s bed used to be. Her desk, too, where she sat when we had our chats, where she sat when she did her work, where she sat while talking on the phone with friends who loved her so… much. 

“Hi.” I replied shortly. 

“Well this,” he sighed dramatically, sitting down carelessly on my bed. “Has got to be one of the worst birthdays for you.” he finished knowingly. 

It is and we all know it. 

It’s my first birthday without the person whom I shared it with. I’d just been told to pack my sugar-honey-ice-tea (aka crap) by my own mother. I’d just been told my parents were divorcing, and on top of that, I’m moving. 

“It is.” I whimpered, taking a deep, shaking breath as I really felt the tears- the first ones of the night- to well up in my eyes. 

The same eyes, the brown eyes. Hers were hazel, mine are brown. The light left hers, leaving mine dim. 

“Yes, your mother and I are divorcing. Yes, you and I are moving. But hey, I’ve found a wonderful three-bedroom apartment a few blocks away. You still get to go to school, you still get to see your friends. It’ll all be the same, just different.” he explained, pulling me in for a hug. 

I breathed in the scent of his forest-themed cologne. My Dad has always been better at all things related to me. Emily was a Mama’s girl. Was. Until she wasn’t. And I don’t just mean in death. 

“I know you’re right. But today has been so…” I trailed off, trying to force my thoughts into words. “Terrifying.” I whispered, not being strong enough to speak any louder. 

“I know, but it’ll be okay.” he assured me. 

***

“Come on in, set your bags by the couch, I’m gonna go get a second key from Johnny. Be back in a few.” Dad said, motioning for me to step through the door. I nodded and slowly walked over the threshold and taking in the white-paint that covered the walls, startled as the door clicked shut behind me. 

I turned to the small room in front of me- the living room. Off to the right was a small kitchen with a large, full bathroom- shower/bathtub combo, toilet, and double sink. Back in the living room, there’s a small three-seat couch across from the TV that is mounted on the wall. 

On the right are two doors- one is my room that I get to claim- while behind the couch, there’s another door that I assume leads to the Master Bedroom aka my Dad’s. 

The two rooms I had to choose between were fairly the same size. One room was already furnished, so I chose the other so I could easily move my stuff in- the door on the other side of the TV, furthest from everything else. This was the slightly bigger room, too. 

This is my new life. 

This room… these walls…

Those windows, my curtains that will rest there.

That carpet… And you still can’t forget about the door… 

I smiled.