Bethump’d with Moves (apologies to William Shakespeare)

Itty Bitty Kitty crouched in a corner of her cat carrier, drugged, emitting little yelps with the regularity of a dump truck in reverse. The night had descended early, rain pelted the windshield, and I slowed to 45 MPH as fog enveloped the Interstate.

Like all moves, the loading had, and the road ahead now was, expanding like a fiber pill in the stomach—but without the pleasantness of fiber. Seven workers, and it had still taken all day to puzzle Mary’s belongings into the mammoth truck.

As the mass of Mary's possessions pressed from behind, I leaned forward and grasped the wheel tighter, knowing we had to press on regardless the weather. The speedometer needle fell. The hours to Williamsburg stretched. Nine…ten…twelve…

Beyond Itty Bitty, Mary sat erect in her seat. Was she really leaving bookstore management to care for the mother of a friend? Evangeline. Eighty-nine years old. Evangeline. Dementia (extent not yet precisely known). Was it bipolar illness they’d mentioned too? Evangeline. House on the Chesapeake. A space for Mary to make art. It would have its compensations.

Helping move a friend once or twice in a lifetime is enough to satisfy most, but only two weeks later, I succumbed to volunteer-fever again. This time, the movee, Christal, had arranged to have cable installed and new furniture delivered at her new house—a repossession—on moving day. That left the rest of us to move her belongings—belongings she mistakenly believed she had packed.

Every move has its surprises. But a cross-town move is always easier, and the paid helpers did eventually relent, and did not bolt halfway through the job—a job three times the size they’d been led to expect. Finally they finished and left, the dust settled, and Christal and I flopped in the living room to dream of dinner. Her boyfriend, Sunil, crawled into the shower.

Cold, only, streamed from the shower. Hot water boiled in the toilet. The house had been renovated, but repossessed before the owners could move in. Sold as is. No inspections. Thank God, I don’t do plumbing.

And I’ve kicked back for a long rest.