To Love What is Mortal

Times New Roman

I pack in another load of flat boxes and toss them on the pile already taking up most of the free space on the living room floor. They land with a "crack" and I freeze, listening. The heavy breathing in the next room stalls and colorful curse words parade through my mind. But a few four letter words later, the light snoring resumes and my muscles relax.

My dad is sleeping in the room next door and I'd like to get this done before he wakes up. It isn't a small job for one person, packing up almost two decades' worth of memories, but there is a seventy-five percent chance that it is easier than the alternative. So I arm myself with a tape gun, assemble an army of boxes, and get started.

The most difficult part of this packing quest is deciding what to take and what to leave behind. We are moving from a spacious six bedroom home to a cramped two bedroom duplex that is already filled with someone else's furniture. I'm not complaining though. At least we have somewhere to go which wasn't the case a week ago.

I don't know how convinced I am that there is some higher power out there looking out for us and judging our actions. But when I accidentally opened a letter addressed to my dad, I was a devout believer in divine intervention for a solid thirty minutes. It was a foreclosure notice with a small black date telling me we had two weeks to find a new home. It felt like I had been hit in the gut with a 2x4. The air was sucked out of my lungs and I couldn't force them to refill. I knew things were bad. I'd just managed to get the power turned back on after getting ready for school by candlelight for two weeks. Our garbage was filled with generic mac and cheese boxes because we couldn't even afford to spring for Kraft. But I never expected this. It never even crossed my mind that a cold form letter was sitting innocently on the desk waiting to tell me that we are fourteen days from being homeless.

For a solid ten minutes, I just stood there letting wave after wave break over me, each bringing a new emotion. The first was shock, but that was fleeting. Sadness and mourning for everything we were about to lose. Fear. Where are we going to go? How am I going to find us a new place to live and find the money to pay for it in two weeks? Am I going to have to drop out of school? Not that I love school, but I am less than four months from graduating. Anger. How can they do this? How can some stupid letter in stupid Times New Roman font take everything from me? This is when I crumpled up the letter and threw it as hard as I could at the wall, which was less than satisfying because it was just a piece of paper.

Then the final emotion settled over me. Ah, my old friend Self-Loathing. How could I be so stupid? Did I think the house was just going to pay for itself? What did I think was going to happen when I didn't think to pay the mortgage? I couldn't even be bothered to make sure my dad and I had a roof over our head because all I wanted was light to get ready in the morning so I didn't look busted. Well, I'm going to look busted when I have to do my hair in a cardboard box. I let some stupid letter take away our home. How could one seventeen year old be so worthless?

My internal bashing got louder and louder until it was just a ringing in my ears. The pressure in my chest was incapacitating and only getting worse. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming until the salty metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I couldn't breathe. I needed air.

The screen door slammed behind me with a bang as I darted into the backyard and over to the old oak tree that stands half dead against the back fence. Air seemed to rip through my throat and lungs, offering no relief. I fell back against the tree, the rough bark scratching at any skin exposed by my T-shirt. It was all too much. Turning fast enough to blur the world around me, I slammed my fist into the rough bark of the tree. Instant relief. Again and again until my knuckles were raw and blood dripped from my fingers like water from a stalactite. I relish the pain of the bark splintering under my onslaught.