Moving Day

All of Jim’s belongings were left in a parking spot next to the old apartment where his key no longer worked. The landlord said he had two days to collect everything. So he went to facebook and asked for help collecting his belongings.

Jim’s oldest friend Bill answered the call. “I don’t have a place for you to stay, but I have a flatbed trailer to haul your shit.”

When Bill showed up, Jim was just staring at his whole life splayed out on the pavement like a yard sale people slowly drove past, but never stopped to buy. It was evident that not everything would fit on the trailer. He had to sift through and figure out what needed keeping.

Jim saw some Japanese lady on the TV one time who said to keep only the things that spark joy. Jim hadn’t felt a spark of joy since his daughter’s graduation some 12 years ago. It’s been a long grey slog through poverty.

Bill said, “So what happened? You lose your job or something?”

Jim said, “They raised the rent again.”

Bill said, “Dollar don’t go too far anymore.”

“You know me. I do my job. I’m good at my job. It just wasn’t enough anymore.”

“I know you’re a drunk and an asshole. But you have been at that Office Depot job for years,” Bill spat.

“You know me, Bill.” Jim looked again at the disarray of his belongings. “Help me get this bed.”

They loaded all the big stuff first: the bed, the coffee table, the drawers, the TV. The couch had to stay. It was pretty beat up, but comfortable as hell. The recliner, likewise, would have to stay.

The two old men were properly wiped from the moving.

“I’m not 32 anymore. That’s for sure,” said Jim.

Bill grumbled, “Don’t be a pussy.” He looked around at Jim’s belongings and said, “Look at this trash. I don’t know why you want to keep any of it.”

Jim was getting pretty sick of Bill’s attitude. “You know, you could do me this favor and not be a prick about it.”

“You’re calling me a prick? Fuck you, dude. I’m helping you out despite what you said at my wedding, despite you stealing my silver coins for beer money, despite you just being a general fuck up!”

“You know, dude, this is a pretty fucked up day. I’m scraping my life off the pavement here and you’re laying into me. Way to kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Well, Jim, I don’t know when to kick you, because you’re always down.”

Jim wanted to weep for his fall from mediocrity, but wouldn’t allow Bill the satisfaction. Instead, he kicked the bookshelf over, spilling papers and DVDs, a bible and other bullshit all over the parking lot. 

A photo album tumbled to the ground. Its pages fell open to his daughter’s first birthday; her smile shined through the cake smeared all over her face. There were people around smiling. He knew people then, and they didn’t think he was such a reprobate. He could support a family on a delivery driver’s wage. It was when the sun was brighter and the days were cooler, and the music that came out the radio made sense to him. He had hair and his liver was intact.

Bill said, “Good job, dipshit. Now we have to clean all this shit up.”

They moved everything over to the dumpster. Jim put the photo album in the cab of Bill’s truck.

That night he would sleep in the storage unit, and try to feel something good from the pages of the album, until the light drained from his phone.