Everything that I owned and cared for was stuffed into a mere duffle bag and two carry-ons. It was a bit sad, really, that I could shuffle my belongings across the entire country in one load. Henry had taken most of “our” things including, but not limited to, the XBOX (he had left me with Wii, but took all of the WIi games), two pairs of pajama pants that my mother had bought us in preparation of living in a place that where Mother Nature celebrated winter, a few of my shirts that had been purchased in the men’s section for comfort reasons (when you’re a plus size girl, those skimpy frocks and short shorts only offer you a sense of embarrassment and insecurity), several books off of my bookshelf (he just had to keep them because they were among his favorites) and most of the blankets we’d shared (he’d always said that my body ran hot, therefore even in the cold, I’d be fine with my flimsy blanket that was so charged with static electricity that the sparks would fly when I moved it around in the dark).
I didn’t need the help that Harriet had insisted upon as she forced the two smaller bags off of my arms and onto her shoulder. It seemed to me that I was slightly more capable of holding on to them, but sometimes it’s better to not argue with a woman whose only company she keeps is Mr. Boston, her four cats, and her mother.
"Here honey, let’s get all this schtuff loaded into the trunk of the car." Harriet’s voice bordered on sympathetic baby talk, but had been worn down by cigarettes over the years so that each note scratched and clawed its way through her vocal cords and out of her mouth. Her friendly tone disappeared completely as she went on, "Ma’s parked outside. She can smoke a pack a day, but she can’t risk her health by walkin’ sixty feet into the airport."
There’s not much today, but I’ve got to get going. Maybe I’ll come back to it tonight.