Hello, and thanks for returning for the thrilling conclusion of our tale of romance and heroism!
When we left off, it was Tuesday evening, Lee and I were assembling a car-top carrier, and I was slowly becoming convinced that we were never actually going to leave North Carolina. I even began to entertain the idea that, perhaps, I was trapped in some sort of Groundhog Day scenario.
Once we finished constructing the luggage carrier and had it mounted to the top of Lee's car, we were finally able to start packing boxes into the backseat and trunk. As we carried the first few boxes to the car at 10pm on Tuesday night, I reflected on the heady days of my youth, when with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes I had believed with all my heart that we would be leaving early Tuesday morning. At this point I was merely a shadow of my former self, and I knew that this never-ending bullshittery had irrevocably aged me.
At some point Lee noticed that my spirit had dimmed. Maybe it was because I went nearly an hour without speaking, trudging wordlessly up and down the hall, in and out of the elevator, watching silently while Lee unloaded cart after cart of boxes. Around 2:30 in the morning he suggested that I go home and get some sleep while he finished up the packing, so that at least one of us would be well-rested when we hit the road early that morning. I grudgingly agreed to let him work on into the night while I slept peacefully in my pillowy soft queen-sized bed. I vaguely remember being awakened at about 4:30 in the morning to let Lee into my apartment so he could sleep, too. But after that, I happily snuggled back down into the covers, whisked away by blissful dreams of hitting the open road at last.
Wednesday morning.
If I remember correctly, the first thing Lee said to me was, "You're gonna be so mad when you see the apartment." Apparently, he had packed all he could into the car and there were still boxes left. Like, 10 of them. That morning we stood in his apartment and gaped with despair at the remaining boxes. I was pretty sure Lee was going to cry. I, on the other hand, had long ago transcended human emotions and calmly accepted the fact that I had obviously done something terrible for which I was being severely punished. We made some half-hearted stabs at problem-solving as we felt our planned departure time slipping painfully out of our grasp. There was nothing else to do, nowhere else to put the rest of the boxes.
Defeated, Lee called his mom and brother and asked them to drive out and take the last of the boxes to be stored at their house. Earlier that morning, before I had realized how truly screwed we were, I had demanded that we forgo breakfast until we were on the road. Now, with nothing do but wait for backup, we decided to go to Bob Evans and eat our pain.
There we sat, haggard and unwashed and out of place amongst the other diners, who all lived happy, carefree lives where all their things were unboxed and they weren't endlessly preparing for cross-country moves that never actually happened. It was at that point that I think Lee and I both realized that the experience had reached a critical level of awful which transcended time and space. Neither of us could remember a time when we hadn't been side by side, cleaning and packing and carrying boxes. The fact that we hadn't yet died or killed each other meant that we were bonded for life, like every pair of romantic interests in every disaster movie ever. The only appropriate response to surviving a trauma like that together is to make sweet, grimy love. But we were tired, and in a restaurant, so instead we ate pancakes and eggs.
When the cavalry finally arrived, Lee took his mom upstairs "to look around" and she didn't come back down for three hours. It was my job to guard the van while Lee and his brother carried down boxes. Every once in awhile I received a report that the apartment was almost empty, or that Lee's mom was dusting the baseboards. After half an hour, I got wise and called my mom to entertain me while I waited.
Around 4pm, the apartment was empty, the cars were full, and the keys were turned in. Three days before I might have felt a little sentimental about the end of an era, but at this point it took all the self-restraint I could muster not to set the whole building on fire and ride away on a motorcycle. Lee was determined to start heading toward Texas that night, but since I had moved onto the acceptance phase of the grieving process I was able to convince him that maybe staying at his parents' house and then getting up and driving in the morning (after showers!) would be a more pleasant option. So we drove to Charlotte, ate the last North Carolina barbecue Lee will have for awhile, and passed the hell out.
Thursday morning.
The sun bloomed majestically in the east and pointed its golden fronds toward our destination. After some coffee (and a few photo ops for Lee's mom), we set out like the Joads, Clampetts, and Bundrens before us, on a journey to far-distant lands that no one ever wanted to go to in the first place. We drove for 14 hours on Thursday, slept in Baton Rouge, and drove another 6 hours on Friday. I was in Texas long enough to enjoy an impressive rain storm and a few delicious meals cooked by Lee's talented aunt before I flew out early Sunday morning.
So, to summarize...
My plan: Pack Monday. Leave early Tuesday, drive all day Tuesday and Wednesday, spend three days together in Texas, fly home Sunday.
Vs.
Reality: Pack Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Leave Wednesday evening and drive 2 hours to Charlotte. Leave early Thursday, drive all day Thursday and Friday. Spend a day and a half together in Texas, fly home Sunday.
If I ever agree to help anyone move ever again, I better be getting a technicolor triceratops with wings at the end of it.
Seriously, though? The whole process was about as painless and enjoyable as it could have been, given the circumstances, and I wouldn't have wanted to go through it for anyone else's sake. And even though I miss him terribly, I'm so proud of and excited for that kid.
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