Letter to AH from Boca Raton

August 4, 2008

We’ve both been busy this summer, this year really,
so it’s been a while since we talked and I want
to let you know, I’m moving, and you are too.
We can be truck twins the way we were Proust twins.
There is none of that ripping feeling as I clear the
shelves, tape the flaps, sneeze, look out the window
for one of an uncertain number of last times. None
of that ongoing elegy we used to encourage. I know in advance
there’s not much I will miss here, except the place
I buy wine and a few people, who are bound to scatter
anyway. Maybe the Whole Foods. I’m just not sad this time
even though sometimes I try to be. I haven’t cried.
I often cried when I thought about not leaving.
(Don’t you know it!) Are you having this kind of thing too?
That it might be too easy? Or that it hasn’t gotten easier
we’ve just gotten lazier about keeping track of what was?
I don’t think I’m sad this time. But who can tell
before you’re actually in your car and you look up
in the rearview to see your street behind you
for the real last time. Like Claire in the last scene
of Six Feet Under. And it might be–why
would I ever come back to this cul-de-sac in Boca
to see an apartment. The beach, the pizza place,
maybe, but not this. It can get real then. Or when
I’ve blinked past that threat and it’s time to fill up
the truck past the half tank it came with and we turn
back out onto the road going the wrong direction
and Daniel makes a u-turn in the inexpertly weighted
truck rather than turning right and waiting for a place
to make a real turn, and suddenly the potential disaster
of everything is apparent. A u-turn in your UHaul
at the very first intersection. This seems inauspicious,
but he’s right. There’s only forward to go. Best luck
with moving and what comes after. I sent you
something, finally, and I hope you haven’t left
when it gets there.

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