First to Go

Drew leaves tomorrow morning. In less than 10 hours actually. He is busy checking and rechecking and packing and repacking. And I am here. Watching as he checks and packs, occasionally offering suggestions, trying not to interrupt his groove. If he'd let me I'd pack every bag and go down the list and check and recheck. But this is his move and he has to do it. And so I sit.

Drew leaves tomorrow morning. With him, he'll take any illusions I had about some miraculous ending in which a Los Angeles studio calls and offers him a job on the spot, and we don't have to move after all. He'll take some of his things, his clothes, his toothbrush, and the other presence in a home that (much to my surprise) will turn out to be too quiet without the sound of Call of Duty in the living room.

Drew leaves tomorrow morning, and he says I'll hardly notice. That I'll be too busy with work and packing and wedding planning to miss him, and I'll be in Dallas before I know it and we'll be together again. He's right in that the next few weeks will fly by. But I will notice. In the morning, when there is no one to be quiet for as I slink around the room in the dark trying not to wake him as I dress for work. In the afternoon when I get home to find that the dishes are where I left them and there are no clothes on the floor. And at night, when I turn off the lights and curl up with....myself.

Drew leaves tomorrow morning. I'm going to go enjoy the last few hours we have together.