The remnants of what could well be our last meal together… in the house… cooking… on our own. Yeah, I’m being melodramatic. So sue me.
I’m not sure how I feel about this.
Alex is moving out (back in with his folks, with the house hunting entirely unsuccessful) this week. Either tomorrow or Saturday is the day, as I understand it, and it’s probably going to be tomorrow, with his class schedule lining up favorably for that eventuality. I just found out today, and have to admit to some shock. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t expect it NOW, y’know?
It is a relief that things worked out, since the timing was definitely screwy. It was sudden, the knowledge that he would have to move out, and I know he made every effort to try and make things work with his potential roommates. But it didn’t.
So he’s moving back in with his folks, as we move back in with ours. Yeah, some definite symbolism there, but I’m not really in the mood to touch on that.
Alex, myself, and Dennis have lived together for three and half years, and while the partnership was not without it’s trials, it was probably as good as three twenty-something male roommates each struggling with their directions and identities could be. Though moving back in with the folks may well have the stigma of defeat, I think we all have our badges to carry proudly from our time apart from the family unit.
We were on our own, even if it was in a somewhat limited way over the last couple, with us essentially holding down the fort in our folks place in Garrison. We are now more aware of the realities of living than we ever really wanted to be, and how much money that sort of thing costs. We count ourselves lucky to have good friends and family around us, a kind of support that those who move out on their own don’t always have.
This might have been meant to be a retrospective initially, but no words could do the association justice. We lived. We laughed. We gamed. And oh yes, we hosted. We talked, sometimes too much, but more often not enough. Maybe we wondered, in that way that quiet people do about other quiet people. Maybe we thought the other guys knew better, that they had it figured out, while we were the only ones grasping with the questions. I don’t know. There were days I wished I did, or had the courage to find out.
It was, of course, appropriate that our last suppers together were Kraft Dinner and nachos with shredded cheese- truly, the mainstays of a bachelor’s menu (put down the pitchforks, folks, we didn’t have nachos THAT much). What kind of struck me about the nachos today- we ate them together.
In our time living with each other, whether at the apartment or here, that was one of the dinnertime shticks- we rarely sat down to eat as a unit, no matter what the fare was. Whether it was school, gaming, schedules, or our own laziness at setting the table that dictated that, I couldn’t say. But tonight, for what could well have been ‘the last supper’, we ate together.
And it was, to use a Biblical term, ‘good’.
BONUS: Pic of the new, beautiful Panasonic flatscreen plasma TV that was a birthday gift from Mom and Dad- and the photo just doesn’t do it justice:
EDIT: Corrected the time- somehow missed an entire year. How did I do that?