Left Behind

Everywhere I go I leave pieces of myself behind.

I was in 3rd grade when custody was suddenly switched from my mother to my father, so suddenly that I didn’t even get a chance to clean my desk out.  I wrote a letter to my 3rd grade teacher, asking that my things be shipped to my new address.  I never heard back.

Moving always seemed to be a chaotic affair.  You packed up what you could in what little time you had, and anything that didn’t get packed got left behind.  It was almost therapeutic in a way, a way of paring down the clutter, starting over.

At one house the landlord changed the locks before we could get everything out.  I lost a piano to that move.  And my pale green ’68 Ford LTD with hideaway headlights and fuzzy black dice.  A few months later we drove down my old street only to find that the house had been leveled.  Only an empty lot remained of my childhood.  I always wondered what happened to my piano.

I knew I’d be able to bring precious little with me to Hawaii.  This was in the days before outrageous baggage fees; I planned on bringing two carry-ons and two checked bags, and have my mother ship a single box of movies and cds.  I’ve since wished I’d left the CDs behind and packed books instead.

I had to leave another piano behind.  This one, my baby, a Yamaha DGX-505 that I bought on a whim one day while fooling around in a music store.  Fullsize, touch sensitive, USB capable, beautiful sound.  Just beautiful.  I anguished long and hard over whether or not I could bring her, even going so far as to buy a $200 flight case, only to be told by the airline that it exceeded the limitations for cargo.

I bought a new piano the same week I arrived in Hawaii, but I still long for the old one.  Every day.

I left my rats behind.  A nine hour flight (if I were lucky enough to get a direct one) was just too long for them to be in the cargo hold.  No airlines allow rats in the cabin.  Furthermore, I never did get a straight answer as to whether they would be subject to the strict quarantine laws that Hawaii has.

The rats went to live with my best friend.  I transferred custody a few weeks before I was set to move, as I had some other travelling planned.  A few days before Christmas, while visiting family in Florida, the two older rats died.  I stood at their grave before departing to Hawaii.

I left my violin behind, at the gate no less.  I’d thought I would be able to bring it on as my second carryon, but one of my checked bags ended up being 9 pounds overweight.  I was able to shuffle some things into a spare carry-on I’d brought, but the violin was handed over to my mother.

I left my film camera behind. Canon AE-1, a set my mother had bought from a yardsale for $200, a present for entering college.  I’ve since made arrangements for the camera to be returned to me next time I’m on the mainland.

I arrived in Hawaii with two suitcases and two carry-ons.  Nine months later, my possessions haven’t grown much beyond that.  There’s an uncertainty to my situation.  I don’t know how long I’ll be in Hawaii.  I wasn’t even supposed to stay this long.  I’m reluctant to invest money into anything only to end up leaving it behind.

Urban nomad.

This entry was posted in Hawaii, Ohio. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Left Behind

  1. Write On…Dear one..write on! 🙂

    Love and ALOHA,

    Auntie Pupule

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s