Moving Out


Moving Out

By Hannah Silverman


I close the trunk of my car and stare out at the yard. It’s sad to think that after all these years, everything of value is stuffed into the small trunk of my car. Maybe not everything of value, the memories will stay. I’m surrounded by memories, both good and bad. I walk back into the house, for a chance to relive all the memories that I’m leaving behind. I walk up the stairs and into the kitchen. The kitchen where I taught my brother how to make mac and cheese, and where I would sneak down in the middle of the night for snacks. I walk into the dining room and sit in the chair by the window. 

I stare out at the driveway and think about the hours I spent in that chair waiting. Waiting for cars to pull into the driveway, waiting for friends to come over, waiting to be picked up, waiting for my family to come home. A place that never seemed significant, until I realized I would never be waiting there again. After taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I walk through the living room to go upstairs. I pause, to look at the gymnastics equipment that fills the room. Memories of my brothers showing off fill my head. I think about how they used to drag me in here to watch the new tricks they learned. 

I continue my walk to the stairs and go up to my room. It’s so different from the way it looks in my mind. The bed bare, the floor clean, the shelves stripped of their personality. Everything important is gone, packed away in my trunk. Waiting to be driven away to its new home. But how can it really be home without the memories? Tears swell in my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back. I collapse onto the bed and break down. 

I’m not ready to leave, but I don’t have a choice. All I can do is let myself remember all the reasons why home felt safe. I remember laying in bed with my brothers, watching movies until they were too tired to stay awake. I remember crying in bed with my best friend as I struggled to get over my first heartbreak. I remember dyeing my hair and accidentally staining everything purple. I remember painting on my dresser, and all the yelling that came after. I remember as much as I can, every bittersweet memory that comes to mind. 

I slowly make my way back to the car. I pause to look around the garage. I spent many hours here that I never appreciated. I spent time with my friends when they weren’t allowed in. I spent time doing chores that I put off until the last minute. I spent time in the car, eating food with my mom before going upstairs to pretend we hadn’t. So many memories that I’m leaving behind. I pull out of the garage and drive off to my new home. My last time doing this. My last time driving around the corner. My last time driving past that creepy house. My last time with all of these memories.