Before could close the door, she caught sight of another person down the hallway, headed in her direction. She was a young girl, with rainbow striped knee socks, long black shorts, and a ripped jean jacket. waited patiently as the girl approached. She had heavy piercings and tattoos, but when she spoke her voice was timid and shy. “Are you the person moving to London?” she asked.
“That’s me,” said.
“Is the blender still available?” the girl asked.
“I think so,” said, wondering what the hipster couple had already claimed. She opened the door wider and once again stepped out of the way, allowing the girl to enter.
Maybe this is going to work, thought. The rain didn’t seem to keep interested buyers away.
The morning passed quickly, and soon there were only a few items left. The rolled up carpet in the corner of the room sat untouched. The couch was accounted for, but she had to wait for the buyer to return with a friend and a pick up truck. Several kitchen items, but not many, sat on the counter.
I guess I’ll need that air mattress, thought, looking around her bare apartment. I hope Sandy can bring it by tonight.
Her apartment seemed so much bigger now that most of the furniture was gone. There were still bags of clothes that she had to take to Good Will, lining one wall. She’d taken down all of her pictures and wall hangings. The space seemed incredibly foreign all of a sudden.
It was like a cocoon, this apartment, she thought, walking along one bare wall, running her fingertips along the cool surface. She trailed her fingers along the wall and walked toward the bedroom. And now it’s falling away from me.
The wood floor in the space where her bed had been was perfectly polished, and there was an outline of faded wood around the perimeter, where she’d walked around the bed to go to the closet, the dresser, or out to the bathroom.
How many times did I get in and out of that bed? she thought. How many times did my feet pass along this wood?
She walked along the perimeter as if it was a tightrope, one foot in front of the other. Then she moved to the middle, and sat down cross-legged on the polished wood.
A meditative stillness passed over her as she felt the strangeness of the empty bedroom.
This isn’t my home any more, she thought. This isn’t my sanctuary. My cocoon.
It’s time for a new chapter.
The sound of a knock on her door echoed through the room. She heaved herself wearily to her feet. The day had seemed so long already, and she longed for the sale to be over. She had no more energy for negotiating, small talk, or giving up her belongings to strangers. But she knew that the couch-buyer had promised to return, and she felt obligated to follow through with the deal.
Or maybe it’s another shopper, she thought, and they’ll buy the food processor, or the coffee maker, or—
She was still running through the last of the items that she wanted to sell as she pulled the door open.
It wasn’t the couch-buyer.
It wasn’t a new shopper.
It was Martin.