She Who Must Not Be College

I’m not a terrible hoarder. I mean, I’m much more likely to keep a piece of paper, strip of ribbon, or ripped pair of jeans than I am to throw it away, but my stashes have shrunk incredibly from the heights they reached when I was seven.

I remember having to designate a room-cleaning day because not only would it take the full twenty-four hours to complete, but it almost became a family event with all the help it required. I remember Katie army crawling under the bed and unearthing its treasures into the middle of the room for me and Jessica to go through while Mom and a couple of my younger sisters organized the closet.

Each object from the depths of the closet, bed, drawers, and any other crevice of the room was allowed one of two places; a select box of keepsakes, or the trash can. I hated this part of the room-cleaning because not only did my imaginative mind hear the pleas from each marker drawing, speckled chicken feather, and beaded necklace to keep it out of the trash one more week, but I couldn’t bear to think of the day when I just knew I would wish I had it back.

Over and over I would fret over the objects just boarder lining between treasure and trash, and Katie would roll her eyes and ask, “Are you going to take it to college?” For most objects this would bring a giggle at imagining myself old and in college with a piece of twisted wire on the shelf, or wearing a torn Pocahontas nightgown. But in the last week between summer after Senior year and first-semester college freshman, this question became much more real.  

Fortunately, I had a third option this time. In addition to my college-bound cardboard boxes and the dump, I also had the green plastic bin which will sit and remain in storage at my home in Happy Valley Utah. The only trace of me still left at home. Well, that and my toothbrush. I had to forget something, right?

So now while sitting on my newly spread blanket in a room a few degrees colder than I’d like (I’ll figure out the thermostat later) I ponder on these objects. I’m beginning to feel a faint connection between myself, the bin, and the toothbrush. Like we’re long distance penpals. Or like they’re a wifi connection that’s just close enough to give you a couple bars. Like I’m Voldemort and they’re my horcruxes, and as long as the bin and brush remain, I’ll be able to come back. This “moving away” thing isn’t permanent. I think I understand Voldy now.

So just to sum it all up here, always carry a spare toothbrush because if you forget yours somewhere and accidentally turn into Voldemort, at least you won’t have bad breath. The end.