Ch.2: Falling by Florence + The Machine
Getting to my new house from the airport was easy enough. I had made arrangements for my belongings so the U-Haul would be there when I arrived. When my taxi driver pulled into the neighborhood, my heart once again started to pound. My life was about to change forever, I could feel it!
The neighborhood was just as I imagined it. So new, so quiet, so …beige. I guess I would just have to get used to that. Growing up in Virginia, everything was green. All the houses looked so similar, but when we pulled up to mine, I couldn't help but smile uncontrollably. It might not have looked unique, but it was my own. My own house that was standing before me, just waiting for me to come in and fill it with life and joy. Speaking of belongings, I looked at the U-Haul with everything I claimed inside. I was going to have way more fun unpacking my things than I had packing them.
I figured I'd start with the big things first. With some help from the U-haul guys, we moved some chairs and a table in. I had a bit of trouble.. I am, by no means, a big lifter. So when it came to my bed frame and mattress, the movers decided I could just supervise. By the time we had gotten most of my belongings inside and situated nicely, it was almost sunset. I decided that I could handle the rest myself. There wasn't that much left, just some kitchenware, and of course, my art.
I brought in the box with a few things from my old kitchen. Abby was a take-out type person, but I thought it would be unfair of me to just take every last bowl or plate, so I only brought the essentials. These didn't take a while to unpack. Walking back outside, I relished in a warm breeze that made my hair tickle my face. This final trip back into my new house was going to be my favorite part. Five whole boxes filled with all my art were left alone on the curb. I started with the smallest one, containing all my utensils, clay, and canvas. I then walked into my new art studio. It was perfect. Facing towards the front of the house, the colors of the descending sky of pink, gold and orange were streaming into the room. Those colors would be inspiration for years to come. White walls, but not for long. I sighed in content, than continued on with unpacking. I set up my canvas just like that, placed my pottery wheel over just over there, hung my paintings just like freaking Picasso.
After three of the five boxes were off the curb, only two remained. Thinking I could magically bring them both up by myself, I placed the smaller one on top of the bigger one. I lifted, but with a startled cry, I stumbled and almost fell forward, about to ruin two whole boxes of art. As soon as the cement was going to have an unpleasant introduction with my face, I felt the whirling world suddenly still, and pressure on the lower box. Still staring at the ground, I sensed a figure standing right in front of me.
The person helped me up by taking the boxes from my trembling hands and then carefully placing them down on the ground. I caught my huffing breath and then let my eyes travel from the ground to a pair of worn jeans. My eyes traveled further, up to a white wife-beater with several dirt stains. Muscles adorned the body beneath these clothes, and dark hair sprouted from the well toned, but otherwise quite pale, arms. As if my breath wasn't shortened enough, I lifted my eyes to rest on this man's eyes. I softly inhaled, my body remembering to breathe when I saw those eyes.
Staring back at me was the most beautiful man in the world.
He was smiling back at me, his expression kind. He had dark hair that framed his face, and expressive, dark eyebrows to match. Pale skin contrasted from the deep brown colors of his hair and eyes. His eyes. If one didn't look close enough, or pay attention to the remarkable details of them, they would say they're black. I saw, though, that they were in fact the same shade as his hair. The deepest brown, a dark abyss that I could have, and almost did, gotten lost in forever on that curb.
Thankfully instinct kicked in. This man standing in front of me, glorious as he was, might have just saved me from a trip to the city's hospital. Remembering how to form words, I smiled genuinely, for it wasn't hard to smile at him. Not at all.
"Thank you so much! You really saved me, there." He grinned again, and replied with a voice that sent a shock of warmth through my heart. "Not a problem. I was working on my yard across the street, and saw you were having trouble." Embarrassed and a bit amazed that I hadn't noticed him while moving the boxes, I reached my hand forward.
"I'm Emma Sherwood. I just moved here from Virginia." He reached forward, but instead of casually taking my hand, his slowly wrapped around mine. His stare never wavered from mine, and I had to control myself to not close my eyes at his slightly cool but careful touch. It was like heaven. "Jerry Dandridge. Nice to meet you." He grinned at me again, displaying a perfectly white smile.
Standing there silently, with our hands together in a still greeting, I looked down and laughed a little. I really don't know why. Most likely uncontained happiness. Glancing back up, he was smiling back at me. I gently released my hand from his wonderful hold. Glancing down at the boxes, he turned towards them and leaned down to pick them up.
"So, you need some help with these?" I couldn't help smiling. He probably didn't think I had any other facial expression.
"Yes, thank you again. It's just some art I was going to move to the studio."
We both began the short walk to my front door. "So, are you a big artist in Virginia?" He asked, probably just making small talk.
I laughed a little, looking back into his eyes. "No, no. If anything, it's really just a hobby. I begin work as a secretary at Willard's Law Firm tomorrow."
I opened my front door and stepped in, and turned towards Jerry. He stood there, with the two boxes, and glanced around before those eyes finally fell on me. "Thanks again. Please come in. If you wouldn't mind taking them upstairs-?" He stepped into the house, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Sure, no problem. In the studio, right?" he replied.
"Yeah. It's just up there. I'll show you." I lead the way up my staircase, Jerry following close behind.
As we entered the small room, he paused and regarded a small, unoccupied space. "There?" He questioned, and I nodded, beaming. He placed the boxes down, then looked around at my already crowded art studio. As he walked slowly around, examining my paintings and ceramics pieces, I leaned up against the wall. I was a bit nervous to have him look at my art. Apart from my family, classmates, Abby (and that cat), no one else had really ever seen my work.
He stopped and examined a painting of a dark rose. It was black, with a red ribbon around its stem. It was always one of my better paintings. Jerry grinned and glanced my way. "This is all really impressive. You have talent, Emma."
I returned his smile softly, but disbelief clouded my skull. "Really? Wow…I don't know…"
Jerry gave me a serious look. "No, really. It's truly great. You should think about going pro." No one had ever told me that before.
"Thank you," I chuckled, then looked back at Jerry. "Again, thanks so much for helping me with those boxes. Is there anything I could get you…?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he said, reassuring me, then began to make his way out of my studio. He nodded at me before exiting the room. I followed him down the stairs before he reached for the door knob.
"Great meeting you, Emma Sherwood," Jerry said, opening the door and letting himself out. I grasped it and replied when his face turned to face me. "Great meeting you, too, Jerry." He grinned again, then turned back to walk to his house. My eyes followed him as he retreated to his yard and saw it was almost completely dark outside.
After closing the door, I realized that the warmth inside my heart had grown to spread through my entire body. It felt like home. He felt like home.