1849

Dear 1849,

I’m supposed to close on you in about two days. The lawyer keeps calling it “finalizing the transaction,” but that’s not really what this is.

I drove by yesterday but I didn’t stop. I just slowed down a bit to see the red “FOR SALE” sign still stuck on your front lawn. The grass and sign are blown sideways from the wind and they look tired. The porch light was still on even though it was 2 PM. I wonder whether that was the realtor being careless or if you were trying to look welcoming.

Last night, my daughter asked if her room was going to be the one with the window. I told her probably. She’s nine. She thinks the house is magical which I find funny.

I didn’t tell her that I sat in the car for fifteen minutes with the engine running staring at your driveway or that I've reread the inspection report four times looking for a reason to back out. The foundation is fine and the roof has ten years left.

The place we’re living in right now, Apartment 213, Shattuck Ave., has one bedroom and a glass sliding door facing a parking lot. She takes the bed and I sleep on the pullout. It’s not bad. But we’ve been here seven months and I told her it would just be temporary, and I told myself that too. Temporary’s easy because it really doesn’t require anything else except waiting.

Your kitchen is bigger than our entire apartment! There’s a basement and a yard and four bedrooms I need to try to fill with stuff I don’t have yet.

The mortgage officer called yesterday to confirm it all. She congratulated me and told me buying a house was a great accomplishment. Well, Thursday at 10 I’m signing.  I’ve set up the gas & electric and talked with the movers.

I don’t know why I’m writing, it’s like I’m schizo or something. Probably gonna end up being the first thing in the fireplace. Maybe I just need to say it somewhere that I’m doing this and that I’m still not sure I should be.

See you Thursday,

- E.