Maman asked if she should sell my bed. I was on the phone with her, eating salad for lunch near 34th street. I had a few minutes before I had to go in for work. I thought about what she said, and what it meant. “We are thinking of giving your room to your brother and his wife,” she said. H and Sara finally got their Green Cards.
“Sure mom. Sell my bed and use the money,” I finally said, confidently. I wasn’t mad at her, even though part of me wanted to be angry and say, hey now, wait a minute, it’s my bed. It’s my bed.
“Your sister thought I should check with you first.”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.”
I thought about my room and how I was going to give it up. Then I remembered. I’ve done it before. I’ve left rooms before and I’ve always managed to be okay. This time, I am going to be on my own. I will buy my own bed. I will buy my own sheets. I will ask Mom to take the bus and come see me in the city. I will miss her, even more.
And now, it’s odd, this sadness and joy I feel, together in one big pile. I am missing myself and what I used to be even as I tried so hard to get rid of it, make it a better self, a better being, braver and less naive.
“You can take my magazine cut outs down. But save them. Okay Mom?”
“Okay.”
And just like that, I give up the bed, the room, the everything I had.