You stand alone in your new barren apartment, your life packed neatly away in cardboard shells. These towering stacks have become your latest enemies armed with constant threats of the terrors of (text-style:"shudder")[unpacking].
All that dwells within your new domain is a (link-reveal: "stained old couch")[ //(a.k.a. what was funtionally your bed these past few nights)//] your best friend 'generously' thrust upon you and an assortment of (link-reveal: "neglected cookware")[ //(which are currently half-buried under the discarded remains of take-out meals)//]. It was all you really needed these past few days and nights. All you really wanted, if you were being honest with yourself.
Perhaps it's about time to start (link-reveal: "unpacking everything")[ //(it's been nine days, after all)//]. A proper night in to start cutting out all the excuses and make this place livable. On the other hand, you've yet to truly explore your old haunts in this area with the onslaught of work-related changes to fuss over. You could grab a bite to eat at one of your old favorite childhood restaurants, drive through the community's quaint imitation of a downtown area, keep it simple. Either way, you can't just keep standing there all night.
What will it be?
[[> Stay Home->Staying Home]]
[[> Venture Out->Going Out]]Ah, staying home and unpacking. The responsible thing to do and the most impossible to predict how long it will take.
You perform a mental assessment of the apartment from where you stand in order to psych yourself up into actually initiating the dreadful task of tackling those boxes. You wouldn't describe the place as being particularly small, though not remotely close to large or spacious. It's a cozy one-bedroom space with a living room and kitchenette area occupying the same rectangular shaped room with a door to a balcony on the opposite end. The bedroom is small enough that it would be lucky to hold a king sized bed - not that you have any desire to drag a mattress that large up four flights of stairs.
Since you lack proper furniture just yet, much of the unpacking process will be for the sake of organization and planning. You grossly underestimated the amount of stuff you owned even without furniture prior to moving out of your off-campus university apartment and how it would all fit somewhere new where you didn't have the luxury of parents living 40 minutes away to store any excess.
Well, you have to start [[somewhere->Living Room Boxes]].Resolving to tap into your inner spirit of 'exploration' (and a little bit of obligation avoidance) you pull your purse over your shoulder and fetched your keys from the crowded kitchen countertops.
You emerge from your apartment into a pristine hallway, its carpet plastered with brightly colored geometric shapes. You find this to be a strange, though expected, testament to the modern design of the complex. This complex was one of the few things that wasn't here when you last lived in the area five years ago. You thought it stuck out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of 'faux small town' vibes your neighborhood gives off.
You couldn't afford to be too picky when it came to where to rent here anyways.
You step out into the cool night air and start making your way to your spot in the complex's orderly parking lot.
[[> Locate your car->Finding the Car]]After a period of (link-reveal: "squinting out over the lot")[ //(remembering parking spaces is one of your eldest weaknesses)//], you finally spot your reliable clunker tucked away under a canopy of oak trees.
Your car has been the strongest material throughline of the past seven years of your life. An unexpected gift from your otherwise dreadful stepfather, this car has seen you in your deepest shame and at your greatest heights. It brings a smile to your face to have this one thing to carry with you into your new life after having to leave so much behind.
Because of this, once you're safely situated in the front seat you decided to [[play something nostalgic->Music]].Tonight that 'something nostalgic' is an old scratched up folk punk CD your (link:"old friend")[~~old friend~~ ex-girlfriend] Beatrix burned for you off her massive road trip playlist.
That road trip was the summer that your mother swears you stabbed her directly in the heart after chopping your long red hair into a pixie cut and dyeing it a rancid shade of teal. You could almost hear her seething still several states over as the two of you plotted out your next moves in a roadside Denny's. You kept the cropped look even to this day, but ditched the dye.
Where do you head first?
[[> To your old neighborhood->Neighborhood]]
[[> To downtown->Downtown]]
[[> To the park->Park]]It's hard to believe that you now live less than five minutes away from where you grew up. You fully believed that when you left town of your own accord you wouldn't return to visit, let alone move here. Driving along the main road connecting the branches of the neighborhood, you feel that if you were shown a picture of this street taken the last time you saw it and one of it now it would take you a good few minutes to realize the differences. Some trees are taller, their branches stretching even farther than before. Some front gardens are slightly different too. Accented with garden gnomes and other decorative fixtures based on the changing tastes of old residents or the will of new ones.
You drive for several minutes in silent contemplation, aside from the impassioned singing off the CD you've had playing. Eventually your old childhood home comes into view. The once beige one story house has now been repainted a pale shade of grey and treated with a thriving line of purple hydrangea bushes. The curtains are drawn, as expected at this hour, making you wonder about what could have changed about the interior. You start to recall the furniture arrangement of the living room as you most intimately knew it during your childhood and the different stages of evolution your own bedroom went through. You think fondly on the bright pink walls your father let you help paint at age six until age eleven made them suddenly 'uncool' and 'girly.'
You lived with your family up until just after your high school graduation when you opted to live with your bandmates instead. They moved several states over along with your older sister who happened to be interested in a graduate program in the same state. You never explicitly discussed it with them but you felt they were disappointed in you for your choices. Of friends and of lifestyle. Even if you were to discuss it you would never admit to them how right they were in some ways with the ten months you spent couch surfing after things went sour.
With all those words unspoken between you and your family, they were still welcoming to your joining them. Even more when you expressed interest in a journalism program at a nearby community college.
Before pulling away, you debate snapping a photo of your old childhood home to send to your mom. She expressed some interest in how it changed since they sold it after you mentioned your initial plans to move back here. You decide against it.
[[> Head to the park->Park]]
[[> Head downtown->Downtown]]
[[> Find somewhere to eat->Diner]]The word 'downtown' here is quite deceptive, even in the scope of 'small-town downtowns.' Downtown consists of little more than a long street cramped with narrow brick buildings harboring familiar small businesses run by the locals. You recognize many of these as being exactly what you once knew them as. A few, such as the ice cream parlor on the corner, offers essentially the same services just under a new coat of paint and ownership.
Your first ever formally paid position was here at the used bookstore just down the street. The slow pace of business most afternoons was perfect for the struggling high school student you were to get class assignments done with minimal distractions or excuses between the rare customers. The job didn't last too long, neither did your increase in grade point average after you eventually quit.
You are so caught up in your reminiscing you almost miss the sight of The Socialite - a small, shabby red brick building covered in handpainted murals of stylized women dancing. The Socialite was the sole saving grace for your teenage angst-addled mind back in the day. The one thing that broke up the monotony of faux small-town life.
It was also the venue of your band's first show. And many shows after that.
//Pinned Wings// the beautiful, dysfunctional folk punk brainchild of you and your high school friends. You played drums. Beatrix played guitar. Gil played bass. Gemma did vocals. Bea was practically frothing at the mouth the day leading up to your first show. She relentlessly bombarded the three of you with message after message checking that you'd all gone over every little detail of the planned set. Each equipped with your patch-ridden battle jackets and decked out in metal spikes, you all thought you sorely stood out next to the one man harsh noise artist and the singer-songwriter girl on the acoustic guitar that were up before you.
As a group, you never 'made it,' but you did get to perform several shows outside the area at similarly small venues to eager crowds. For a time, you lived a breathed the band. You stayed behind here after your family moved out of state a year after you graduated high school. Your days were spent working early morning shifts at the downtown 7-Eleven and your evenings were consumed with practice or bickering with Bea and Gemma over potential lyric interpretations.
You don't have to dwell on the topic long before recalling the shouting matches you all had with each other on a regular basis. Between Bea and you especially. Always about not watching out for and helping Gil enough. About fucking up constantly as a bandmate, as a roommate, as a friend, as a girlfriend. To this day, you are shocked to the core that you never recieved a noise complaint from the neighbors.
You start to wonder if they carried on with the band after you left. You weren't the greatest drummer, not really, it would have been a breeze to find a comparable replacement for you.
[[> Head to the park->Park]]
[[> Head to the neighborhood->Neighborhood]]
[[> Find somewhere to eat->Diner]]Nested in the landscape between downtown and your old high school is a relatively sprawling park with towering trees and bordered by swampland. You can barely make out the brightly colored metal structures of the playground and swingsets in the dark of night.
Many late nights were spent on those swings with Beatrix and Gil. Back in high school you would often find the three of you (or sometimes just two) making late night escapes intended for the sole purpose of experiencing the simple delight of absent minded swinging as the backdrop for Serious Conversation. Many laughs were had here, as were many tears shed.
Your most distinct memories of this park happened during town festivals. For different holidays and occasions, the downtown center would often hold collaborative community festivals featuring booths from all the local businesses and performances coordinated by the surrounding schools. You would spend a fair share of time browsing the festivals' offerings with your friends, but usually only so far as to secure some greasy foodtruck fare before absconding to the park a 30 minute walk away.
One fall festival, Gemma was sick and couldn't come. Bea tried to insist that the three of you deliver her some food at home, but she was far to ill to enjoy anything you could bring her. The three of you loaded up on your own (link-reveal:"foodtruck delicacies")[ //(you think you had a pepperoni calzone that night in particular)//] and started off on the long winding path through neighborhoods leading to the park. You all had been out of high school for two years then (one in the case of Bea) and navigating the rocky shores of early adulthood in that time together. You all lived together by that point of time and could have had these kinds of outings together whenever the whim struck you, but these festivals were still special. One of the few things you had left to feel peacefully nostalgic about.
The walk there was an absolute riot. The comforting back-and-forth banter and extravagent bits routine you all came to find solace in. Once in the park, you reveled in the joys of being outdoors before the southern winter comes settling in with its few brief weeks of dreadful wind chill. You ate your (now cold) meals atop the playground and halfway down the faded yellow slide. You all took turns carving you initials into the wooden picnic benches using Bea's pocket knife. You blasted one of Gil's most obnoxious playlists as you all made a trek through the swamp to one of your old favorite spots to hide during your high school years - atop a large rock circled by a narrow creak.
Later that evening, you ended up having to cart Gil down to the emergency room after finding him practically glued to his mattress with a violently lurching heart after having mixed the lines of coke he'd been doing that night with speed. You spent the night beside him, curled up on a chair, cursing how all they could do for him there treatment-wise was sedate him until the symptoms subsided and everything was out of his system.
You hardly even saw him take anything that night leading up to that point. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't the last.
[[> Head to the neighborhood->Neighborhood]]
[[> Head downtown->Downtown]]
[[> Find somewhere to eat->Diner]]Hunger pangs eventually overwhelm your nostalgic cruising around town. By the time you find yourself this hungry, most restaurants and local fast food joints are closed. Your options are limited to either picking up something cold or bags of chips from the gas station or the 24-hour diner a little ways away.
After careful consideration of your eating habits the past nine days you easily settle on the diner. It was one of your favorite restaurants around here, after all. How much could it have changed? Besides, your past self would throttle you if she knew you passed up an opportunity to dine there when you could afford more than something off the dollar menu.
As you step through the doors into the diner, you breathe a sigh of relief you didn't know you had in you when you realize there's only two other people in here you don't recognize. What you would have done if you saw someone you recognized (if they recognized you that is) is beyond you.
Once seated and in the process of re-familiarizing yourself with the menu, even more memories come trickling on in about this place.
This is were you went with your bandmates after your first ever group visit to The Socialite and then again after your first show performing there.
This was the only food place in town you thought to take Bea on your first date. This was also where Gil took you after the latest explosive screaming match the two of you shared resulted in her dumping you with threats of being kicked out of the apartment.
You almost lose yourself in thought there for a moment until the server comes around to take your order.
[[You order a pancake breakfast.->Pancakes]]While you wait for your food to arrive, you pull out your phone and begin scrolling through social media as a means of keeping your hands busy.
You haven't told any of your former friends that you're back living here. Not that you have contact information of any of them anyways. You aren't entirely convinced that you would tell them even if you could.
It took a long time to get you here, but you're home.
And this time you will make it a good one.Starting with the living room since you're already here, there are two major stacks of boxes with a few others scattered about you were too afraid to add to any stacks. These boxes mostly contain anything that wouldn't have a place in the bedroom and bathroom including the rest of the kitchen essentials, your extensive book collection, decorations and the few keepsakes you've kept over the year.
As you start pulling apart the small towers of boxes in preparation to sort, you start to muse on the possibilities of how you could arrange this space in a way that is truly yours. For the first time in your life, you are able to afford an entire apartment just to yourself without having to bow down to any of the design or practical opinions of anyone else. You worked hard to make it here. Through all of your education and work beyond.
You start thinking in terms of furniture. Of course, you'll be needing bookshelves. While stacks of books may be aesthetically pleasing to you, they are horrendously impractical for pulling out a novel at the bottom of the stack. Proper shelves will also be conducive to having a place for all your decor and knick-knacks. Do you really need a television? No one you know your age really watches cable tv anymore after the advent of ad-free streaming services ~~and internet piracy~~. But how else would you fill that space and entertain any potential guests itching for a movie viewing or series binge? On that note, if you are worrying about the experiences of hypothetical guests, you may have to rethink that mess of a couch you were gifted.
You'll have time to figure it out. Furniture shopping will have to wait for another day and you are far away from immediately needing the means to entertain your future guests anyways. You have books to sort through. The heaviest of all your boxes that your small, scrawny frame could barely carry upstairs.
Mixed in with all your hardcover special editions of classics and graphic novel compendiums are some of your old university textbooks. Most of these overpriced giants you hardly ended up using over the course of your degree program either by your lack of personal need to review the material in this way or finding out too late the book wasn't even required. Your favorite textbooks, the only ones you truly found value and use out of, were your visual storytelling and photojournalism books. The more creative subjects and courses were always your favorites. With that on your mind, perhaps you should create prints of your favorite photographs to hang around the living room? You didn't have any art to bring with you beyond a few band posters. Might as well spice up these beige walls.
Once you've sorted through all your books and arranged them in neat, manageable stacks along the wall to easily place in shelves later, you move onto the few remaining boxes containing your decorations. The majority of these decorations are small statues and interestingly shapes vases you picked up while thrift store hopping. There's not much you can do with them now without any furniture to arrange them atop. What you're really looking for is your decorative pillows and throw blankets protecting the glass vases that you can use to at least try to pretty up the couch a bit more.
You find it almost a bit funny that you're once again sleeping on a couch. After Beatrix managed to effectively harass you out of the house you and your former bandmates used to live in you had to resort to couch surfing around town and the nearest city you knew a couple people living in. The difference between then and now is that you actually know when you'll be able to sleep in a proper bed again. Though this time is entirely dependent on when you manage to get around and buy yourself a mattress.
With the couch dolled up in new blankets and the rest folded up to the side, you start to break down the cardboard boxes as you [[move on to the bedroom->Bedroom Boxes]].Thankfully, you have considerably fewer boxes stuffed into the corner of your soon-to-be bedroom. Lined up against the far wall is the series of boxes containing your older clothing beyond the day-to-day essentials you already have hanging in your closet, art supplies, and your computer.
Furniture-wise, you have a lot less to consider. All you anticipate needing is a bed, hopefully one on a frame this time as opposed to a mattress on the floor, some side tables and a desk with a chair so as to actually make your computer usable. You feel less concerned with aesthetic or logistical considerations for your bedroom, no one will really be here looking at it. More than anything you feel a rising streak of excitement over the prospect of getting to select a comforter set and possibly even splurge on some blankets.
You, however, yet again have a job to do here and that job is tackling the clothing boxes. You plop yourself down beside the first of the boxes and begin the steady work of pulling each and every garment on a hanger or in an orderly pile for what cannot be hanged. Towards the bottom of the third box you find one of your old bulky leather jackets, the one with spider webs handpainted on the collar and winged rats in flight on the back.
Beatrix's handiwork.
You remember exactly when she gave this to you - on your first Christmas together as a couple (and subsequently the first Christmas you both and the rest of your former bandmates spent as a group). You had given her a photo book of assorted photographs you had taken of her and the group during high school up until then. She loved it. And you loved the jacket she made you. She'd even collaborated with the rest of the band and the larger friend group who joined you that Christmas to make unique buttons and patches. It was one of the few holidays where no one ended up screaming at any one else. Where no one did anything absurdly stupid or dangerous for no reason. You were all a family in that house.
It hurts the more you dwell on it past that.
Now for the last two boxes - your art supplies and camera equipment. There's not much you can do except set the supply organizers aside out out of their boxes, but the simple act of doing so ignites a spark of creativity and hope within you. Hope for all the magnificent creative possibilities out there for new projects and home decorations.
With the worst, or simply most tedious, aspect of unpacking gone and done with, all that remains is that [[kitchen->Clearing Kitchen 2]].Now that you've defeated the more painful and procrastination-prone task, all that remains is a bit of tidying up and, given the late hour, fixing yourself some dinner.
As you start the process of gathering the discarded take-out containers and empty plastic bags, you reflect on how you've never really learned how to cook much of anything. Your entire life there had always been someone to cook for you when you could have learned, either out of obligation or genuine personal passion. Under all other circumstances, you resorted to the tried and true method of lazy microwave meals.
Back when you lived here with your former bandmates, it was Gil who loved to cook. He was constantly in the kitchen experimenting with different dishes he'd come across online and new permutations of past meals. More often weekly than not, you would all endeavor to get together and have something of a dinner party. You loved the way he cooked pasta most of all. With the sheer diversity of sauces, meats and vegetables he'd throw together in each dish it felt like something entirely new each time. The kitchen was a real sacred place for him. Just being in there seemed to light him up like nothing else, transforming this otherwise stoic punk into a ball of excitable warmth.
Last time you had contact with Gil he didn't cook much anymore. He became far too worn down and tired all the time after years of grueling work and an addictive personality catching up to him.
Perhaps you should try to cook something for yourself non-frozen tonight. You might as well start learning now if you have to eventually.
Searching the cabinets your options are, predictably, limited. Your grocery shopping since moving in has been limited to easily prepared frozen meals with the least amount of steps possible involved in preparation. You do, however, find a box of generic pasta and some butter you can at least lie to yourself about being 'sauce.'
As you cook you put on some instrumental scores from some of your favorite films back in your early college years. For all your work fighting against the unearthly allure of procrastination, you deserve to [[enjoy your night->Enjoy]].With your butter pasta of acceptable quality in hand, you make way over to your newly blanket-decked couch and curl up on it. Before you eat, you're sure to load up one of your favorite newly released shows to watch on your phone which you prop up against the arm rest.
All of this - all of living here again - is a new era for you. An end of an era of uncertainty and unsteady in-betweens into the process of forging something new.
You have little here to make this space livable, but it's all yours. And you already feel safe here. You feel free to build yourself your own personal haven right here on your own terms. A testament to your hard work these past several years. A sign that you deserve something good after everything.
You will make yourself a home.