Moving Day

Jordan wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air, climbed up into the back of the large, moving truck. There was one singular box left in the long, metal truck, in the far back. She made her way to the back, and bent down, grasping her hands on both sides of the larger box. Lifting it with her legs, and not with her back, remembering all the times her mother got on her for destroying her back at an early age, she lifted the box to her torso. She climbed out of the truck, and looked at the entrance of her new home. It was a modest, two story, brownstone in the heart of New York City. A lot of people wondered how she was able to afford such an expensive, and high class place, but she never answered them, preferring it to remain a mystery. The truth was she inherited enough money to put a down payment on her own house, and the situation lined up just right for her to purchase this place. It was the first time she had ever had a place that she could call her own. No roommates, no family, just her and her dog, Pugsy.

Exhausted from the day, Jordan began making her way up the flight of stairs to the main floor. As she climbed the steps, weariness set into all of her muscles, she took the chance to glance at the writing in black sharpie on the box "Chocolate cake supplies. Open on Day 1" She knew from the stories passed down, it was in her great grandmother's handwriting, even though she had not had the chance to meet the woman. The seam of the box was covered in several layers of various types of tape from the many times the box had been reused.

Reaching the top of the landing, she released the breath she didn't know she had been holding. On the inhale, she smelled something she hadn’t before on the many trips to the new space. It was hard for her to place, but if she had to describe it, it would be antiseptic, rubber, and soap. Her brow furrowed, confused by the presence of this new and sudden affront to her senses. After a couple of deep inhales, attempting to locate the source of the smell, it seemed to dissipate, being replaced by the carpet cleaner, and the fresh paint. That must have been what I was smelling Jordan thought.

Making her way across the room, she gently placed the box on the particle wood, brown counter designed to appear as a solid wood slab. The designers even took the time to imitate the darker wood grain streaks that you would expect to see in real wood. Her fingers grazed wistfully over the writing on the box before her eyes focused on the several stacks of boxes, furniture, boxes on top of furniture that seemed to fill every space in her new town home. If she allowed herself to think about it, the idea of working through everything was overwhelming. She refocused herself and brought the attention back to the task at hand.

She saw Pugsy going around, and inspecting all the corners of the space, making sure it was all safe for his human. She smiled at his attentiveness and grabbed her box cutter from her back pocket to begin unpacking the box with care. Her mom had packed it for her a few days before, and it was the last box to go into the moving truck. In fact, it was placed on the floor in the passenger seat to ensure it would not be damaged in transit. Once the tape had been cut away, the smell of dust, and disuse attacked her senses as she pulled out each item one by one.

Baking pans, non stick cooking spray, flour, salt, sugar, baking powder, whisk, spatula, teaspoons, liquid and dry measuring cups, and mixing bowls.

Roughly two hours later, Jordan found herself sitting on the floor, in a makeshift box fort, holding a plate of the most decadent chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting, and a raspberry preserve in the center. She closed her eyes, as the taste exploded on her tongue. It brought her back to memories of her Mom and herself at a young age, sitting in a scenario not vastly different than her current one. Her Mom told the story of how the family tradition of a chocolate cake in a new home was passed down from each matriarch to the next. Leaning her head back against the makeshift wall, she simply resigned herself to the moment. In her relaxed state, she heard a faint beeping noise coming from somewhere in her new place. Was it the smoke detector stating the batteries were low? She got up as the sound persisted in constant intervals, and checked the oven was off, and not spewing smoke. Confirming it wasn’t, she went hunting for the location of the various smoke alarms. The sound never changed volume as she went from room to room, as if the sound itself were following her.

Her hand drifted to rub her forehead as it suddenly occurred to her she had a splitting headache. Calling Pugsy to follow her, she went to lay down in her newly set up bed. Just before falling asleep, she swore she heard someone calling her name. As the sound faded into a faint echo, she slowly felt herself losing control of her senses one by one, until she was left with the smell of more rubber and soap and antiseptic with a slight tinge of chocolate cake.