Issue #82 “Jonathan, Thanks for Helping Me Move” by Katherine Neuner

This week we're excited to feature a story by Katherine Neuner. Born in Newton, MA, Katherine grew up in Amherst, MA, and earned her BA in art and English at UMass. She attended law school at Tulane before abandoning the legal world entirely and moving to Boston, where she cultivated interests in architectural history and historic preservation. She has recently moved to Washington, D.C., where she is writing, saving old buildings, and preparing to apply to MFA programs.

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Jonathan, Thanks for Helping Me Move

By Katherine Neuner of Washington, D.C.

You were so great with the heaviest boxes. I don’t know how I would have managed to get that mattress up the stairs by myself, and forget about the desk. I never realized how heavy all of my things were until I had to move them.

Thank you for hanging the posters. I know I gave you a hard time about posters being juvenile – especially movie posters, especially monster movie posters – but I’ll admit, they looked almost adult once we had them framed. Like collector’s items. Almost.

Thank you for helping unpack the china. I realize I have an absurd amount of china, but my grandmother spent years collecting it all. I know she spit and called you a red bastard that day you wore your Che Guevara t-shirt to the nursing home, but I swear she meant so well in her lucid days.

Thank you for not taking all the good CDs. It seems like you took exactly half of what was here before. You left me with some real losers – that I’m pretty sure you purchased – but overall, you split things up pretty fairly. I’ll admit, I don’t know who to blame for Steve Winwood’s Greatest Hits.

Jonathan, thank you for leaving the little garden shovel. It was the one you used to dig holes in the backyard every time one of our fish died. I know most people just flush dead fish, but I loved them. I couldn’t stomach the thought of them rotting their way through the sewers. You shook your head when I told you that I meant to repopulate that tank one day; thanks for leaving the shovel anyway.

Thank you for leaving my favorite chair. I know it was your favorite chair, too. I’m sorry I spilled red wine all over the arm, even after you repeatedly asked me to be careful. I didn’t mean to ruin it.

Thank you for leaving the television. I know this giant box meant the world to you. I do wish you’d left behind the instruction manual, because there are some days I can’t even figure out how to turn it on. The wires in the back seem to hook right in to other wires. It’s not such a big deal, though. If I can’t get it to work after a few minutes, I just sit in the chair and listen to the music you left behind.

Thank you for leaving the blender and the toaster and the decorative ice cube trays, but I have to ask – what did you do with the footstool? I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t imagine what you would need a footstool for, you complained every time you had to duck under the doorframes. I always thought you were being dramatic, but since you left I’ve been noticing how low these ceilings are. I’m sorry I laughed every time you hit your head.

Jonathan, thank you for helping me move. I never thanked you properly before, and I wish that I had. Because it’s time to go again, and I’ve been trying to do it all myself, and it’s so much harder than it looks.