Page 12 of Rewriting the Story

Granted, I have no furniture, but I underestimated how odd it would feel to sit in my apartment with nothing besides my two suitcases, music playing softly from my speaker as I take in my new home.

I turned it on to try and distract me from the fact that my medication hasn't kicked in yet. Since I was traveling back to the States, I arrivedearlier in the day, and I want my medication schedule to be the same as it was when I was in London.

I take a deep breath before I grab some cleaner from the bag sitting next to me. I stopped at the store before I came here; I wanted to be able to clean before the movers came with a few essential things I bought ahead of time.

I’ll go furniture shopping at some point, but for now, all I ordered was a bed frame, a small nightstand, a mattress, and a closet organizer. I have a beanbag coming for the living room as a placeholder for a couch. My tiny one-bedroom apartment is the perfect place for me to end up after the craziness of the last few years. There’s a small kitchen, perfect for floor-sitting if need be, and I can fit a table in this open space that envelops the living room and the kitchen.

It’s perfect for me, and that’s all that matters.

Since I’ll only be here for a few days before heading out for the bachelorette stuff, I figured I’d furnish the rest of my apartment when I got back and actually settled.

All I’m focusing on right now are the next few days. One of these nights when I can’t sleep, I’m going to figure out how to talk about the past year with these girls.

We were close once. When we were all in college, I can’t remember a day I went without texting, calling, or physically seeing one or all of them. Wednesday was always our favorite night of the week, but I was quite fond of all the moments in between. Moments like Paige and I sitting on our kitchen floor, eating snacks when we couldn't sleep, laughing as loud as we could because our apartment was home for the two of us. Moments like studying with Hads and Grant, Hads slapping him with her ruler like she used to. Or still does. I’m not quite sure. I miss when Ella would take care of us all.

Sometimes, I wish none of this happened. I wish there wasn't space between us all that I caused. But if that hadn't happened, I wouldn'thave hit rock bottom. If that hadn't happened, I’d still be walking around wondering why I can’t seem to get myself out of this haze.

Life is so mysterious that way. One thing leads into another, and eventually, you have the answer you’ve needed your entire life right in front of you. Instead of living my life thinking I was just a girl who seemed to mess up more than she could keep track of, I’ve realized I’m better than I thought I was.

I’m not quite a good person yet, but I’m trying to be. I’m on my way to becoming a better version of myself, and right now, that’s all I need to do—try.

As I start to lazily clean the floors, one of my favorite songs from recently floats through my speakers.

Music is the longest, most genuine relationship I’ve ever had. Ever since I was young and found my parents CD player, I was practically attached to that thing. Most of my chore money—when I completed them, that is—went to buying my own CDs.

Since my head is often running with a thousand different thoughts, music was the only thing that helped to turn those off, my mind wandering to focus on the music instead of other things. I can’t really do anything in the quiet, or I drive myself crazy with the thoughts that race through my mind, but as soon as my favorite songs filter through my ears, it all quiets.

It’s the only thing I’ve ever really run toward for a consistent amount of time. I used to venture to the beach by my house, and I’d bring my journal while I listened to new albums from my favorite artists. I’d rank on the first listen, then on the lyrics. I had a whole system for it, and I still do the same thing when new ones come out.

My parents never understood why I always had my headphones on, and I was often criticized for never listening to them, but it was hard to share that the world was too loud and this was the only way it quieted.

Halfway through mopping, my doorbell rings, and as I brush past my kitchen and head for my front door. I open it to two delivery guys and a huge box, my mattress vacuum sealed behind them. I smile.

My first piece of furniture in my new place.

“Where would you like this, ma’am?” one of them asks me.

“You can just put that in the bedroom, please,” I say as I point to the door. “It’s there on the left.”

“Sure thing,” the other one says to me before I move aside and let them work. I’m well aware my luggage is still sprawled all over the room, but I don’t really care. I have no food in my fridge and the stuff I have in my apartment is a mess, but at least I have a bed, right?

This place isn't quite a home yet, but maybe it will be once I furnish it. Maybe when I put sprinkles of my shitty personality in here, it will start to feel more like the place I’m meant to be.

For now, it’s an empty playlist I have yet to create. I’m not sure of the vibe I want yet, but maybe the more I settle in, the easier it will be.

I’m done running. I’m done being alone.

I want the life I crave, and I want it with the people I left behind all those years ago when I thought I was making the right decision for my future.

I just have to hope they can forgive me first.

One day at a time, Ames.

5

Then — January 2025

Sidelines by Phoebe Bridgers

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