Marshmellow Fluff

It was something I had been planning for months.  At the age of seventeen, and three months shy of graduating from high school,  the thought of moving out of the house was constantly on my mind.  I had mentally decorated my room, I had already planned the guest list for my first house party.  I even devised a plan on how I was going to make sure it was stocked with enough beer.  Already I was setting my sights at being a good hostess.

My plan consisted of moving the day after my last day of high school.  I was moving in with the sister of a co-worker and one of her close friends.  This “other friend”  happened to be a guy who I secretly hoped was cute enough to be attracted to but not cute enough for me to actually pursue his attention.  Turns out that two days after moving in, I ended up dating him.  It was a huge misstep which I partially blame on my youth, but mostly on the fact that we moved in before the heat was turned on and were initially drawn together for warmth.

When the day to move out finally arrived I filled  my Jeep up with all seventeen years of things that I had accumulated and hugged my mom goodbye.  She did her best to stay composed.  She was trying to pass the moment of as casually as possible.  She knew I was too much like her not to move out and pursue independance.   My mom moved away at a young age to escape the fighting and yelling that she endured for seventeen years.  I was moving out stricly because I needed to be on my own.  I knew I would miss my mom everyday.  But I also knew she was only 20 miles away and I could see her anytime I needed to.

She hugged me goodbye and handed me a letter which read: I am going to miss you and wish you were coming with us to the new house.  Know you can move back home anytime you want to.  I of course kept that letter, for legal purposes, but mostly because fifteen years later, it’s nice to be reminded that I can always go home.

Tagged: Family, graduating, Growing Up, moving out