|
Compared to where we are, it sounds like heaven. Our house here is ten feet from the next house, yet we’ve never met our neighbors. At night the neighborhood is filled with sounds of dogs barking and people swearing. Even when it’s hot, I’ve stopped opening the windows. I take Morgen to the park nearby and I have to clean up broken bottles and watch little seven-year-olds play-fight and swear at each other, their parents nowhere in sight.
Maybe that’s why we have very little loyalty to this place, and why it’s so easy to leave. We’ve lived in Duluth longer than any other place, our daughter was born here, and we own a house here. We should want to stay. We should feel attached. But we don’t.
We feel no regret when we walk out of our house for the last time and close the door behind us. It hasn’t sold yet, but the realtor will show it for us, and she’s sure it will have no trouble selling at the price we’re asking, just enough to repay the bank what we owe. I feel a slight twinge of nostalgia because this is the house where Morgen came into our lives, but beyond that, I feel nothing for it. It’s part of a chapter of our lives that has come to a close.
And a new one—an exciting one, a meaningful one—is beginning.
Year Ten
Three Things
The first night in our little cabin on the edge of Grand Marais I notice, above all else, three things: the air, the quiet, and the stars. I must admit that air is something I never expected to notice. But when I step outside after unpacking a kitchen box, I’m struck immediately by the crispness of it. I stand on the front steps, close my eyes, and breathe it in, savoring it.
My eyes are closed for several minutes before I realize that the whole time I’ve been outside I haven’t heard a single car. Our cabin is just off of the main road into town, and it’s only ten o’clock; it’s hard to believe there’s no traffic. I listen. And I realize that the quiet runs even deeper than that. There are no sirens wailing in the distance, no hum of industry in the background. It’s simply peaceful.
I open my eyes then and look around. It’s dark, and the line of trees that surrounds the house is even darker. But the sky is alive with shining, twinkling stars. I had forgotten about stars! It’s a casualty of light pollution that in a city, they disappear. Every once in a while we’d catch a glimpse of one, twinkling faintly, but never like this. How wonderful that we’ve brought Morgen to a place where she will experience them.
I promise myself at that moment, standing on the stairs in front of the little cabin on the edge of this little town, that I will never forget to appreciate these things that have hit me tonight. No matter how busy I get or how many years we live here, I will always appreciate the clean air, the peaceful quiet, and the stars in the night sky. Always.
The Greater Good
I wake up to my obnoxious alarm clock, beeping so loud and out of place in the peacefulness that for a moment I don’t know where I am. Then, I remember. I’m in our new life.
I turn the alarm off, hoping it didn’t wake Scott, but he opens his eyes.
“Good morning,” he says with a smile. “Do you want me to make coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He climbs down the loft ladder, and I lie back down in the middle of the double mattress and stare up at the ceiling. It’s only a few feet above me at its highest peak, and it angles down toward the sides, where our clothes are stacked in neat piles on the floor. It was a chore getting the mattress up here. It must have looked hilarious, Scott and I balancing it, heaving it up. It fits, but barely. It takes up most of the space up here. But it works, and it’s cozy. There’s a tiny window at the head of the bed where my stained glass butterfly fits perfectly.
I sit up and crawl over to my clothes, choose what I'm going to wear, and bring it back over to the mattress so I can dress without banging my head. Scott appears at the top of the ladder, holding the rail with one hand and a cup of steaming coffee in the other.
I lean forward and take the cup from him. “Thank you.”
“Morgen’s up,” he says. We can hear her stirring in her little room. I pull the blanket over the mattress to keep the loft looking tidy and crawl down the ladder into the main room. Sun pours in through the tall windows and the smell of fresh, strong coffee fills the air.
As I do my hair and put on my make-up, Morgen buzzes around the cabin, setting up her little toys in corners of the living room. She has chosen to wear all pink again today, my least favorite color. Her pants are an inch too short on her long legs, I note, but they fit around her tiny waist. We can check out the thrift store sometime this week and see if there are any clothes that fit her better. Maybe Scott can take her while I’m at work.
58/83 首页 上一页 56 57 58 59 60 61 下一页 尾页
|
