Steps

Thursday evening was the first big step. Not that other, actually more important steps had not already been taken: the hunting, the signing, and the paperwork — oh, the paperwork! But these steps are largely cerebral, intellectual, and not grounded in the reality of the physical world.

Thursday evening was real.

It took aproximately an hour and a half to empty the contents of a ten by ten foot storage locker onto the auto trailer, the back of his Dakota, and the backseat and trunk of his parents’ car.

Since most of the stored materials were containerized in Rubbermaid totes, the easiest part (but not the quickest part) was creating a ring of containers around the outside edge of the trailer, against the low railing, and then filling in the center of the trailer with additional layers of totes. Rain was a possibility, so having the totes on the open trailer was a logical choice.

The only way to secure any cargo to the trailer was by lashing with a fifty foot rope, in a back and forth fashion from one side of the trailer to the other. Each pass of the rope would span across a row of container lids. This was done by his father, while he worked on organizing the bed of the pickup.

The pickup bed, being like pickup beds everywhere, with a contained bed, was chosen to carry those items light enough to blow from the trailer, or awkward enough to not fit the containerized structure on the trailer, or fragile enough to require an active suspension. This included empty computer boxes, a Casio keyboard, the ironing board, boxes of knicknacks, and large hand tools like the saw and sledgehammer.

As the rope was used on the trailer, and because much of the pickup cargo was lightweight, it was tarped with a cheap plastic canvas. A few feet larger than the truck bed in each direction, it was tucked down between, and sometimes under, the boxes and the sidewall. To prevent it from flapping away across the highway it was bungied in an X-fashion, with an extra cord across the back around the upright vacuum cleaner.

Into the car then went those things simply too bizarre from a cargo point of view to share the other spaces: a large, framed poster, a large woven basket from Africa, a woven Chinese hat, a large knurled wood cane, a trashbag full of Tupperware. These items and more were strategically placed in the rear of the vehicle by his mother, at his direction.

The freight caravan was ready to debark.

Four days of locker rent paid to the man, locker padlock in hand, he called ahead to the homeowners letting them know he was on his way. He also returned a call to Dave, his auto-racing friend, and invited him and his wife to join in the unloading.

The drive was slow, but uneventful; the cargo was well secured, and the weather held off the rain. Twenty minutes later finds him backing and maneuvering the fifteen foot trailer into and up the driveway of what, God favoring, would soon be his new home.

The homeowner arrived with a key just as he set the parking brake and switched off the motor. Bill and Dee, friends of the family, arrived moments later and the unloading commenced. Totes on one wall, boxes on another, odd shaped things on this shelf; the garage rapidly filled.

When the trailer emptied, he climbed into the back of the pickup and passed down all of the boxes to waiting arms. When only small things remained, these were all offloaded at once into a pile beside the truck, and people, helpers, grabbed what they could in each trip and made short work of all of it.

His racing friends arrived, just in time for nothing.

The homeowner was very generous. She offered that he could show his friends the new home, and even offered that he could take the garage opener, in case that the homeowner were tied up in court on Friday, or that if closing didn’t happen on Friday then he could still move furniture in.

The homeowner left, and under the pretense of his giving a tour, his mother proceeded to show off the house to all gathered.

The door from the garage opens into a utility room, with a countertop on the interior (homeward) wall, a window on the opposite wall, and the washer and dryer on the far wall. This room is decorated in a hideous wallpaper and carpet, and the washer and dryer are arranged in such a way that much of the space of the room is wasted. He described how he’d like to move the appliances to the interior wall, and put counter along the other two walls, maybe including a deep sink for cleanup of garage projects.

From the utility room you enter the kitchen. A newly remodeled, very modern kitchen. Fine oak cabinetry with built in microwave hutch and dishwasher, double-basin sink, new large-capacity refridgerator, and a breakfast bar..kinda. For all the attraction of the kitchen, the breakfast bar extends out from the exterior wall adjacent to the door to the backyard (which is adjacent to the utility room wall). It creates an awkward space, one that will be difficult to utilize. He talks about removing it, despite the loss of storage space from underneath it, and instead having a small kitchen table be the center of the room.

The tour continues to the dining room, then living room, hallway, bedrooms, bath, and office, back to the dining room and the kitchen. Each room surveyed and praised by all. Each room not quite perfect, with his notes on the changes he would make, and suggestions from the guests. He is not overly enthused. In fact, the longer he is in the house, the more depressed he becomes. At first he tries to hide it, and it is easy, as people’s attention is on the home. But when the tour ends in the backyard and there is no more to see, his friends begin to take small notice.

Robin, the wife of his racing friend asks, “So, do you think this is better than your apartment was?” The question, had it been asked by anyone else, would have been rhetorical and caused a comedic effect. However, Robin asked it with just enough sincerity to give him the option of an honest reply.

He thought about his answer. When it came, it was measured and controlled. “It’s a lateral move,” was all he said, and she nodded her understanding without fully comprehending or invading.

Dave, a tall man, pointed out, “I can see light from your attic.” Not normally a catastropic remark, but he was standing in the backyard at the time. He and Robin moved to join Dave where he stood, and sure enough, the roof was not tightly fixed to the house, or some weathersealing was not properly applied, and bright was the glare emanating through slits from the lightbulb in the attic.

“Its just another thing,” he sighed and gently chuckled, his spirit for the whole thing rapidly waning.

The helpers all left shortly thereafter, and he stood in dazed blue funk with one foot propped on his bumper and regarded the house over his right shoulder. He couldn’t face it squarely, his circumspect view suited to his feelings of the moment. His parents offered empty encouragements but nothing could reach the sense of unease that seemed to capture him.

Night was falling, and he had a committment to get back to his home and get on the computer, to play a networked computer game with his nephew in Phoenix, who was celebrating his birthday today. The drive was uneventful, and it

was easy to hide, then lose, his funk in an electronic world of pseudo-violence and witty reparte’.