The Old Switcheroo

Sunday was the first time we had all sat in a room together since the night my mom told us she was leaving. It was a strange sensation, to say the least, to be in a situation that had once felt so normal, feeling completely awkward. I knew it shouldn’t be awkward, especially not for me. They say that there is no such thing as an equal balance of power in a relationship, and more and more I’m finding this to be true. When my parents split up, the power shifted, and Harry and I suddenly found ourselves in control. We know it too. We know just what to say to get what we want from our parents, to hurt them, to make them feel guilty. I’m not proud to admit it, but we both use their failures to our advantage.

Which is why on Sunday when they came to us with questions about our living arrangements, we knew our responses would weigh heavily on the decision. I guess I felt so awkward because I really didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t really know. I guess what I want is impractical. If it were up to me, we would sell this house and each parent would find a new place to live. I hate the idea that this house has come to have a different meaning than when I was a child. So much has changed within these walls. I hate the idea of it changing again.

Of course, that’s exactly what’s happening. Within the next two weeks or so, my dad will be moving out and my mom will be moving in. It’s ironic that this is the way I had originally wanted it to be. I wanted to, and still want to, live with my mom over my dad. Maybe it’s horrible, but I’ve always known which parent I would choose if I had to. I’ve always known it would be her. So when she left, it was difficult knowing she wouldn’t be there to come home too, but I got over it. I settled into the house with it’s new feel as my father’s home. I adjusted to the isolation that comes from living with a distanced father and brother, and now I almost prefer the opportunity to be alone. It won’t be like that with my mom.

There will be more rules, but which I mean, no more smoking pot in the living room. It’s not as though my mother is by any means strict, but she’s more aware of things than my father. She’ll notice the empty bottles of liquor lying around the kitchen and the bongs scattered around the house. I’m sure this will be a positive alteration, but it will take some getting used to. The house will just feel different.

Maybe it’s for the best. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I am kind of excited for the new living situation. My mom and I are very close and it will be nice having someone around to talk to. I think it will feel more like my home again, and less like I’m living in someone else’s house, less like I’m an intruding guest. Plus, the idea of spending more time with her children is making her so extremely happy, and that makes me happy too. I’ve even missed being around her stuff. My life somehow feels incomplete without her various insane purchases such as the giant wooden fish, the pez dispenser collection, the 1940's war pillows. Funny how you don’t realize how important these material things are until they’re gone.

Yesterday my dad sold his baby grand piano. It’s gone. I have never lived in a house without a piano. NEVER. I can’t say I don’t already miss it. The house feels so empty without it. So imagine, two or so weeks from now, how much more empty it will feel.

The transitional phase scares me, the few days or weeks in between my dad’s departure and my mom’s arrival. It’s during that time when the house becomes just a house, just walls and floors like any other building. This is no longer the place where I spent my childhood, where we were a family. Somehow I think that leaving it would help preserve those memories, help separate these new beginnings from the old. I wish they would just sell it and move on, but these things take time, and soon my brother and I will be too old to get away with living with our parents. I understand my parents desire to stay here for now, to hold on to this place, hold on to us. Still, understanding it and liking it are two very different things indeed, and I’m afraid I’m just not ready to embrace the change. I’m afraid for the future within these walls.