Her world was spread at her feet.
White dishes with a flower pattern, 4 full place settings.
A laundry basket filled with white socks, carefully folded in pairs. Also plain white cotton panties, each folded twice. A few handkerchiefs, creased in quarters. Four white bras, two with underwires, one with underwire and padding.
A blue translucent grocery store bag, filled with silverware.
A box of file folders filled with papers, bills, and receipts.
Two black cassette tape cases, featuring the collected works of Leonard Cohen, Bauhaus, The Smiths, Paul Simon, Cowboy Junkies, Sarah Maclachlan, and Liz Phair.
A cardboard tube of rolled posters, mostly Impressionist prints.
Another laundry basket holding three pairs of grey, blue, and black sweat pants. Two college sweatshirts. Three men’s extra-large t-shirts (that were good for sleeping). Several pairs of black, blue, purple, green, and grey socks, again carefully folded in pairs.
A small suitcase containing three pairs of black panties, a lacy pair of black panties, three negligees, two black bras, a green lacy bra, a taupe bra, three slips, and four pairs of high heels.
A box labeled “knickknacks and shelf stuff.”
A black PowerBook laptop.
Three boxes marked “books, novels.”
One box marked “books, school.”
A zippered canvas-covered binder filled with CDs in sleeves, including multiple versions of several Requiems; the box sets of The Beatles, The Police, Sting, Lou Reed, and Abba; and fourteen compilations of music from the Eighties.
Two hanging clothing cases, filled with dresses, tops, skirts, slacks, vests, and suits.
A box labelled “Disks and computer crap.”
A box filled with power strips, phone cords, two phones, a swing-arm lamp, and a few random tools.
A conspicuously unlabelled box filled with letters, journals, photos, and personal writings.
A teddy bear, left eye missing.
Four pillows of various shapes and sizes.
A large black suitcase filled with blue jeans, shoes, sweaters, gloves, scarves, and winter hats.
A box filled with pots, pans, and kitchen utensils.
A vacuum cleaner.
A copy of the Journal Star.
A small desk lamp.
Two clocks, one analog, one digital.
Two boxes labeled “bathroom stuff.”
A cell phone.
Three purses.
A nearly full-length mirror.
A blow dryer, wrapped in its own cord.
A bag of brushes, scarves and hair ties.
A pea coat on a hanger.
A windbreaker, crumpled on the floor.
A quilted winter coat on a hanger.
Two men’s small sport coats on hangers.
A pullover hooded sweat shirt with TRINITY COLLEGE on the chest.
Another curiously unmarked, rather flat box that would be immediately stored under the bed without unpacking.
Near the door was another box, into which she had and would occasionally toss some item that wasn’t hers, or that she didn’t want to see ever again.
Out the window, the sky was the bright and blue of autumn briskness. The street was lined with trees in the process of losing gold and copper leaves. The sign on the corner said “A Street,” which gave her far too much giddy pleasure when people asked for her address. She held in her hand a copy of the Daily Nebraskan and a receipt from a storage company across town. She surveyed her domain and all within it with a discerning eye. The cell phone rang. She answered, her voice edged only slightly with surprise.
“Lily, is that you?” It was her sister. Lily smiled.
“Lucy… hi! What’s going on?”
“I’m so glad I caught you… How was the move, sis? Or should I say, Professor Adamson? Oh, wait… you’ve changed it back to Michaels, right?”
Lily laughed and leaned her shoulder against the wall, glad for something finally familiar, even her sister’s teasing.