by Hannah Boomershine

We were going from seeing each other sometimes to seeing each other all times under shelter-in-place

We didn’t plan to move in together so quickly. 

For a week, my partner and I waffled. How big was this crisis? How long would it last? Should we move in together now? We should move in together now. 

Within 48 hours, all my crap was boxed up, sitting in the living room of our apartment. Now we could hunker down. Occupants: Me. Him. Cat. We were going from seeing each other sometimes to seeing each other all times under shelter-in-place. 

Back when leaving the house was allowed, I’d spend as much time outside my living space as possible. I’d linger around the grocery store, avoiding the apartment with a creepy shirtless landlord who lived upstairs, or the place with rat gangs at the trash cans, or the one with my roommate’s live-in boyfriend who always took luxurious showers in the only bathroom at the precise time I had to poop.

It’s been a few weeks now at the new apartment, and it isn’t perfect either. The sink drip drip drips if you don’t turn the handle to 4 o’clock, and the upstairs neighbors rearrange furniture at 2a.m. Forget trying to use a dishwasher or clothes washer or microwave. We don’t have those. 

We do however, have fried egg sandwiches and quietness. We have cat yowls and sourdough starter fiascos. Disco dancing and crying on the couch. Acne, "Animal Crossing", and laughter.

I have a space for all those things now, and that space is home.