While You Were Gone III

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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My tradition has been to write you a year in reflection at the official close of the year. I thought it made a little more sense to write you after your deathiversary. The timing seems to fit, and the end of last year was such a shit show of stress. You know how we always talked about running away and living on the beach? Well, I did. I literally ran away from New York, only to buy a condo by the sea in Puerto Rico. Go figure.

Though this week, even though I’ve been down here for fifteen months really solidified the move. No longer wanting to fork out the hundreds of dollars for storage, I got rid of everything, keeping only a few boxes of things I couldn’t toss. The good news is everything I gave up is going to charity, so it gets a second life and possibly makes another person happy. There was one mistake you could posisbly be angry about, but I have to tell you…

I didn’t expect the moving crew to arrive on time, so I only allowed myself an hour to look through boxes. Once they showed up it was a rush to get boxes out of the unit, on the truck and out of my sight. The rush meant quickly peaking in boxes. One thing I didn’t look in was the nightstand drawers. It was several hours later and one-hundred-seventy-four miles away that I realized what was in the top drawer. Your jewelry. The things Sally kept for you while Cort was being drama and you were on your way out of this place.

In my rush, I didn’t open the drawers because they were tied shut. I knew the sheets were inside and forgot all about what was underneath them. My efforts to retrieve them were futile. The company which collected the furniture was so efficient, everything was gone before I even called. I feel incredibly guilty, even though I imagine at this point you’d tell me it doesn’t matter; what use do you have for any of that stuff?

One more confession, I feel a bit guilty, maybe sad, that on this third anniversary I didn’t shed a tear or even really feel much of anything. Either your absence is beginning to sink in or I’ve fortified the wall I so enjoy. Either way, you really have missed a bunch. In short: New friends, new home, new island, new adventures and a lot of bitching.

Though you aren’t forgotten, even if I lost your things. You once mentioned after Aunt Leesa’s death that you knew she was around because of the yellow butterflies you would see. I thought you were full of it and still do, but I think of you every time I see one of them now. Well played.

Time keeps plugging along.