Movin' right along...

Roomie moved out yesterday. I can’t believe a year has passed, it’s incredible.

I had put on scrubby clothes and was contemplating a walk to the Brentwood Farmers Market when Roomie and her boyfriend came home to get a load and I ended up tagging along with them to their new place. I ended up helping them all day, hanging pictures, cleaning, putting sheets on their bed. In the balmy California heat we sweat in their apartment, taking breaks for pita and dip and ice cold water. Later, we sang her Happy Birthday as we surrounded and peered down at an eight-inch cheesecake with one lonely candle lit and wavering in the afternoon sun. We laughed when we got to the part of the song where we sang her name, because we all had different names for her. Out spat four different variations of the name of the Roomie that has been so good to me.

That afternoon Roomie’s dad gave me the important task of standing outside our apartment to make sure his car didn’t need to be moved since he was parked in someone else’s drive way. I clutched his car keys tight in my hand and sat in the back of the SUV like a puppy dog waiting to go for an exciting car ride. He came outside to load a heavy piece of furniture and said to me casually, “So, are you moving? I had heard rumors that you were moving somewhere far away, like Afghanistan or something.”

“No, I’m not moving. I’m staying right here,” I laughed nervously. “I was sort of giving myself a quarter life crisis, but I’ll be here.”

He laughed, too. “Well, sometimes running away isn’t going to fix it. You know that, right?”

Fix what? What did this guy know that I didn’t? For some reason, I started to get choked up because whatever he was saying made so much sense in that moment and it was just what I needed to hear.

“Joanna, you’ve been thrown a curve ball. That’s all. You’re going to come out of this just fine.”

He paused, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to tear up in front of my Roomie’s tough dad.

“It’s just a curve ball, Joanna. You’ll come out of it, you know that, right?”

He looked at me until I nodded. End of conversation.

That night we went out for drinks at our neighborhood bar for Roomie’s birthday. I looked around the bar at all of the Brentwood friends and I felt at home. I felt alive, surrounded by my friends with their suntanned faces, sporting their swim suits and flip flops. I was right where I should be.

Leaving the bar that night, it was the first time in a year that Roomie and I did not walk home together. We stood outside the bar awkwardly, playing with our hair, shuffling our feet. I had to go in the opposite direction. They wanted to walk me home, but I told them that it was silly.

“I’ll be fine,” I told them. And I will. I was.

It was a good day.