The Last Straw
Dear Z,
When we moved into this house, I couldn’t believe that we had stairs. It felt like a real home to have two separate spaces that we could theoretically each inhabit, taking little breaks for alone time. Rarely do we desire it, but it’s nice to know it’s there.
When we started getting water bugs, a glorious euphemism for family size cockroaches, the honeymoon was over. We saw one on our ceiling, then in our dog’s food bowl, and then, insult to injury, in our bed. For the past few months of this mild southern winter, they have been gone, but we know it’s simply been a tactical retreat, leading to another offense.
But then a neighbor’s car was stolen. It was used for an armed robbery, then promptly returned by the police. They kept it very clean though, a silver lining. A month or two later, a young mother of two turned on her car to warm it up, then ran back inside to collect her children. When she came back out, her car was gone too.
While a different kind of offense, we felt that it was the last straw when our carbon monoxide alarm went off. At about 11:30pm, we found ourselves calling 9-1-1, waking up a group of firemen so they could visit and assure us that we would not die from an invisible, odorless, poisonous gas.
Our pup may be confused, just over a year and a half and possibly soon embarking on the third move with her adoptive family. Our son won’t know any better, but I do regret that we plan to move so soon from the home we first carried him into from the hospital. It’s the home we became a family in, like it or not, and will remain a touchstone in our family history for the rest of our lives.
Someday, perhaps we’ll drive by this collection of townhouses and point out which was ours. Hopefully, the gate that my brother helped me install last month will still be here. Regardless, our son will be a little safer, our family will be a little closer to church and friends and the countryside. Maybe our rent will even be a little cheaper.
Yours,
S