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BJ

Moving sucked under the very best of circumstances.

Even when I came to this city, starting my brand-new job, living in a place where, for the first time, I could be little whenever I wanted to and didn’t have to hide—even then, it sucked.

And that was a move I wanted to make. This was far from that.

There was something about the place that created a safe environment and my new location, and I could set them up again, but it wouldn’t be the same. It never would come close. Each place had its own personality, its own character, its own history.

I wouldn’t have the same people saying hello to me as I walked in.

I wouldn’t have the one spot that was always just a little bit warmer in the kitchen, where I could go and stand on days that I was chilled from the winter weather.

I wouldn’t even know how to set the shower right without looking for a while.

It was all gonna be different.

And I told myself that it was fine. That I could do this.

That I could handle it. I was lucky, after all.

I had the means to find a new place. I was far from well off, but I had enough for first, last, and deposit while having enough to pay the movers and put all the deposits on my utilities. I was much better off than most.

I found one that would suit me without too much trouble. Better yet, as far as I knew, everybody in my building had figured out something. No one was going to be homeless or distraught, which, given the fact I was one of the youngest in the building by decades, was no big feat.

It still sucked.

Could I have saved money and recruited some help from my coworkers?

Sure. But I’d been to more than my share of quote, “moving parties,” and I hated them.

Moreover, everyone else hated them too. And honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to be on edge, worried that maybe a box would open that shouldn’t, or that I’d forgotten to pack something that might show them my little side.

I was fully cognizant of the fact that I shouldn’t be embarrassed by who and what I was. I wasn’t, not really, but the people around me wouldn’t understand. Some things were just best not dealt with. This was one of them.

I taped up the last of the boxes, stacked and labeled them based on the room they were going in.

I could hardly say Onesies on the one with the little clothes, but Bedroom would do the job.

That was one of the nice things about moving to some place with the same number of rooms my old place had.

It was pretty easy to label what went where.

The moving company came exactly on time.

They seemed nice enough, and I immediately got out of their way and drank coffee with Betty.

We sat in the hallway, pretending we were just chatting, but also kind of keeping an eye on the movers in case they had questions.

It was much better than standing in the apartment and dodging them every time they came through with a box or a dresser.

Betty was moving out at the end of the week.

She’d bought a house near her granddaughter and was going to get to spend time with her great grandbabies.

She said this actually turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to her.

And I was glad for her. It was going to be weird not having her close by.

The buzz came over all our phones at once, indicating severe weather was coming in thirty minutes. Excellent.

The movers rushed, getting everything outside and into the truck quickly before coming back inside, where we waited it out. Betty made them tea and chatted their ears off. I was pretty sure they were having a decent time, but I was equally sure my bill was growing by the minute.

The storm left as quickly as it came and, less than an hour later, we were driving to my new place.

I’d been there early that morning and cleaned as best I could with the time I had. The landlord had broom swept it, but not much more. I told myself it was fine, that it would be all dirty and dusty again when all the boxes came, anyway. I still wished I had felt accomplished.

Moving it into the new place was faster than getting everything loaded into the truck. The stairs were not as narrow. The parking was much easier. And there weren’t three other people moving at the same time. I was relieved when it was all in.

“Thank you.” I signed off on the paperwork and headed inside with Stu. He’d been sitting in the cup holder of my car for longer than I’d liked, but he looked no worse for it.

“Let’s find you your home first. There’s a spot in the kitchen where the light hits that I think you will like.” It wouldn’t be good long-term—too much humidity with the cooking, but it was perfect for now.

“You stay here, and I’m going to unpack.”

I started with the clothes, figuring that would be the easiest and would make me feel accomplished. It did. Those boxes were put away quickly and easily.

But, as I looked around the bedroom, I realized that the box holding my crayons wasn’t there.

My heart thumped in my chest. I was worrying for nothing. Or so I told myself. It was probably in the other room. It wasn’t like it could get lost. Right? Wrong.

I opened every box in the living room, but they were all exactly as labeled. Same with the kitchen. Same with my office.

The box was gone. The only one that mattered, nowhere to be found.

Tears built in my eyes. If ever there was a time I needed Daddy to wrap his arms around me, this was it, because inhaling was hard, everything tight, every breath aching.

They were gone.

I called the moving company and left a message. I sent an email, too, probably sounded like I’d lost my mind, given my erratic breathing and poorly covered-up sobbing.

I didn’t care what they thought. It was my box.

Grabbing my keys, I raced back to my old place, glad that the landlord was there dealing with another tenant. He helped me check my former home, but it was just as empty as I remembered.

And then, because I was throwing spaghetti at the wall, I pulled out my phone and mentioned it in multiple groups on social media—just seeing if anybody from my old place had found it, or my new place, or the new-to-town people.

Because, heck, maybe someone used the same moving company and they got my box by accident. Stranger things had happened.

Betty even helped me print out fliers and put on the community board both here and my apartment building. Heck, I even put one up at the grocery store when I grabbed a few frozen meals to tide me over until my kitchen was fully set up.

It had to be out there.

There was no way it wasn’t.

And I needed to get it back.