01: The Sound of an Empty Nest

01: The Sound of an Empty Nest

I burn, burn like a wicker cabinet

Chalk white and oh so frail

I see our time has gotten stale

The rhythmic pounding notes of Eve 6 pour down the stairs. A white-water rapid of sonic energy and emotion wash over me as I rest my head on the kitchen counter gathering my strength for the day ahead. I hope I can make it through the day without falling apart.

Jocelyn, my baby girl, is going away today. She's all grown up and won't be sleeping here tonight. Today is the day she transitions from being my little girl to being a young woman sleeping in her own room at UMass Salem some fifty miles south of home.

The tick-tock of the clock is painful

All sane and logical

I want to tear it off the wall

"Damn," I mutter under my breath. I use the back of my hand to wipe at the dampness in the corners of my eyes. "Where did the time go?"

"Hunh? Did you say something, honey?"

"Oh... no. It's nothing." I reply, glancing up from the cool granite of the counter. Bryan's face is slightly scrunched with concern. His nondescript brown hair, somewhat greying at the temples, frames his angular face. Yet, he still looks every bit the athlete he was back in high school and college. I place a reassuring hand on my husband's shoulder. "Just a bit overwhelmed is all."

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly in relief, if not understanding. Faint smile lines starburst out from his cocoa brown eyes, lending him an air of confident maturity.

"We've talked about this, honey. It's not like Josie has died or anything."

Just then, he tightly squints his eyes and tilts his head hard to the left, squashing his ear to his shoulder and forcing the skin of his neck into folds. His tongue shoots out violently from the corner of his mouth as he draws his chin in and downward, all the while, he's making harsh guttural sounds in his throat. This is his dead possum impersonation. It isn't very convincing, but it is very good at lightening my mood. He always knows just what to say or do. It's partly why I love him so much and have ever since high school.

"I know... I know."

I give him a playful punch on his left shoulder, signaling that he was successful in cheering me up a bit.

"We only have the one kid Bryan. After today, we'll be solo. Mano a mano. EMPTY... NESTERS..."

I slowly pace out the last two words for added emphasis. "Do you even remember what that was like? Just the two of us?"

"Why yes. Yes, I do," he says, a devilish grin replacing his dead possum impersonation. To drive home his not-so-subtle insinuation, his eyebrows raise and drop three times in quick succession. I simply roll my eyes in response.

"You're such a mess!" As penance for his lewd implication, I give his shoulder a playful slap this time. The strike is more noise maker than anything but it does the job of halting the ridiculous leering and goofy eyebrow dance.

He readjusts the medium size U-Haul box in his arms and strides towards the laundry room. Beyond lay the garage in which sits the dark blue Mercedes SUV that is slowly but surely filling up with boxes and various accouterments testifying to Jocelyn's imminent departure. I run my hands through the waves of my strawberry blonde hair finger combing it together to form a passible, if sloppy, high ponytail. If left to its own devices, my hair would hang down to the middle of my back in all manner of random twists and turns. Bryan liked to say it was my 'strawberry waterfall.' As much as he likes me to wear it down, today it will be best to keep it up off of my neck and out of the way.

I step to the right exiting the kitchen, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of our home. "Jocelyn!" With a hand on the newel post, I crane my head to better direct my voice up the stairwell. "Are you about ready to go yet?"

"What?"

"I said: 'Are you ready to go yet?' It's already past nine. We need to have you on campus so you can unpack and still make it to freshman orientation on time."

"I should be ready soon, mom!" She yells back down to me; her message nearly incomprehensible due to being drowned out by the All American Rejects now blaring from her room.

When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through

"There's not much room left in the car. How much do you have left?" I shout.

"Only one box and my pillow."

I'm already tired of yelling back and forth across two stories and trying to compete with her music. I start climbing up the stairs. It's obvious that she's going to need an extra bit of prodding if we're ever going to get on the road in time.

I make my way across the loft and stop just outside my daughter's bedroom. I place one hand each on either side of the doorway and lean forward, projecting my torso into her room. The cluttered mess I'm presented with is completely out of character for Jocelyn. She normally keeps her personal space very neat and tidy. More surprising than the disarray though is that I can't see her. Where could she have gotten?

"Jocelyn." I bark, using my mom voice, ensuring that I can be heard over the ear-splitting music.

When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

"What?" Jocelyn's head pops up from behind her queen-sized bed like a prairie dog poking up from its hole to check the surroundings for danger. Her auburn hair, a gorgeous blend of her father's brown and my own strawberry blonde, is plastered across her face obscuring one emerald green eye and the entirety of her small freckled nose. Furrowing her brow, she thins her lips and blows a strong blast of air up out of the corner of her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the wayward lock. Undeterred, she raises both eyebrows and shrugs her slender dancers' shoulders forward in a querying gesture.

"Could you please turn that down?" I ask, using my chin to indicate the large Bluetooth speaker sitting atop her vanity.

She drops her shoulders and sighs. In one singular, fluid motion she stands up and then covers the distance from the middle of her bed to the vanity in a few easy strides. She doesn't bother to pick up her iPhone that's lying next to the speaker. First a tap then a simple downward swipe is all it takes for her to reduce the volume from chainsaw to library levels.

"Thank you. I can hear myself think now."

I pendulum my right leg forward and back expending some anxious energy as I continue to lean into her room.

"Sweetie, we really need to get going. Dad has to gas up the car and we don't know what traffic is going to be like on I95. You know how crazy it can get the closer we get to Boston."

"We're not going to Boston mom; we're going to Salem. Anyway, I don't care if I'm a little late. It's just a stupid orientation anyway."

She idly spins her iPhone on the vanity, her right index finger tracing circle after circle as the phone rotates about on the PopSocket integrated into the back of the phone's case.

"Well, I do care if you're late. You may be eighteen but you're still my daughter and until you are on your own at school, I'll thank you very much for listening to me."

With a smirk I add, "So, get a move on young lady."

She lets out an exasperated sigh through loose lips resulting in a sound not unlike a very tired horse.

"Fi-i-i-ine," she huffs in exaggerated surrender. A small smile appears crinkling her nose a bit. "Since you're here and apparently are s-o-o-o eager to get me out of the house, could you help me carry down the last of the boxes?"

I know she's only teasing but her jest stings nonetheless. I selfishly don't want her to go, but in my heart-of-hearts I know she must. Pushing my feelings down into the pit of my stomach, I let go of the doorjamb as my still swinging leg reaches the apex of its forward arc and I step into her room.

"This one?" I ask, using my toes to point at a small U-Haul book box on the floor next to her bed.

"Yeah."

Squatting down, I grab ahold of the box. "Jeeze, what do you have in here, lead bars?" I ask, struggling to lift it up off the blue-gray carpet.

"Books. Duh!" She points at the box in my arms, emphasizing the orange, boldface all capital 'BOOK BOX' printing on its side. She stops spinning her phone and picks it up in one deft movement.

"Sweetie, no one says 'Duh!' anymore."

She casually snags the thin, fading white leather strap of her purse hanging on the back of the vanity chair and slings it over her shoulder. Then she scoops up the pillow from the foot of her bed and hugs it to her chest with both arms.

"Let's go, mom. We'll be late if you don't get a move on!" She teases, pirouetting 180 degrees around me to exit her bedroom rump first. Then, she performs another quick half-turn as she crosses the loft to descend the stairway.

"Dance, kids." I subvocalize, struggling with the weight of the impossibly heavy box of books. I unceremoniously let the box drop onto the soft carpeting with a muffled fwump.

"Bryan!" I call out as I follow my daughter down the stairs. "There's one box left in her room that needs to go in the car and then we're ready to leave."

"Got it. I'll be right up." He replies from somewhere downstairs.

Having descended the stairs like a normal person, I open the door to the powder room for a last-minute pee before making my way out to the garage. Jocelyn is already sitting in the front passenger's seat, adjusting the car radio to Rock 101.

"Nuh uh missy. I'm riding shotgun. Get in the back." Using my thumb, I point to the back seat behind the driver.

Another sigh. "Alright," Jocelyn glides out of the passenger seat and makes her way around the back of the car. Opening the rear passenger door she says, "But can we please listen to my music instead of NPR?"

"Of course, sweetie. Whatever you want."

Sliding myself into the front passenger seat of the Mercedes, I concede control of the radio to her. The double thunk-thunk of the car doors closing in quick succession punctuates the fact that we will soon be leaving our home for the last time as two loving parents with their baby girl. The next time we're all in a car together like this, it will be as a couple accompanied by their adult child.

Whump! The vehicle jostles slightly as Bryan drops the box of books into the cargo compartment of the SUV. He presses the close hatch button and walks around to open the driver's side door. The rear hatch clicking is barely audible as he positions himself behind the steering wheel.

"Are we all ready to roll?" He inquires over his right shoulder. A subtle nod from Jocelyn and my smile are all the indications he needs. Facing forward now, he presses the ignition button coaxing to life the sleeping V8 under the hood.

"Aaaaand, we're off!" he exclaims as we pull out of the garage. The crunch of Staymat gravel under the tires solidifies the reality of what we are doing. I can feel my eyes begin to moisten again at the finality of it all.

"Hey dad, Foo Fighters!" Jocelyn exclaims leaning forward between the front seats. "Turn it up. I love this one."

Smiling that his music tastes had not only taken root in his daughter but had somehow grown into a true appreciation, Bryan complies with her request. He taps the volume-up button on the steering wheel several times stopping just shy of industrial noise level. I cringe and he lowers it somewhat.

I---- I'm a one-way motorway

I'm the one that drives away

Then follows you back home

I---- I'm a street light shining

I'm a wild light blinding bright

Burning off and on

Ah-ah-ahh

____________________

Ka-thunk, chick. The lock is heavier than I was expecting. That's reassuring. I'm likely going to be living in this room for the next four years of my life. I feel safer already knowing that a sturdy door and robust lock will be protecting me from the outside world for the foreseeable future. With my heart thumping in my ears, I inhale deeply through my nose and turn the doorknob. Controlling my exhale, I push on the door handle and peer into my new dorm room beyond.

About fifteen feet away, on the opposite wall from the doorway are a pair of curtainless windows. Both blinds are pulled up all the way but the one on the left is skewed a bit to one side forming an acute angle with the window frame. The windows are evenly spaced with four feet of wall between them in order to accommodate an off-white heating unit that has yellowed with age. Old-timey wooden desks that face the wall on the left and right respectively flank the windows. Tucked into each desk is an uncomfortable-looking armless, wooden chair. An open laptop sits atop the desk on the right, its screen dark. Next to each desk is a wooden framed twin bed. Curiously the beds are a lighter wood than the desks. Maybe the sun has darkened the desks, or maybe they were sourced from a different furniture set. Either way, they don't quite match. The bed on the right is already made-up with pretty lavender and pale-yellow floral pattern linens. Oddly enough there's no pillow. The bed on the left is bare. A Navy-blue plastic-covered mattress is lying atop a simple, black metal spring support.

At the foot of both beds are identical wooden wardrobes. Their doors are sturdy looking despite the obvious wear from decades of use. On either side of the entrance is a pair of waist-high wooden dressers squeezed between the wardrobes and the wall. The three large dresser drawers will be more than enough to hold what clothes I won't be hanging in my wardrobe. Every bit of wall space surrounding my new room is utilized by some piece of furniture or another, thus leaving the center of the small area completely open. It seems as though it's bigger than it really is.

"I like it," I murmur to myself.

"Are you going to go in Josie, or shall I start putting the boxes down right here out in the hall?" Dad queries from behind me.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry dad." I reply. "Just taking it all in."

I make my way into the room, tossing my pillow onto the naked mattress.

"Where do you want this?" my dad asks, slightly lifting the box higher to indicate his burden.

"Oh, I don't care. Anywhere is good, I suppose."

"Not on that half." My mom instructs, gesturing with the flat of her palm to the right-hand side of the room. "We don't want to intrude on her new roommate's personal space before they even meet."

Nodding his agreement, my dad bends over at the waist to set the box down carefully on the floor beneath the inactive heating unit.

"Use your legs!" my mom and I both chide him in unison.

"You're not getting any younger, dad." I tease. "You need to protect your back. Do you want to end up in a wheelchair like some grandpa?" My hands automatically go to my hips in a mock stern gesture.

"Hey!" he protests, "forty-two is NOT old! I don't think I'm at risk of needing a wheelchair anytime soon."

"Why don't you go get the rest of her stuff and I'll stay here to help her unpack?" My mom suggests.

With a nod, he pulls the door open and flips the deadbolt to the lock position. The extended deadbolt will prohibit the door from completely closing and the metal-to-metal clang resounds loudly as it contacts the door jamb.

"It's okay, mom. I can get myself set up."

"At least let me help get your bed made. You don't have to get to orientation for a while, so we still have some time."

"Okay, thanks," I reply, realizing that it'll be easier to let her help with something than try to fight her on it. I'm not a little girl anymore, but, much to my frustration, she still tends to treat me like one. I open the box my dad placed on the floor. Luckily it has the compressed memory foam mattress pad and some of my bed linens.

Without looking up, I toss the mattress pad to my mom. Missing the unannounced projectile, the pad hits her in the chest and lands heavily on the bed next to her. The vinyl bag that the pad is packed in makes a cheap, crackling sound as it collides with the plastic mattress cover.

"Aren't you glad that I got this for you now?" my mom asks, picking up the BeautyRest memory foam mattress pad from its landing spot.

She was beaming, clearly content with herself as she unzipped the package. I protested needing such a thing, but she insisted.

'You don't know how bad school beds and mattresses are. You'll thank me for this.' she had told me as she placed the thing into the red Bed Bath and Beyond cart. 'Mark my words.'

Now that I saw firsthand what sort of craptastic mattress the college had provided; I think she may have been right. There's no way I'm not going to actually tell her that though.

With mom engrossed making my bed and dad busy bringing up the last of what little of my possessions I could fit into the car, I take a good first look out my window.

What glorious view of campus do I have? As it turns out; not so glorious. I can clearly see the parking lot and our blue SUV with its tailgate open as dad retrieves the last box. Beyond the parking lot is a tree line obscuring what I think is the street that leads to the main campus entrance. My dad reaches up with his left hand to press the close trunk button, cradling the small book box in his right arm. It's the same box that mom had so much trouble with back at the house. Dad clearly has no issues with the weight, even one-handed. For an older guy, he was still pretty strong.

"Okay, there!" Mom patted my pillow and smoothed out the blue-to-white hombre comforter we had selected online. None of the local stores had anything I liked so we hesitantly ordered this set. Thankfully when it was delivered, it was soft and as good of quality as it appeared in the pictures. I was afraid I would have to send it back, but no; it was a keeper.

"That's the last of it," Dad claims triumphantly setting the box down on the pile he had created against the wall. "Are you all set in here?"

"Yep, I'm good."

"Are you sure Sweetie? We're happy to stay and help you get your room set up the rest of the way." My mom asks.

Standing just behind mom, my dad is ever-so-slightly shaking his head and mouthing the word "No." It's not that he doesn't want to stay and help. I know, that he knows, that he's going to be in for a long ride home with her. She's been struggling off and on all day with separation anxiety. She's proud of me for getting accepted to a good college, but if she had her way, I'd stay at home and take online courses. I love them both to death, but that whole scenario is so not going to happen!

"Mom, you have a drive ahead of you still and I have my orientation meeting to get to soon." Placing my hands on her biceps I gently guide her to a standing position. I'm only three inches taller than her five feet two inches, but I straighten my posture as much as I can in order to exaggerate our height difference in an attempt to emphasize my point.

"I'm a big girl now. I can set up my own room." I pull her in for a hug. She quickly has me in a death grip, squeezing me so tightly around the middle I think my head and legs might pop off.

After a few moments, the bear hug eases. Giving me a kiss on the cheek, she turns ninety degrees clockwise and steps toward the door.

"C'mon Honey, let's see if we can get ahead of the traffic." The hem of mom's striped sun dress flutters as she steps through the door, which smoothly closes behind her with a metallic click now that the deadbolt has been retracted.

My dad leans in and kisses my other cheek. "You know she's going to miss you terribly, right Josie?"