My roommates are about to spackle some holes in the living room. Myles is loudly singing some old worship song--while beating the wall--and Rachel caught it on film. Neither of them are 100% confident in what they're doing, but they're going to try and nail it (Rachel just noted that it looks like ice cream but warned Myles to not eat it). This is a day in the life of my house.
One of the last days, actually.
I think we all had a mental knowledge of this week's imminent arrival--we're 3 days out from graduation. But all this packing and painting and the living room in disarray is making the reality, the emotions of the situation, extraordinarily real.
We're doing a good job of making memories and choosing to ignore the goodbyes. Myles and Rachel have turned on "The Wobble" in the living room. Myles has changed the lyrics to, "Hey big girl, go ahead and spackle up."
The picture frames are off the shelves. The sofa is gone. Myles is sleeping on an air mattress. The kitchen has been divided up on a Google doc. It's all changing. This comfy, 1100 square foot little house has been part of many memories. We've had dance parties and crying sessions in the living room. It was a sleepover for two years. It was not without its own faults, and it saw many faults of its residents.
It would be ridiculous to say that this house is just a house, but it will be moved out of and cleaned and readied for the next round of people. It is not immune to wear and tear, nor is it fully prepared for future residents. The house is the holder of memories.
But thankfully memories are not trapped within where they were made. They may be more potent there, feel like they are happening again around you, have strong reminders of what happened. But unlike this house, which will stay planted (however unsteadily based on some foundation issues we've noticed), I get to go.
All the moments where I laughed so hard I cried, where we talked through or quoted movies, threw birthday parties, rearranged, rearranged again, talked out a problem, hugged out the resolution and then made our way out with called "I love you"'s over our shoulders.
I want to say that I hope to find friends like these again, and a place to hold those future memories, but that would require replacing Joy, Myles, and Rachel (and, like, not moving ever). And I think they're one of a kind. While I aspire for close-knit friendships in the future, I know that these women are pretty irreplaceable. And friendships I will maintain until death do we part.
Andy Bernard, in the last episode of The Office, said "I wish we knew we were in the good ole days before we left them."
Initially, I'm inclined to agree with him. But I refuse to believe that this house is the single manifestation of the "good ole days" and that leaving it signifies that the best time of my life is ending. I'm 23. I have a lot of life to live. I think that the rest of my life, however long it is, will be rich with goodness.
No, my nonexistent readers (it would be pompous to assume anyone besides my parents reads this), I am confident that the last beautiful, growing, hard, hilarious four years have been but a glimpse of the life still yet to live.
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