It's different tonight.

The walls are stark white. My eyes scan across them and the only interest they find is the occasional nail where pictures once hung and the chunk missing from the doorway, snagged off during the move-in process. That missing chunk used to bother me. I tried to find ways to hide it, I thought about fixing it once, but never did. I hung pictures, put up shelves, and strategically placed sparkly pillows to divert attention. For the most part, my efforts worked.

I look at it tonight, differently. I see it, again, with nothing to distract my attention. I hear the sounds of Brandon and Dennis grunting up the stairs with my heavy furniture between them and reminders from my grandpa and dad with “watch the corners” almost always squeezed in there, as if they’d forgotten not to hit the wall. I feel my excitement to move into a new place in Livermore…in Downtown Livermore…with one of Brandon’s best friends. Will we get along? Will it be awkward? Will we hang out more? Will we get sick of each other? Yes. No. Yes. No. I see late night conversations over the phone with him…laughing, crying, and sharing with each other. I remember games of hide and seek with Sherry’s nephews and also with a random framed picture of Sherry’s friend, whom I’ve never met, that always showed up in the most perfectly random places (Sherry’s shower was one of my favorites). I see my future nephew sleeping on my futon because he just couldn’t stay up any longer for our dinner party put on by none other than the entertainer extraordinaire. I see late night donut wheel runs in our PJ’s and booglie-woogaling people who “might be one of [her] students”. I hear honks from family and friends who are driving by and also people just in a hurry…we can tell the difference between a friendly honk and one in a hurry. I’ll miss the train and the church bells, too. I see dancing to exercise videos with our blinds open and walking downtown to meet my parents, her parents, or Breanna at the Farmer’s Market. I see Bre stopping by to visit. I see my niece trick-or-treating for the first time in her kitty costume.

As I lay here and look at this missing piece in my wall, I find it hard to fill in the gash that makes this place uniquely mine and to cover up a catalyst for some of my most vivid memories. The lights are now off and I am no longer focused on the spot. I will find another way to so clearly remember this year, because there is nothing I want to forget. I plan to take it with me.

...And her too.