A Different Blue(81)

I presented him with a check for six hundred dollars the next day and told him I was on to him

and to knock off the extras because I couldn't afford them, and I wasn't taking freebies. I

loaded up my tools, discontinued my lease of the storage space, and gathered up my few

belongings from Cheryl's. It was probably the easiest moving day in the history of moving days.

Cheryl was a little surprised but not especially emotional. She seemed a little worried that she

might not be able to pay all the bills that month but was considering possible roomates by the

time I left. I wondered if I would see her again. I wrote down my new address and told her she

had my number if she needed to reach me. She nodded, replying, “You too.” And that was all.

There was a huge dumpster at the edge of the complex, not far from where my truck was parked. I

looked down at the garbage sacks filled with my clothes, and then back at the dumpster. Soon I

wouldn't fit into most of my things, and they all stunk like Cheryl's apartment. I didn't want

to bring them into my new place. I wanted to fling them high and wide, letting them land in a

smelly heap on top of all the other trash. Tiffa had called me a few days before and told me

she'd sold three more of my pieces. Together the pieces had gone for a thousand bucks. I could

afford new clothes if I was thrifty. Tiffa said she would bring the check by Wilson's place when

I was settled. She seemed to have all the details on my big move, which both surprised and

pleased me. I liked that I warranted mention in Wilson's conversations.

I dug my boots and my shoes out of the bags, as well as a few other things I didn't want to part

with, and piled them on the passenger seat. I couldn't replace everything. Then with great

relish, I threw every last piece of clothing I owned away.





The very best thing about my apartment was the vent in the ceiling. If I stood beneath it, I

could hear Wilson playing his cello. I don't know why the sound traveled the way it did, but

once I discovered it, I placed the sagging recliner beneath the vent in the center of my tiny

living room, and I would sit there in the dark each night, rocking and listening as Wilson's

music whispered through the metal slats above me and wrapped me in sweetness. He would have

laughed to see me there, my face upturned, a smile on my lips, as he made the strings sing

without words. He played one particular melody every night, and I would wait for it, sighing

with satisfaction when the familiar tune found its way to me. I didn't know the name. I had

never heard it before, but every time he played it I felt like I had finally come home.

[page]The weeks following my move were the happiest I had ever spent. I hit the thrift shops and

the garage sales to furnish my new home and fill my new closet, and my wardrobe underwent a

drastic transformation. Gone were the skin tights jeans and low cut tops. Gone were the short

shorts and boob tubes. I found I liked color – lots of it – and dresses were cooler in Nevada

than even shorts, so the majority of my purchases were sundresses in happy shades and cool

fabrics, with the added bonus that there was room for my expanding midsection.

My home became my haven, a heaven, and I pinched myself everytime I returned. Even the fear of

what the future would bring did not dim my pleasure in my new place. If I saw something a a

garage sale that I could afford and it made me happy, I bought it. The result was a bright