Occasional structures become more frequent as I narrow the gap to my target location. Water towers and windmills make room for businesses and homes. Seeing people bustling about is also a welcome sight. My chatty app keeps me company, but the robotic companion is one step above total silence. My extrovert personality has me craving social interactions and new connections. Nothing is better than being in close proximity to others. According to the virtual routes I’ve found, my address isn’t too far from the main drag cutting through town. That should be convenient if nothing else.
As I turn onto Oak Lane, it seems the stars continue to align in my favor. Rows of tall trees shade the road. Their swaying limbs beckon to me as I pass at a crawl. The quiet street is lined with adorable houses separated by large yards. I already appreciate that my neighbors can’t peer directly into my windows from the comfort of their living room. Manicured lawns, blooming flower gardens, and pruned bushes showcase a level of care that’s often absent where I come from. My initial impression of this environment gives me a warm and inviting vibe. I’m willing to admit that a dose of whimsy is already sweeping over me.
My phone alerts me that I’m approaching my destination on the right. Even if the numbers weren’t plastered on the mailbox, I can tell this is it. I pull into the cobbled driveway with a wide smile painted on my face. This vacancy is a gem to cherish, similar to my job.
The house is small, around a thousand square feet, but size doesn’t matter—especially in this case. This single-story rambler is plenty for me. A purple door pops against the white siding and black shutters. Colorful bricks edge the walkway, and an assortment of potted plants are arranged on the deck. This place oozes quaint charm.
I hop out of the car with a renewed pep in my step. The fear I’ve worn like a dark cloak falls away with a flourish of beaming sunlight. After entering the code into the lockbox, I slide the key into the deadbolt. A wave of cinnamon spice swirls with the clean scent of a fresh start as I step inside the foyer. I treat myself to a greedy inhale while spinning in a slow circle. It’s easy to envision this as home.
The floor plan is mostly open with only two half walls bisecting the large living area. I scan the collection of included pieces staged thoughtfully. A deep-seat couch sits under the large bay window, framed by two matching chairs in a similar shade. Those neutral hues complement the bold colors of the rugs and accents. A wood dining table rests at an angle near the opposite wall, waiting for the evening meal to be served. It all fits together in an understated manner, as if the entire setup were created specifically for this house. The decorations are minimal, those final details left for me to make the space mine. With a few personal touches, this could easily be my refuge.
Furnished rentals are somewhat of a myth. Finding one is another rare treasure I’m fortunate enough to have as part of this deal. The eclectic array of items appear to be in good condition. What the owner provided gives the room a warm, cozy feel that wraps around me like a comforting hug. This is exactly what I need after making the move to a strange town on my own.
A short walk through the kitchen reminds me that a grocery run is a top priority. I wander down the short hall to the master bedroom. As requested, they left this space mostly bare-bones. Only a plastic-wrapped mattress and solo dresser adorn the area. I packed my entire back seat to the roof with stuff that will fill this empty square. But hauling all those mementos and belongings inside can wait.
I flop onto the crinkly bed with a squeal. My very own place. Extrovert or not, I need this change of pace. Growing up with four siblings didn’t lead to a lot of privacy. My roommates in college were often is very near proximity. I always thrived on those static bundles of combined energy, but conquering the unknown is the name of this challenge. When will I get a better opportunity to live alone? The answer is never.
So, it’s official. I’m no longer a resident of a big city. That thought doesn’t hold the same quake it did this morning, quite the opposite as a low hum buzzes under my skin. The flutters in my stomach chime in, and I grin at the giddy sensation. I’m here, ready, and surprisingly eager. The truth rattles against my ribs with a long exhale. Planting myself in the heart of farm country isn’t daunting at all.
I reach for a bubble-wrapped object from the box when more pressing needs demand my attention. The low rumble begins in my belly and ripples outward. Unpacking is a sure way to lose track of time, but I’ve been at it for at least an hour. The tips of my fingers are one package away from forming blisters. As if the paper cuts weren’t enough damage. I glance down at my nails, mentally adding a manicure to my growing to-do list.
My stomach releases another grumbling protest, refusing to be ignored. My fridge and cupboards are still empty—quite unfortunate when the demands are ratcheting louder inside me. My appetite has always been rather insistent, and this is no exception. It would’ve been easy enough for me to grab some snacks on my way, but I wasn’t thinking that logically. My options at this point are limited.
I wince, pinching my features as I scan the previously spotless room. It didn’t take long for me to turn the space into a complete disaster. Tissue paper, Styrofoam peanuts, and cardboard explode across the carpet. I’m still working on the skill of
