Moving in Vignettes

Unpacking

My parents’ voices filled the buds in my ears, as I pulled the wrinkled, deflated items out of my suitcase and tossed them gently onto the bed in my cousin’s guest room. Palm trees swayed gracefully in the breeze. Stagnantly beautiful Los Angeles sunshine streamed in through the windows as I sat on the carpeted floor, fearing the onslaught of my own depression. I had twenty-six unread text messages, a random sitcom creating noise, and it took me three hours to get out of bed that morning. With care and slight indignation, I prepared each item for the empty space in my cousin’s closet. My parents continued talking.