I’ve been completely absent from social media for the last week or so because we’ve been in the middle of moving. Anyone who has ever moved knows what an all-consuming, body-and-soul-battering experience this is. I’ve been in over my head, is what I’m saying.
Because Sugar has been home for two and a half days of this move—his paycheck is a key component of this entire project—my parents have been in town to help me organize. Mamma is especially good at pantries and all things kitchen. Dad toted a thousand boxes of books upstairs to my office, then broke down the boxes after Mamma alphabetized and shelved my books. I don’t know what I would have done without my parents this last week.
But the crazy happened Sunday night after we’d dropped Sugar off at the airport to go back to work. Mamma and Daddy went to bed about ten thirty. We were all exhausted. I turned in about twelve thirty after a long hot shower. I slept pretty well until exactly five thirty when I woke to loud moaning and groaning. I hopped out of bed and ran upstairs to the door of the guest room, thinking something was bad wrong with one of my parents. But all was quiet on the other side of their door. I went back downstairs, checked the doors and windows, and went back to bed thinking maybe I’d been dreaming.
At six thirty, I awoke to an alarm. I hadn’t set an alarm. I checked the clock. It was silent, as was my phone. The beeping came from a box I hadn’t unpacked yet. I tore it open and dug through a mess of unrelated items until I found the weather station that has occupied the corner of my bedside table for years. It displays the temperature indoors and out. I never knew it also has an alarm clock feature. We’ve never used it, and it hadn’t gone off the previous three nights that unpacked box had sat in my new bedroom.
I finally got the dang thing to shut up and went to powder my nose before returning to bed. Y’all, when I sat down on that toilet, I nearly fell in—ladies, y’all have experienced this I’m sure. It happens every time a man you live with leaves the toilet seat up. Except Sugar had gotten on a plane at three that afternoon and my daddy has his own bathroom upstairs and a powder room downstairs and no reason whatsoever to wander into my bathroom. Also, I had used the bathroom in question myself before going to bed, and I assure you I did not raise the seat.
Let me tell you, I was spooked. I started wondering about the lady we’d bought this house from. She’s such a sweet lady. She and her husband built this house in 2008, but her poor husband passed away two years ago. I never asked her if he’d left this world for the next while in this house because I didn’t want to know.
I think we have a ghost.
Sugar has offered all manner of far-fetched explanations for all of the above, but I’m not buying any of them. I think we have a ghost who likes to play pranks. All things considered, this isn’t a bad thing. I can get all sorts of inspiration for Colleen from him.