week one
We’ve spent weeks living out of suitcases and boxes, a small practice before we jump to living out of suitcases exclusively. While I’m getting ready to leave, I kiss Lou often, wrap up lingering projects, and try to spend hours working on my desktop computer before it gets packed away for good. I write desperate words to myself trying to affirm mental clarity and love’s abundance. Jeremy lets me be nervous and touchy-feely. At a party, strangers smile at me, Lou holds the center of attention, and I try to match each negative thought with a positive one. I walk the farmers market with my friend Kiel who reminds me to be brave, then I drink Manhattans at the bar by myself while Jeremy says goodbye to his friends. His last day of work at black cypress comes and goes. The bittersweet reality of the time we gave my hometown and this chapter in our life is palpable.
At the beginning of the week, I get on a plane headed for Minneapolis. Through my work at a grocery Co-op, I sit in conference rooms in a hotel and learn, and argue, and become frustrated and introverted. My colleagues discuss action items and we consider the practicalities of remote work. The days are exhausting and I feel like I’m buffering before a big change. Soon, I will have more than a week off work, and I’m eager for the time to begin.
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While I’m away, Jeremy drives to Seattle and cuts his hair. It’s ceremonious to everyone in our life. Our friends offer support by way of photos, sweet touches, and coos about its beauty. My sister and her partner (read: my sisters) selflessly offer their assistance for the odd loose ends we will inevitably leave untied. They gather his locks in a crumpled paper bag and make promises to mail it to someone in need.
I arrive in Seattle on the redeye, and I’m angry. Anxiety has filled every in-between moment, and I feel left out. Jeremy wraps me in a blanket of kindness and understanding, the welcome result of finally breaking free from a stifling life, and I think, maybe this year won’t be so bad. I’m upset right now but I will always be loved. I argue with myself to undo my unfair resentment. I learn, slowly, that it’s okay to reach for comfort.
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In the morning, Angelene sets a bowl of radishes on the table, and I dip them in butter and delight in her company. A week ago I was standing in the middle of an empty kitchen in Moscow and feeling waves of loneliness and apprehension. Now, I’m here and all I want is to bathe in the warmth of her cleverness, passion, and affection. I feel grateful to have a friend with such a good heart.
That night, we eat chocolate dipped strawberries in the park, our cold white wine making its bottle sweat. Alex, Michael, Angelene and I take turns telling stories, and then the stories turn dark and we discuss times we were taken advantage of by men, and the fears left behind by various negative interactions. I feel brave and tell them about the abuse and assault I experienced at the hands of an ex. I wonder aloud if I should publicize the story. These are things we typically like to forget. We touch base with each other, and offer support to one another, feel indignation for each other, and we wonder at the world we live in. I push away my fears of not fitting in and I try to talk myself out of feeling self conscious. I practice.
The days slip by in a haze of love as we drive and walk all over the city. Alex is a light, so fiercely creative and bursting with beauty everyone feels golden when they’re near her. Genoa is there, and I squeeze her and thank her for being my friend, and for slipping away from her life in Sun Valley for the weekend. I get to see and hold Lauren Jane too, my queen of conversation and my muse. We have a photoshoot, giddy and full of laughter. We eat tacos from a truck, thighs sticking to plastic chairs. We watch a burlesque show and I squeal with delight shoulder to shoulder with Angelene. We drink cheap dark liquor in a dimly lit downtown bar. I sleep soundly. I’m with my best friends, and we all do different things, and we all live different lives, but right now, everything fits and we’re in the exact same place.
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Our bags are packed. Clothing folded meticulously, jewelry in a small canvas bag, pens in pen-pockets, blank journals and walking shoes and memory cards and chef knives. We’re excited. I haven’t taken a long trip abroad since I was 17. The trip ends in New York and Maryland for the wedding of a dear friend at the end of November.
The day before we leave, we have a barbecue and I don’t take any photos. Our friends are gentle with us and listen to us with open hearts when we encounter and attempt to navigate a Mother’s Day pain. I love this place and the people who live here. It finally rains.
