Stories Plus

My friend and I had been planning for months, saving up money and scouring through listings, when we finally found the place for us. The two of us planned to move in with her sister, the three of us toured the apartment and it was wonderful. After getting our families to help us take our stuff over to the apartment and we started setting everything up, I was able to finally look at the home we were building. This was it. I felt safe and comfortable. For the first time, I felt like an adult on my own two feet. The apartment was spacious with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a large living room, and a kitchen/dining space. We were able to turn half of the living room into a table-top gaming space. Looking over the apartment with all of our boxes and furniture scattered around the walls, I could envision all these possibilities. It was beautiful. I had something that was really mine. I was finally home.

We arranged the furniture we had and shared a pizza since we didn’t have groceries yet. That night, we slept on our mattresses on the floor. I took the couch since I didn’t have a mattress yet. Our cat moved between the three of us, snuggling up against us and scratching at our feet when he needed extra attention. It wasn’t the best sleep I had gotten, but I was filled with excitement over all of the possibilities to come; more accurately though, the couch was too small for sleeping. Luckily, we were able to set up an air mattress in my room until I managed to get a more permanent one.

The most memorable part of that day, however, was the look on my father’s face when he saw my new space. He helped us all move furniture and boxes all day and as he looked over our new apartment, I knew he was proud. I was building something that was my own, I was growing up, and I was becoming my own person on my own two feet. I wasn’t his little kid anymore. It filled me with a small sense of pride knowing that my father approved of something I was doing and that he really liked my new home, almost as much as we did.