47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 162

“The phone was in my roommate’s name. She had it disconnected when she moved out.” I paused and whispered, “And I don’t hang out over there anymore.” “Let’s go get you a cell right now,” he said. “There’s other things I need more than a cell phone, Kevin.” “What you need, Gorgeous?” “Help moving,” I said, then whispered, “and money, $800.” KC shocked me when he cracked up laughing. “Aw, hell naw, Boo, I’m the one you call when you need a body moved, not when you need no damn furniture moved.” He gave me the money I needed, but I never forgave him for not giving me the muscle. That day was the last day I’d speak to him. Back then, I was barely 135 pounds, but I hoisted those boxes up on my head and shoulders like I moved furniture for a living. I folded my mattress in half like a one-piece-of-bread sandwich and shoved that badboy through the narrow front door. Out there on the lawn, I shoved and shoved it with my foot till I got it to the Uhaul. Because I didn’t have a toolset, I kicked and kicked at the bedframe’s screws until finally I disassembled it. Angling my big desk through the narrow doorframe was a rhinoceros too. The darn legs didn’t screw off. The darn drawers kept sliding out, too, and I’d long ago run out of packaging tape to tape them closed. It took seven hours to get everything boxed up and out of the apartment. But, even with that done, I still had a ton to do. Get all the posters off the wall. Get all the pieces of masking tape used to affix all the posters to the wall off the wall. Get everything out of the refrigerator: toss the condiments, wipe out the flaky onion and garlic skins left in the vegetable bins. It was 3 a.m. by the time I was finished. As for the Uhaul—not only did 154


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