Boxes

The large boxes spread out on the grey-carpeted floor in the open living space. Meghan had moved in the last boxes into the shared townhouse. She had cleaned out her tiny studio apartment, leaving behind the old memories of a single life. Her long-time boyfriend, Phillip, had moved out of his larger two-bedroom apartment last week, and the townhouse had all his boxes spread out in the living room.

The pile of boxes was sealed up and almost untouched; it was waiting patiently for the new beginning. After dating for four years, the young couple had purchased a pretty three-story townhouse with a view over a neighborhood park. The townhouse had enough room for the couple, two cats, and a small parrot. The townhouse consisted of three rooms, two bathrooms, an ample living space on the second floor, and a basement-level room. Meghan felt overwhelmed by the large townhouse; she had never had much space in her small studio apartment with her two cats.

She turned around, and the echo of her step bounced off the walls. Soon, the townhouse would be full of their belongings and pets; however, the boxes stood there blankly, staring back at her, not moving or opening. Inside the boxes were the precious belongings of the young couple.

Phillip was at the office today, and she wanted to unbox her belongings and start setting up their place. The cats appeared on the staircase and suspiciously eyed her in the living room. The cats were still upset from being uprooted and driven across town. She slowly opened the first box. Inside was a picture of her and Phillip last year on their trip to visit his family in New York. She smiled at the fond memory. She placed the image on the empty shelf above the fireplace.

She turned and pushed another box to the middle of the room. She started to unbox; she pulled out a blue cashmere sweater she had gotten as a gift from Phillip. She held the sweater close; it was so soft. Phillip Had given her this sweater last Christmas; she had worn it all winter. She loved having something that reminded her of Phillip; she placed the sweater on the cold wooden floor. She unpacked the rest of the clothes she had packed in the box. She carried these upstairs and into the almost empty master bedroom. A king-size bed and a dresser were in the middle of the room. The room was open beside these items, with no pictures, bedside tables, rugs, or lamps. The walls were blank; it seemed to stare back at her blankly.

She placed the piles of clothes on the mattress; she had not unpacked the bedding. She walks out of the empty room and into the hallway where her cats are resting on the carpet, and they swiftly move out of the way as she moves down the hallway and trots down the stairs. She checks her phone, and she has a text message from Phillip. He was not going to be home until that evening. She quickly gives him a thumbs-up sign.

The boxes downstairs block the hallway from the living room to the kitchen. She quickly lifted one of the boxes and placed it aside. She opened another box of random plates, mugs, and other kitchen stuff. She put it in a large pill on the floor. She felt like she was breaking her life into boxes and piles. It is odd to think that your life comprises only stacks of boxes. Each holds a different part of her life and Phillip’s life. Should life not be made of something else? She picks up the chipped mug she used in college. She remembered her dreams as a college student and how many long nights of studying she had filled that mug full of black coffee. It seemed so long ago.