I Forgot What The Walls Look Like
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I Forgot What The Walls Look Like

The strange phenomenon better known as moving out.

I Forgot What The Walls Look Like

Warm morning sun splashes onto my face, and its rays spill beneath my eyelids. My phone is still playing the audio recording of light rain I used to fall asleep from the night before. A groan escapes from my mouth. Sometimes I hate myself for putting my bed right next to the east window.

I click the home button on my phone. "9:03 Saturday, May 28." Twenty-seven more minutes until the alarm goes off. Twenty-seven more minutes until I have to peel myself off this bare, extra-long twin mattress and face a room no longer my own. Twenty-seven more minutes until I have to get serious, because today is the day I move out.

For 27 minutes, I am thinking about how uncomfortable I am as I lay under a single blanket. My eyes are closed. I can't see my room, but I can see it, ya know? The walls, once adorned with dried flowers, magazine clippings, poetry written by friends, old pictures and concert tickets, are now stripped back to bleak, gray cinderblock.

Everything is packed in boxes, stuffed in bags, folded, compressed, suffocated. All of it in the hallway, waiting to be hauled away. I don't know how much time has passed, but I decide that I can't wait any longer. I click the home button on my phone. "9:08 Saturday, May 28." I don't think I've ever seen 9:08 before.

While I shower, I'm avoiding any thought about moving out and focusing my thoughts on 9:08. There are certain times I see on clocks all the time, but what times have I missed? 4:43, 6:38, and 11:47, probably. I debate whether or not it'd be satisfying for one to know they've seen every time that exists.

When I finally acknowledge that today is the day I move out, my fingers look like the dried fruit my aunt eats, and all the bubbles that kissed my toes are now far down the drain. The next time I click the home button on my phone, it reads "9:29 Saturday, May 28." I count to 60 and give my room a good look.

I suppose this room was never mine to begin with. For years, before I occupied this room, several others did. Several others, who brought with them their varying experiences and lifestyles, occupied this room. All of us different, but all of us connected by this room. Do you think they also felt weird about moving out?

Time seems to be moving faster now that I'm awake. I fill my time with last-minute vacuuming, sweeping, dusting and wiping before heading to brunch. When my phone reads "10:49 Saturday, May 28," I take a seat next to some friends I've grown very close to in these last nine months, and I'm surprisingly calm.

I'm surprised by my subtle apathy towards saying goodbye to people, just because I know these are people I'll be seeing on Facebook and in three months time, back on campus. Even as I hug my way back to my room, it's excitement rather than sadness that fills me.

Excitement for future's bright, like that of the warm, morning sun. Eyes not sure if they can take it. Looking at the sun for too long is harmful, though. Simply let it shine. Let it light the way. These are thoughts I have kept in my pocket. I think I'm ready to move out now.

Bags and boxes filled with the last nine months of my life are packed into the car like large Tetris pieces. I click the home button on my phone. "12:58 Saturday, May 28." I click my seatbelt. I close my eyes. Warm, summer sun splashes onto my face, its rays spill beneath my eyelids.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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