He grunts before saying, “Judging by the weight, I’d say it has to be either your ex-boyfriend’s dead remains or…books.” Pressing the front of the box against the wall, he tries to keep from dropping it.
“Ah, it must be books—all of my exes are buried in the backyard at home, so pleasant dreams when you get there tonight,” I reply with a smirk, putting my alarm clock on the nightstand near my bed. “You can just set it down by the desk, thanks.” Shuffling across the room, he heaves the box down with a loud thump.
“I was wondering what happened to the last one. The one that took you to the movies…” he replies. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt. Poor Dee Dee Ramone on the front of it looks a little soaked.
Giving him an ironic smile I shrug, “His name was Greg, and like I said…backyard.”
“Good, I never liked him,” he says with the same kind of smile. “Do you want help unpacking these?” he asks, indicating the boxes strewn around the room.
“I’m not sure where I’m going to put everything yet. Maybe I should just do it myself,” I say almost as a question.
“I’ll set up the Internet connection so you can send email and surf,” Uncle Jim says as he finds my laptop and places it on my desk.
“Thanks. I register for classes tomorrow, so I’ll email you— let you know how that goes,” I promise.
He bypasses the dormitory’s LAN and gives me my own Internet access and firewall so that I can maintain my privacy. I can probably do it myself because he taught me how, but I’m grateful that he is taking care of it.
Finishing the set-up, he turns his grayish-blue eyes to me, smiling in triumphant. I think my mother also had the same color eyes as her brother and I do, but I have to rely on old, grainy photos of her in order to see them. As for the rest of my physical characteristics, like my auburn hair and my tall, slender frame, they could’ve come from my father’s side of the family, but since neither of us knows who he is, it makes proving that theory slightly difficult.
Uncle Jim loses some of his smile as he looks around and sees there isn’t much left for him to do now. “So, you have your cell phone,” he states as if going over a parental checklist in his head. “If you need anything, you can call me. Do you need any money?”
“You already gave me money,” I say, seeing him reach into his pocket for his wallet. I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I have more than enough money for all of the beer and drugs I plan on experimenting with,” I tease him gently. “When I blow it all on Internet gambling, I’ll call you.”
He smiles back at me, and I watch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. I love that. I like to think that I’m responsible for most of the laugh lines around his eyes. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you, Evie?” he asks, his voice soft with affection.
I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Oh, once or twice,” I reply. “Anyway, with me out of the house, you can focus on all of those things you’ve been putting off—maybe check out the Internet dating scene. But…don’t do any background checks on your dates, it takes all the mystery out of it,” I tease him.
It’s sad that I can’t even remember his last girlfriend’s name. Uncle Jim hasn’t had a date in a while. I believe I know the reason for this and it has to do with his line of work. He’s sort of a computer nerd. Working primarily for private investigators, Uncle Jim handles mostly divorce cases, specifically, cheating spouses.
He gains access to the alleged cheating spouse’s computer and clones the hard drive, always with the express permission of the suspicious spouse, since it’s usually considered joint property. Then he delves through emails and bank accounts at his leisure. So, one can make the argument that infidelity keeps our little family afloat, if one is so inclined. I like to think that it’s the reason why he doesn’t really date and not that he took himself out of the game to raise me.
Taking my comment in stride, he replies, “Just for that obnoxious crack, I’m turning your room into a home gym. You’ll have to sleep on the weight bench when you come home to visit.”
“How dare you!” I reply with mock outrage, but I’m trying not to let him see my anxiety. He will be leaving soon and I will be staying here. It has always been just the two of us; I’ve always had him to count on. Tears immediately spring to my eyes at the realization that things will be different.
“I miss you already,” Uncle Jim says, seeing my tears.
I begin to panic at his words, so I run down my own parental checklist. “I did the grocery shopping yesterday, so you should have enough food to last you at least a week. I bought you new razors, and I put them in the drawer in the bathroom. Oh, and I took your suit to the dry cleaners. You have to remember to pick it up on Wednesday because you have to be in court for the Henderson’s divorce case on Friday.”
“I’ll remember,” he says with an indulgent smile.
Inhaling deeply so that I can hold in my tears, I whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replies. Seeing the hint of anxiety in his eyes, he adds, “I want you to call me, you know, if you start having those nightmares again.”
Looking down at the floor, I mumble, “I think now that I’m here they’ll go away.”
“If they don’t, I want you to call me,” he replies, touching my cheek.
“Okay,” I reply in a small voice, and he drops his hand.
“I should get on the road now—I want to avoid the rush hour traffic near Ann Arbor,” he says with forced cheer in his voice. “Everything’s going to be great here. You’re going to love it at Crestwood, Evie,” he says with a reassuring smile.
“Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be stellar,” I reply with forced enthusiasm. “Anyway, you should go—beat the traffic. I’ll walk you out,” I say, pretending that I’m not about to bawl my eyes out.
Holding his hand, I walk with him out to his truck. He gives me a huge bear hug before getting into it. “I’ll come for Homecoming, okay?” he asks through the window.
“Can’t wait,” I say with a ghost of a smile.
As he starts the engine, I bite my lower lip so it won’t tremble. Seeing him smile at me through the glass, my heart accelerates in fear. Uncle Jim gives me a small wave, and I mirror the action, although my hand shakes just a little. When his car drives out of sight, I walk slowly back upstairs.
Turning the key in the lock to my single room, I push the door open. About to step through the doorway, I freeze when I see a shadow move quickly across the wall. It startles me. “Hello?” I inquire, but no one answers me.
Rubbing my eyes, I blink a couple of times before I close my door. I hurry to the windows on the far wall, looking for someone outside my window on the fire escape. It’s empty; the heavy iron grate of the landing is rusty in spots from disuse, appearing as if no one has been out there in a while.
Sighing, I turn from the window and scan the room, taking in the bare walls and empty shelves—it can belong to anyone. It’s like looking at a blank canvas; as if the person that I was prior to this moment with all of the vibrant colors, intricate shapes, and textures that were painted on that canvas throughout my life has no voice here—no future. I just need to unpack my stuff, so I can feel normal, I think to myself.