Empty Walls

Monday: My favorite black leather coffee table that once resided in the office is now gone. Every cup of sweet tea, iced coffee, and the memories that went along with it are gone.

Tuesday: The chipped and weathered patio furniture that I ate at every Sunday of the month with my father’s steak and potatoes has disappeared. The very same table I’ve been eating at since I was six years old has now vanished.

Wednesday: The picture that always hung crooked on the wall above the army green couches have gone missing. The picture of the pale blue Kansas sky that my mother bought from a flea market in D.C. is nowhere to be found. The same picture I would glance up at when I was bored of studying for AP envi sci has left.

Thursday: The red and gold striped chair that once lived in the sitting room off of my bedroom receded from my view without any warning. The very same chair where I sat on the lap of my grandfather as he told me his stories of WWII being out at sea in Japan, is passed from sight.

Friday: I lay on my bed strumming my ukulele, as I hear a large truck approach from the distance. The ring of the driveway sensor went off throughout the house. Someone was here. With a knock of the door and an outstretched hand reaching for the boxes, eight years of my life was gone. My favorite black leather coffee table, chipped patio furniture, The painting of the daring Kansas blue sky, the brilliant red and gold striped chair, all packed away and left me without saying goodbye. Why would they just leave, never to be seen again? Five men dressed in dirty white t-shirts came and plucked my ukulele right out of my hands. The final g sharp echoed against my empty walls with a reverence so deep. Eight years of my life have vanished, but it was time to meet my new coffee table, my new patio furnisher, my new painting, and my new sitting chair.