departure

The moment I realized you were leaving, my hand was taking out shirts and socks from the dryer. I remember thinking about how you were probably trying to get everything washed so you could move out. And I remember thinking this might be the last piece of clothing I take out of the dryer. Later you'll have your own dryer, and this will be the dryer at your parent's house. I just remember feeling something as I took the white shirt out and put Adam's shirt in to be washed. He spilled something on it at your going away party.

This might be the last time I feel like I can play the irresponsible teenager role. As you move, I'm given less space to not worry about others. Your leave forces my growing up.

I don't want to sleep. This is the last time you'll truly live here. If I sleep I'll have to acknowledge it all.

You can tell a lot about a person depending on what they say to someone before they leave. Aunt Farhah says a phrase that doesn't really make sense and then laughs at it loudly while you politely smile and graciously nod at her.

I didn't think it would hurt. I just didn't think, so it wouldn't hurt.

I wanted to talk to you about some things. I feel like I should. Tomorrow may be the time. But it might be one of those days.

It's gonna be one of those days that lags on into the next. The whole day mom and dad will reassure us telling us this is a good thing and it will be good. But we all know.

Tammer, Dad and I stand outside waving to the guests. Once their cars leave, this is over officially. Once those Goodyears hit the last piece of gravel, it's over. My eyes well up. I can feel everything that I feel coming outside so everyone can see it. Damn bodily functions. I stare outside, never wanting to admit that I'm crying. I can feel someone walk behind me. Tammer walks in, doesn't say anything, but just hugs me. Just really hugs me. He says almost nothing. Softly, I can hear the words "don't be sad" but it doesn’t feel like he says them, it feels like they were emitted off of his body.

Dad comes out, gives me a hug. He's like the zamboni after the big game. Tammer's there for major cleanup, and Dad is there to help me regain my wit like a newborn deer. I feel his hand on my shoulder, arm wrapped around me.
"As if you're not gonna cry right now." There it is. Welcome back sarcasm. He looks at me, his eyes permanently glossy. We're all rubbing down something that's bound to come out soon. It's like a rock over a flowing hose. Any second we all know what's going to happen.

Our family fades into the family room, transitioning from scene to scene with a fluidity that is constant. We're constantly aware of our relation to one another, and we shift together, like stars or planets in an orbit.

Sherief opens his gifts. After shave. Moisturizer. Money. They want him to be a real man. And I want them to stop asking him to be. Because I can't have that. I just can't do it.

There's a silence after he finishes where we all feel a heaviness. This presence. We're not sure if it's regret or if it's just a thing that no one's made a worth for. This very evasive feeling. A somewhat deep-pitted heaviness.

After he's done, he lies down on the couch. Looking into his eyes; there's a dark blue that isn't usually there. His eye lids lazily force over his eyes. He's tired, and he knows what's coming. It's really gonna happen. Everything impending.

I really can't believe it was tomorrow.
And now it is tomorrow.
Technically, today.