Cardboard boxes

It’s one of my last days here, 72 hours later I would be gone. I enter the house to see shrink wrap, tape, and boxes. The hall is empty of everything but these objects, and a bunch o f people. I set my bag and shoes down, I have nowhere to go. My parents are directing all the movers in and out of rooms, people are drilling, hammering, removing, and wrapping. I decide to see my room; so skipping alternate steps I come into an empty wooden-floored room, with nothing, absolutely nothing but some more boxes. The bathroom looks somewhat more realistic, probably because no one intended to pack the toilet and the bath. Thank God for that. However, the little shelf that had held some stuff before had disappeared. I exit the room and arrive at the landing, where the exercise equipment has been crudely packed with shrink wrap and orange tape. Usually, I adore popping the little bubbles of the shrink wrap, but now I’ll do anything to stay away from it. I don’t want to be anywhere near a cardboard box, so perhaps the only other options were staying locked up in the bathroom or to go outside in the scorching sun. I choose going outside. I leap down the steps and make my way out of the boxed up house. I feel a little guilty, remembering the promise I made to my parents, to help them whenever they needed it. But they are handling it well, and I am getting sick of those brown packages. I need nothing more to remind me of the limited time I have here.  So, I run to the front of my friend’s house to invite her outside, and to keep my mind of off those villainous cardboard boxes.