Did you feel that?

ascoves
Aug 13
4 min read

This House

The house smells like cardboard boxes. The hallways are filled with the sounds of tape ripping and bubble wrap popping.

I’m moving.

Towards something? Or from something?

Huh?

Both…

No. Towards something.

No.

Away. Far, far away.

Time to pack.

The Attic

I'll start at the top and work my way down. I walk up the creaky stairs, climbing towards the top of the house. I take a look around and let out a giant sigh. "Oh no."

I don’t come to my attic often for a multitude of reasons.

It’s hot,

it’s dusty.

I have no need.

...and then

there’s him.

No, no, no, don’t freak out. It’s not a ghost or a figment of my imagination. There’s not an actual man in my attic, I promise.

But there’s evidence of one.

The attic holds the final pieces of my ex-husband like a time capsule. The boxes he didn’t take with him. Baseball cards from his childhood, high school diplomas, clothes. Love letters from me to him. Love letters from him to me. An old pipe. Some liquor bottles.

Yes, someone else definitely used to live here. But all of his things are now covered in dust. Forgotten.

Someone used to live here...but it’s been a while.

As I sort through the boxes, you can almost feel them. The stitches re-opening old wounds I thought I’d healed.

Someone else used to live here.

I text him. “You left some things behind. More than I think you realize.”

A few days later he arrives and his boxes are gone. Like he was never there. Then why haven’t the stitches closed back up?

Our bedroom.

*My bedroom.

I want to think of something happy. But all that comes to mind is pain. Being unable to sleep. Staining my pillowcases with mascara from crying all night. Secrets. Terrible, terrible secrets.

Think of something happy.

On Valentine's Day, Book Boyfriend hid a giant teddy bear under my covers once in this room.

I secretly love when there’s a thunderstorm and my son climbs into bed with me to snuggle in this room.

I like getting ready in this room. Singing Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs while I spin in different dresses and stomp around in my high heels.

Better. Goodbye bedroom.

The Guest Room

The walls were supposed to be pink. Good riddance.

My Son’s Room

I can’t think of one bad memory in here.

This room holds nothing but love.

This room used to hold his crib and my rocking chair.

This is where lullabies were sung and bedtime stories memorized.

This is where pajama parties prevail and jumping on the bed is permitted.

I will miss this room.

The Living Room

A whirlwind of good and bad memories hit me. The big window where we used to put our Christmas tree. The dance parties next to the couch. The hard conversations about our marriage and where it was headed. The Zoom calls with our lawyer to make it official.

But also… the first time Book Boyfriend came over. Pizza and Netflix. Inside jokes and cookies.

This room’s not all bad.

The Kitchen

I like this room. I think this might be the first room where I realized I will be okay. I can do this.

I learned that it’s okay to cook for one and save the leftovers in this room.

I learned that my son likes helping me chop fruits and vegetables in this room. (Even if he won’t try them.)

We started our own traditions here. My son and I. Heart-shaped pizza on Valentine’s Day. Baking cakes for friends and teachers. He learned how to use the popcorn machine and set up movie nights for us. All in this room.

Yeah, I'll miss this one.

Goodbye

It’s all packed. I take one last look at the empty space that used to be filled with furniture. The empty space that used to be filled with people. The empty space that used to be filled with laughter, with tears, with silence, with love.

We turned this house into a home.

We filled it with traditions and happy memories.

We turned this house into a prison.

We filled it with anger and sadness.

I turned this house into a home again.

I filled it with movie nights and stuffed animal parties.

I fell apart in this house.

I put myself back together in this house.

I grew up here. (In my 30s.)

I fell in love in this house. With myself… and with another too. But that’s a story for another time. (And another blog post.)

New Beginnings

I arrive at our new home. I set up my son’s room first. Soccer bedding and toy boxes.