I really don’t know where to begin. I’ve mentioned in passing here before that I’m moving, but I haven’t really talked about it. The situation is this: my parents sold the house I’ve lived in since I was four to a developer several months or so ago, and we are renting a house in Arlington until after I graduate. By the end of the summer, my parents hope to have moved to a house in Harrisonburg. I’ve spent the past year and a half crying and throwing fits at my parents over the move, something that is highly out of character for me.
What has unsettled me from the beginning more than anything is the fact that the house I grew up in is inevitably going to be knocked down. Beyond my natural love for my home, I’ve always known objectively that it’s a beauty – a spacious old converted-farmhouse with glorious dark hardwood floors, set off from the main road in such a way that it’s very private. The only reason the house is appealing as something to develop rather than sell is that it’s on a plot of land much larger than the house itself, which I know my parents got for a bargain for. Ideally, we could sell it to someone who would actually live in it for a rather high price, especially since it is four blocks from the metro. However, in my parents’ eagerness to sell the house, they didn’t seriously consider trying to work with a realtor because it would take longer and cost more money.
About two or three years ago, my dad, a real estate-obsessed man if there ever was one, fell out of love with our house. First we vacationed in Wilmington so he could look at houses there, then we took numerous trips to Charlottesville. My parents settled on Harrisonburg because it was somewhat rural, didn’t have much traffic, and had a decent-sized Hispanic population in the city. I was initially angry at my parents, then pretended not to take them seriously, then became upset again, and then began to accept that their decision had been made long before I caught on. The move was real to me from when my parents first started chatting with developers (as opposed to my sister, who finally only understood what all of our conversations about moving meant this past week), but only now is it my life.
I’ve spent the past few months thinking about the concept of home extensively, realizing that I’m losing my grasp on it right now. I remember hearing something about Christmas at some point recently (I think on NPR) that struck home (no pun intended) for me in terms of losing my house. The commentator said that Christmas is something your parents create for you as a child and that you lose as you grow up, but then that you create again for your own kids. I fear the same will be true for me with my home. After leaving this house, will any place ever be home to me again in the same way?
After rehearsal, I spent the afternoon cleaning, then sitting in, my empty room with my guitar (for about two hours), later wandering around the other vacant rooms, not wanting to do anything but be in the house while I still could. In my basement, I found myself realizing that what I wanted (since my house wasn’t an option) was a clichéd knight in shining armor to fill the void, to be home for me in the short term, to court me and love me unconditionally. I consider myself to be an independent person, but nonetheless, it was what I wanted. When I realized that I knew why I’d been so drawn to the old David Gray song Babylon so much lately, playing it every weekend night I stayed home on my guitar and singing along.

“Sunday all the lights are shining / London sky is faded – red to blue / Pushing
through the autumn leaves / I’m wondering where it is you might be going to /
Turning back for home / You know, I’m feeling so alone / I can’t believe /
Climbing up the stair I turn around to see you smiling there in front of me”

Frankly, there is no foreseeable knight in shining armor, so I’ll have to manage.