Next Chapter Please

A little over two years and two weeks ago, I stood in one of my favorite places in the world, trying to make sense of the emotions I was feeling.

It was an uncharacteristically warm, sunny, March Monday in Pennsylvania. I was supposed to have been on my way to Utah and should have been at least in Indiana. My car had other plans. Subsequent to having dumped a grand into it the week before, Sunday brought me the devastation of a glowing orange “check engine” light.

With tears in my eyes, I dropped her off again at the mechanic’s. Then after sulking for most of the day and in an effort to take my mind off of the fiasco, my mother took me out to dinner. Upon completion, we drove to my PA mecca of peace. The Gettysburg Battlefield.

As we parked behind the Pennsylvania Monument, twilight was unfurling one of its greatest miracles on us. A thoroughfare of freedom beat… across the wilderness!*

I stood on the granite structure and although the anxiety was literally nauseating me, I was eager for the change. Both of my friends, melancholy and excitement, had shown up to support me in another transition.

Last night as twilight approached, my companions dropped by once again. In front of a fully opened window, I stood in the kitchen of my third floor apartment, watching the passing cars, and breathed in the last two years.

If I had to name a best friend of this chapter in my development, my apartment would be it. I have come to love this place and everything it stands for.

It’s my dumpy, no dishwasher, one wall is cinder block, have to drag my laundry to a laundromat, haul all of my groceries up three floors apartment.

Two years I’ve been living there. Seven months on my own now. And my best friend indicates to me everyday how blessed I am. EVERY DAY.

I’m reminded how I have a job good enough to afford living on my own. I remember how nice it is to clean and have it remain clean until I dirty it again. Showers are no longer a must especially after a tough long day… when a bath is calling your name.

I wake up when I’m finished sleeping on Saturday mornings. Not when my roommates start making too much noise. It's my refuge. It's my freedom. It's my independence.

And the view… three floors of lugging, heaving, yanking, and towing… but the view of the valley.

In the winter while the snow falls, the blanketed world seems peaceful. In the Fall and Spring when it’s midnight and raining, the traffic lights turn the roads and my living room into a hypnotic show of green, yellow, and red. Green. Yellow. Red.

And my personal favorite. In the summer at dusk, the sun reflects off the buildings’ windows and blazes as a fierce flaming gold fire.

I have laughed there. I have cried there. I have loved there.

Last night, I could have been on a granite monument in Pennsylvania as I gazed out my kitchen window with melancholy and excitement.

Two weeks will bring me to a new house, 3 roommates, and a significantly decreased rent (allowing me to travel more.)

I became an “adult” in college. I matured in this apartment. And I will miss my best friend.

*America the Beautiful