Raileigh was off. Her duffle bag swinging wildly in one hand, while her other hand was clamped tightly around my wrist, dragging me after her.
I was usually pretty fast, but she was on a mission, and desperate, so she was faster.
“Hurry the hell up,” she growled at me, “I’ve got a huge wardrobe full of clothes, and 2 hours to try and pack them all in this tiny bag. God I hope I can fit in my new Burberry heels…”
She continued to mutter to herself, not breaking her stride in the process. My wrist was starting to hurt now, her spotless, manicured nails digging in painfully.
Crashing through the door, Raileigh made a beeline straight to her wardrobe, and started shoving everything she could in there- designer shirts, artistically ripped jeans, short shorts, miniskirts, beautiful dresses and break-an-ankle-or-neck stilettos and heels.
Amused, I watched her attempt to zip the bag shut, however she was fighting a losing battle. There was about 3 times as many clothes hanging out of the bag that could fit in it.
Deciding that, for once, I should be the good guy, I searched through some of my cupboards before finding what I was searching for- a packet of vacuum bags.
I had bought them a few months ago, and Raileigh had just laughed at me, called me a ‘little mother hen’ and walked off. Well, look who’s laughing now.
I headed back into the room, to find her sitting on the bag, still stubbornly trying to do the zip up. I tossed the bags at her, and grinned at her when she whispered a weak “thanks”.
“Relax kiddo, we still got a hour and a half to go.” I called to her, as I started going through my own clothes.
Time to be practical. I have never really been interested in high brand clothes, choosing what I wear by how practical and comfortable they are over looks. Which is why you would never find and short shorts and mini skirts in my wardrobe.
I took 4 pairs of shorts, 2 pairs of skinny jeans and my super comfy, long, cargo pants. Then came the shirts- 8 t-shirts of various styles, 2 long sleeves, and my favourite leather jacket, and other clothing items such as pyjamas and under wear. After some debate, I decided to take my only dress, a pretty Grecian style one, deciding that Raileigh would kill me if I didn’t.
Now that the boring clothes side was out of the way, I begun to pack my little brown leather backpack. It was the only thing I have from my days on the streets. It used to be Greg’s, but he gave it to me just before I was ‘adopted’ by Xenites. It was a perfect size- enough to fit a few pieces of clothes, food and water, plus any other small objects you might need. At the bottom of the bag there was a secret pocket where I packed in my pocketknife, Zippo lighter, small sewing kit, a torch and a tiny, pocket sized first aide kit, as well as a small roll of bandages. Main basic things I might need if there was ever a small-scale emergence. All of this fit perfectly in the bag’s secret pocket, and this was exactly what it was made for. It was a survivors bag, or so Greg told me.
I threw a few other bits and pieces in the bag- like my Kindle, phone, chargers, toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush… Well, you get the picture.
“Fifteen minutes!” I called out. I was our official time keeper- Raileigh could never keep track of anything until it was too late. Except in the mornings.
Feeling sentimental, I looked around my room before I left. I didn’t have much stuff left over, nothing of great meaning. 8 years of living here, and I still hadn’t considered it as much of a home.
Sighing, I walked out to find Raileigh waiting impatiently by the front door. With a slight jerk of her head, we walked away from the apartment we had shared together for the last 6 years, knowing we would never return.
