Inviting the Virgin: Dealing With the Aftermath (Old Version)

Seventeen :Lock Down:

            "I can't believe it," Anna growled from behind a poorly taped box. She grunted, struggling to hold its contents as she waddled down the steps of the carriage house, dodging the untrimmed branches of the bushes that hung in her way.

"Believe what?" I questions juggling the keys in one hand while adjusting the gym bag that slung across my shoulder.

I turned the key in the lock before returning it into my pocket. It dangled on my lanyard with the keys to my beetle. Turning heel I headed down the steps after Anna; a smile across my face to her blind ambition. Little twig arms that complained about her cereal bowl being heavy this morning was more than capable to carrying down boxes from my old room.

"That your leaving," she exclaimed bewildered that I hadn't assumed why she was emotional.

I let out a chuckle, "you're only excited because you get my room."

"Not to mention you've known about me leaving for months." My heavy foot dropped down the stairs, following after her.

"Room," she grunted. "It's my own little apartment," she squealed with giddy excitement. Anna had already picked out new wallpaper and furniture to replace what I had. When I came to visit next, I wouldn't recognize this place.

A kind smile spread across my face recalling the excitement I had when I found out I was getting it my senior year. Now the tradition was being passed down, although I'd never part with my precious bug.

"What is in here anyways," Anna asked as she climbed up the steps to our porch heading towards the double glass doors of our kitchen. Currently it was being used as a temporary storage room until my dad picked up the U-Haul for tomorrow morning.

The past couple days we ate among boxes and also fell and tripped over them. It's been a bitter sweet couple days. My mother continuously was pulling out objects from my already packed and closed boxes telling me the back story and sentiment behind it. Most of these items I opted to leave packed away at home.

"Who knows anymore," I chuckled unable to find a clear label on the box. In the beginning I was meticulous about labeling what it contained but eventually it turned into short abbreviations such as "kitch", "Room" or "junk".

"Hey," Anna called out as I placed another box on top of my stack, "I just realized that I'm helping you move all your crap but you won't be here to help me move mine," She whinned her voice growing in pitch.

"Language," my father called from inside a cabinet.

He was busy pulling older pots and pans that they were willing to spare for my university adventure. No doubt they'd never return to this house again... at least not in the same condition.

"Sorry," both Anna and I replied out of habit.