Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Before Colombia, After New York

I wrote about Brazil. But not Colombia. Colombia is an entirely different story.

Colombia. 

Colombia. 

Before I could go to Colombia I had to move back to Chicago. Hellion came with me. Maybe because he was in love with me then. Maybe because I was in love with him then. When I do fall in love it has always been more a shock to me than anything else. And a welcome shock. Perhaps too many sappy movies, perhaps too many David Bowie songs that year (or Nat King Cole, take your pick). 

The greatest thing I ever did was to love and be loved in return. 

So much has happened. Between being told I would have a new job and moving I had lost Tino which was a singular heartbreak in a year already full of heartbreak. 

But life goes on. 

So my dog died, so I got a new job, so I packed up my apartment, so moved back to Chicago. 

The day I finished moving out of New York Hellion, his Roommate and Gongalu, a friend from the never ending kink community in New York had come over to help me move. 

In reality Gongalu had spent the night. I had gone to my last New York munch as official hostess. Gongalu got me home. We stayed in the couch talking and finally I made up a bed for him on my foldout before collapsing in bed.
This worked in my favor the next morning as the company I hired for my cross country move demanded I have three parking spaces available on front of my building for the truck. 

In Manhattan. 

During business hours.

I even called the rental service to confirm, noting how difficult it would be to do what  they were requiring. They confirmed.

So the next morning Gongalu went downstairs with a cup of black coffee while I readied the rest of my apartment to either go home with Hellion or be thrown away.

Gonglu, cleverly, managed to make friends with the Jesuits across the street who let him borrow their traffic cones for a bit.  Hellion and his Roommate showed up and started bagging and taking away my old place piece by piece. Within a few hours I was moved for better or worse.

After the the brigade of young men had left I spent almost an equal amount of time cleaning my apartment and trying to do afternoon meetings I hadn't cancelled. My phone had been been pinging with alerts I had mostly ignored. It wasn't until almost five that I learned that at the time I would have been commuting, when I would have been going through the station, at this time there had been a major crash. 

Our company was lucky. We lost no one that day. I was lucky I was not in a train. I was happy to be leaving New York. I was full of emotions. I demanded the boys leave a bottle of Casaamigos with me for cleaning and they did. I finished most of it before I left. 

And then I left my place. Little rooftop where I had watched a lunar eclipse. The couch I cuddled my dog on in his last days. The room that had entertained for impromptu surprise birthday parties and been host to happiness, sadness, love and lost. I turned off the lights. I shut the door. All fraught with memories and stories. With love. With loss. I shut the door, grabbed a cab and moved on. 

Flight to Chicago, Hellion on boat and the sunset over Lake Michigan, giant chess and Chinese food, and smiles. 

And then a plane to Colombia and more adventures. 

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