Moving Day

"Sweetie, don't forget to get the last box please, it's over in the corner." He said, pointing to a box marked fragile filled with carefully wrapped crystal hangings and folded lilac curtains.

"Yes, my love I won't forget," I replied.

Did I say how much I love that man? After ten years of marriage, the bass in his voice still strums the strings that make my heart sing. I can't believe that I ever wanted to be with his cousin! But that is a long story, more of that later.

The rays from the sun beamed brightly through the open kitchen window. Spring had arrived with warm sweet air nestled in its arms. This morning felt different, our windows lay bare, no curtains or blinds to stop the outside world from looking in. I could hear Devon's conversation with the next door neighbor and the chatter of the children as they hurriedly made their way to school. The familiar sounds of the neighborhood were overwhelming. An uninvited feeling of sadness washed over me. My knees buckled and my head felt dizzy.

"Maybe I'm dehydrated," I thought aloud.

I was exhausted; we had been packing for over three weeks now. Everything was moving so fast, I needed time to process it all. Was my body trying to tell me something? Whatever the case may be, I could not resist taking one last seat at my favorite table.

There it was wedged in the corner of our kitchen; it beckoned me like an old friend. I gave in and sunk down into that familiar space. When we first moved here, I never imagined I would have grown to love this place so much. This table, "our" beloved kitchen table served us well. Devon, my husband, studied many nights here. I used it for my art and sewing projects. I remembered the babies eating their first meal here and the many a messes I had to clean up. As a matter of fact, if you look close enough, you can still see where Samuel our five-year-old wrote I love mom with a permanent marker. His twin sister Leah followed suit and decided to carve her love note filling it with glitter and glue for added flare. I was so upset that day, but their father said to leave it alone because they were just "expressing themselves". He even went as far as to say, "It gives the table character."

When we first moved here, we had no furniture. We resorted to sitting on the floor and eating our meals low to the ground. It was a challenge at first, but Devon and I would tell stories to ease our discomfort. In one of my tales I re-imagined our family as Bedouins in the Middle East. He was the sheik and I was his alluring, hip-shaking, beautifully adorned queen.

Our urban family home became a lavish tent in the midst of the Arabian Desert. Long gauzy curtains flowed shimmering in pastel colors from the windows; they were perfect for style but failed to keep the winter frost out. The floor was softened with oversized pleated aqua and chocolate colored pillows. Nothing like a deal from the local thrift shop! Our backsides were grateful nonetheless.

We lived just off of Jamaica Bay in Queens, New York. Winters were harsh. Coincidently, we moved to this house in the winter, just in time for cold hardwood floors and frozen pipes. Oil prices were high and early on we decided that we would compensate for the frigidity inside by layering our clothing instead of turning up the heat. Yes, I know it sounds cheap, but Devon prefers the term frugal—the things you do for love. There were many days I was tempted to go and ask my parents for a space heater, but I didn't want to do anything that would embarrass my husband. He worked hard to provide for us and what's a little frostbite to a couple wildly in love?

Devon would often scout more affluent neighborhoods for 'curbside alerts.' After a few short weeks of enjoying 'tent life,' he struck gold, this very dining table. We cleaned it up of course, sanitized it, sanded it down and gave it a fresh coat of paint.

Over the years, Devon proved his love time and time again. He is so patient and kind; he often helped me with my projects no matter how far out they were. Every room in the house had a different color and theme; our bedroom, for example, was painted in a vibrant butternut squash, Devon always laughed when I called it that he would often say "come on Jackie, it's yellow, plain ol' yellow."

We were young, gifted and had more time than we did money. I often wondered how we managed to get married at all, especially after the big scandal, but as the time passed, I grew to love and accept him.

We were the talk of the block that year; everyone wondered how two college grads could afford this nice home. There were so many rumors circulating around the neighborhood it was ridiculous. We still don't know for sure who started them but, I had my suspicions.