Everything I own is in my car. Didn’t think that would actually happen. Thankfully, Nikolas is better at Tetris than I am, because we manage to cram all my belongings into my 2001 Subaru station wagon. Can’t think of a more finite way of ending one chapter of my life than that.
Once loaded, my car remained in that condition for a week. Nik and his wife Brittany allowed me crashed on their couch until my orders permitted me to move home. It’s odd that I was separated from the military but still AWOL if I left early. It was a long time coming and I was glad to be off base permanently.
That week ended up being one of the coldest that winter. Clothes and blankets insulated my belongings from the bitter Chinook winds. Since I had a week to kill, I still made my regular treks to get out of the house. A coffee house, Subway, just about any of the usual haunts that let me keep my car in site.
The memory of that week came back to me last week, when I saw a Ford Taurus packed in a similar manner. I could tell by the brief glimpse inside that I realized what I had done out of necessity wasn’t the case for the driver. Every available space was littered with papers in boxes, like a library of loose-leaf material. It left me puzzled. Do people have such a disregard for their belongings that littering to the point of safety hazards?
Of course the answer is yes, but it none the less sat ill with me. Was this person merely in-transit the way I was all those years before? Was there a story worth telling? Could I actually write it if it was?