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As I’m lying in bed, trying to fall asleep early, hoping that a good night of rest will reset my mind, my phone starts vibrating on the nightstand.
I assume it’s not Eli because I already told him I was going to bed, but I don’t know who else would be calling me.
I pick up the phone, seeing an unknown number flash across the top of the screen with my hometown’s area code. A quick burst of panic runs through me, thinking it could be Zac, but changing his number or using someone else’s to get ahold of me seems like a little much, even for him.
“Hello?” I quietly ask as I answer the unknown number.
“Hello. Is this Miss Leo?” a female voice questions.
“Yes?”
“This is Southpoint Self Storage.”
Fuck. I almost forgot about this.
“You have a storage unit with us that was prepaid for twelve months. We tried to run your card on file to renew your lease, but it was declined.”
“Shoot. I’m sorry about that. I moved across the country and got a new bank account. I forgot to update my card with you guys.”
“Would you like to do it now?”
“How much time do I have to decide if I want it renewed?”
“You were paid through this week. We have a three-week grace period, so either the card needs to be charged by December thirty-first, or your storage unit needs to be cleared out. Otherwise, you’ll lose the unit, including all assets inside.”
“Okay. I’ll make a decision this week and give you a call back. Thank you so much.”
“Have a good night.”
This is the last thing I need to deal with right now. On top of finals and the heaviness that is clearly creeping in, knowing what day Thursday is, having to decide on the storage unit might be the breaking point.
Part of me wants to let it all go. Let all the memories go with whatever is inside. Or I could pay another twelve months. Hold off the inevitable mental breakdown that is sure to occur when I see what’s in there. I have the money. I could do it.
But what good is it to keep putting it off? And I think I might hate myself one day down the road if I let it all go without going through it. Every single sentimental part of my childhood is in that locker. All my family pictures, parents’ clothes, and anything worth keeping from their lives is in there.
I can’t just get rid of it. As much as the two-thousand-mile distance has done for me with regard to creating space between me and what happened to my mom last year, the fact is, it still happened. And everything I have left of her is in that storage unit, waiting for me to go through it.
When I decided to leave for Spain last year, I gathered anything meaningful to my life or my parents and shoved it in that storage unit. I never went through it. I just tucked it away. I couldn’t process the emotions that would come from touching my mom’s old dresses or seeing pictures of my dad teaching me how to shoot a basketball, so I didn’t. I hid it.
I had our family home renovated while I was overseas so that I could come back and sell it. The good thing was that when I walked back into that house after being gone for six months, I didn’t recognize it. The colorful walls were now a stark white. The oven that my mom and I had once baked dozens of cookies in was long gone and replaced with a new shiny stainless steel one. The den where my dad and I had watched countless basketball games was now staged as a playroom for hopeful buyers.
I didn’t recognize a single square inch, which is exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want to relive a single memory from that house. It hurt too much. And that’s how I feel about whatever is in that storage unit. Every memory I’ve tried to suppress over the last year, every single ounce of sadness I’ve pretended didn’t weigh on my shoulders, it’s all waiting to come crashing down on me. It’s all tucked away inside of those four walls.
I close my eyes, needing some relief from the mental games my mind is playing on me, hoping for some sleep, when my phone dings again.
Squinting at the screen, I see my boyfriend’s name with an incoming text.
E: Hi, baby. I know you’re sleeping, but I just wanted to tell you that a scout is coming to Wednesday’s game. I just found out. It’s the scout from Dallas, the one I played like shit in front of. I’m surprised that he even wants to see me again. Anyway, I’m doing okay. I feel really good, actually. And I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.
I want nothing more than to be excited for Eli right now, but I can’t help it. I’m too selfish in this moment to be happy.
Of course, this is the fucking week he’s going to get called up. The week I need him the most.
The next day, after another shitty test, I decide to throw on some workout clothes, needing to get to the gym. I haven’t worked out all week, which is so unlike me. I need to clear my head, and a few rounds on the bag will do just that, as it always has. I only have about forty minutes until I need to get to my next exam, but that should be enough time for some gym therapy.
I want to feel angry, and I can do that while throwing punches at a heavy bag. Anger is much better than grief-stricken, in my opinion, and lately, grief has been my only option. But not today. I’m turning things around, channeling my emotions the way I want to feel them.
As I’m throwing my gloves and wraps in my gym bag, Ali comes barging into my room.
