LANA MASON
Seinfeld is serving as the background noise to keep my brain distracted while I finish packing up the last few boxes in my apartment. Every time Kramer does something outlandish, earning laughs from the audience, I glance back at the TV and crack a small smile at whatever he has to say to explain his behavior. My dad loves Seinfeld, so I practically grew up to the sound of those audience laughs. It's a comfort thing for me.
In this last box, I take the picture frames from the built-in shelves across from my bed to wrap in dish towels and t-shirts in place of bubble wrap. I pack the pictures of me and my friends and my godparents first, but hesitate as I hold the picture of me and my mom in the hospital, as well as the picture of my mom and dad together when they were in college.
If there's a heaven, I always wonder if they're truly looking down on me and watching what I do. The only times I've ever hoped that's not the case is when I've done anything I know I wasn't supposed to, or when I've done anything sexual...obviously. I don't think they were watching me for the latter, but I think they've been watching me during these last couple of months, and I think they've been shaking their heads and talking to each other about me. If they're in heaven, that must mean God is there, right? And if so, why haven't they asked Him to be kinder to me and the people I care about? If so, did they ask Him why He took them away from me to begin with? These are the kinds of questions I've been asking myself lately.
With the picture of my parents wrapped in an oversized Harley Davidson tee, I close the box and secure it with packing tape to push it over to the side. Other than my handful of boxes, all the movers are going to have to take is my TV. I made a deal with the tenant taking my apartment and they agreed to buy my furniture for a fair price because they like it and don't have the money to buy all new shit right now. I can relate.
I take my phone out of my sweat's pocket to check my email thread with the moving company when Maya starts calling me. My expression softens as I can already hear the excitement in her tone, and I have to remind myself to be kind and try to match her enthusiasm the best I can. After all, she is taking me in. I owe her that much.
"Hello?"
"Hi!" She's smiling for sure. "Just checking in. How is packing going?"
"Good, I just finished my last box," I look over at the small pile. "I was just checking to see when the movers are supposed to come."
"Okay, well I just finished washing all the bedding in the second bedroom so it's all ready for you," she says. "I also went to the bodega down the street and got those dark chocolate-covered orange peel things that you like. They're waiting on your bed for you and it's so cute. I feel like a bed and breakfast owner."
I smile a little, grabbing the remote off the floor to turn the TV off so I can start unplugging all the wires. "Thanks, My."
"Of course, babe," her voice sounds softer. "I can't wait for you to be here. It's going to be like old times, and now you won't be all alone in that place."
"Yeah, it'll be good," I nod and look around the mostly empty apartment, trying not to cry. I did enough of that last night. "I can't thank you enough again–"
"Nope, shut it," she cuts me off. "You're my best friend, Lana. I'd do anything for you and I know you'd do it for me."
"I would," I confirm.
"Well, I'm about to head out to catch a quick hot pilates class, but I'll be back by the time you get here, and then Jackie agreed to our Christmas-themed girls' night! We're going to watch Christmas With The Kranks and make those nasty little Pillsbury cookies that you guys like for some reason."
