Saying Hi
When I met my superhero, neither of us were where we said we were. We met through an online dating app where I listed myself as being in Wyoming, knowing I would be in a month, and similarly, he was days away from wrapping up a project in the Dakotas before heading to his next gig in Carbon County. Nonetheless, something about horseshoes and hand grenades applied to us, and we met virtually. He said, “Hi,” which felt entirely appropriate since his username was Guy_Says_Hi, and I would be returning to the place I already lived the previous summer, so I could fudge my way through a Wyoming conversation. It’s not glamorous, but it’s the story of how we met.
The previous summer I crammed every object to my name into a storage unit, and I expected when this summer ended, I would leave Florida for good. My forethought proved correct. While the two of us got to know each other over long Sunday phone calls (his one day off), I placed him on speaker phone and rearranged my storage unit. I sorted through the effects of the rush job of the previous year, pulled out items to donate, throw away, repack and reorganize, and prepared for a coming, bigger move. By the time we actually met, we already knew enough about each other’s quirks that it was perfectly acceptable that I owned a Bigfoot board game, carefully stacked it with the other games in the metal box that epitomized my entire life.
It’s All Temporary
Fast forward a half a decade and our shared belongings occupy a similar metal box, only larger. We are mid-move, halfway between Point F and Point G in our shared moving history since those first few phone calls. We still chat by phone because now he, and our two pooches, have bugged out from the Gulf Coast to escape a visit from Laura and Marco. Because, of the two of us, I am already employed, I stay behind, which leaves me to unload the storage unit and transport our collective stash of household goods into our new rental. I really thought when I left this scene five years ago, I likewise left this particular life experience behind me.
Yet, this isn’t even my first soirée with a storage unit during the years since I met my superhero. Granted this one feels more difficult because the objects are heavier than I can manage on my own, as I know better than to own an object I cannot carry myself. Our lives continue to be lived from one storage unit to the next. Sometimes the storage units are the metal bins you expect, but sometimes they are temporary housing rented to put a roof over our heads until one project ends and the next one begins. Sometimes he’s in a fifth wheel, or even overseas. Sometimes the place I lie my head for the night is inside a tent beside a reservoir. But this is the temporary nature of our lives as we work together towards our future until we eventually move into our castle – whatever that looks like. As long as it’s not a metal, ten-by-twelve, month-to-month storage unit, we’ll live happily ever after.
Pam Portland 