Yesterday morning I locked the door to our flat for the last time. I dragged my suitcases down the front steps, walked to the office on Dublin Street, and dropped off three sets of keys.
The Stockbridge Trinity (what our lecturers called us when they found out we were living together) is in Stockbridge no more.
There have been a lot of tears recently. Like, a lot. This last week snuck up on me, and I have not processed the fact that I'm leaving Scotland at all. Monday night was the last night the three of us would be living together, so we got some Prosecco and gave a few tearful toasts. We also had a closing ceremony of sorts - the day we moved in, Pim had me tape a picture of Cillian Murphy over the portrait of some guy in the living room. So Monday night, we gave our toasts to Cillian and I climbed up to take him down.
Pim went to the airport on Tuesday morning - the three of us cried in our little group hug, loathe to leave the front hallway. I spent the rest of the day scrubbing every surface in the kitchen with such force that my nail polish came off.
Sienna left yesterday. We woke up just before six a.m., hugged (once, twice, three times), and then she headed to the airport too.
And then it was just me, living the classic ending to a long-running sitcom. Think about the end of Friends (spoilers ahead): this wacky but lovable group of friends who have spent their 20's growing together have moved into a new stage of life. They're moving out of their iconic apartment and into new homes. The series ends with them walking through the familiar rooms, reliving the memories they made there. New Girl (spoilers) also ends this way - with the gang playing one last game of True American, and then they're left standing in an empty loft.
I walked back through our flat and everything looked like it did the day we moved in. All of our personal touches - the Cillian Murphy picture, fairy lights, tapestry, shoes in the front hallway, eternal mess of a lived-in kitchen - are all gone.
All of our memories are still there, but there's no evidence of them anymore. There's a certain kind of sadness that comes with the last glances at an empty home. It's nostalgic and bittersweet and overwhelming. We don't know exactly what's coming next, just that we're leaving something comfortable and familiar and beautiful.
I cried during that walk-through, obviously.
If you've ever seen the movie The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, then you have heard the song 'The Call' by Regina Specktor. It's played at the very end, when the Pevensie children leave Narnia again (for Peter and Susan, it's the last time they'll ever see it. For Edmund and Lucy, they know they have a chance to go back, they just don't have any control over when). It goes like this:
It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope
which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word
and then that word grew louder and louder, 'til it was a battle cry
I'll come back when you call me
no need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing doesn't mean it's never been this way before
all you can do is try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war
pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light
You'll come back when it's over, no need to say goodbye
you'll come back when it's over, no need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning - it's just a feeling, and no one knows yet
but just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget
let your memories grow stronger and stronger, 'til they're before your eyes
You'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye
you'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye.
I cry almost every single time I listen to this song (listen to it now and cry with me). It perfectly captures what the Pevensie children are going through: they discovered a magical world, grew up there, became kings and queens, and then fell back out of the wardrobe into their old lives. They became children again, with no way of getting back to the place they loved so much. And then, miracle of miracles, they do get back! And it's different and strange but it's still Narnia. But once they've found their rhythm again, once they've made friends that are close enough to be family, they have to leave. And some of them don't ever get to return.
This is obviously not what's happening to me, in a literal sense. Coronavirus aside, I could go back to Scotland pretty much whenever. I don't need to stumble across a magical portal in the back of a wardrobe or inside the London underground. I didn't take my place as the long-prophesied and much anticipated High Queen Annie of Scotland (which is a bummer), I didn't spend fifteen years here, and I won't revert back to the age I was when I left. I didn't go on a fantastical adventure that I have to pretend never happened, and that I can only talk about with my three siblings (or if I did, I'm not telling you).
Even still, this song speaks to where I am right now. Particularly the last verse: now we're back to the beginning. This chapter has ended, and it's time to start a new one. It's just a feeling, and no one knows yet. This whole incredible year seems to be reduced to the feeling of nostalgia and a yearning to live it all again, and the specific people I experienced this with, who know this exact feeling, are scattered across the globe. But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget. Cue the tears. I might not be around the people I shared this adventure with anymore, but I still have my memories, and those are the most valuable things of all. Let your memories grow stronger and stronger, 'til they're before your eyes. I won't forget. I'll see you again.
And of course, the way Regina sings the chorus makes me cry even more. It's so soft and hopeful and certain, when leaving feels razor sharp and despairing and unsure. In short, this song is on my super sad "Leaving Scotland" playlist. I hope whoever I'm seated next to on the plane doesn't mind me sobbing the whole way home.
Currently, I'm processing this transition in an AirBnB just east of Princes Street. I wanted a few days in between moving out of my flat and moving out of the country, and I'm glad I made that decision. I think packing and cleaning and turning in keys and running to the airport would have been way too much at once.
I took a Covid test today because I need a fit-to-fly certificate to go home. I should get my results by Saturday night, and Sunday morning I'll fly from Edinburgh to London to Chicago. I do have to stay there overnight (in a hotel inside the airport for reduced exposure) because there are limited flights (as there should be, we're still in a global pandemic). Monday morning I'll arrive back in Pittsburgh.
It will be good to be home. As sad as I am about leaving Scotland, I am excited to see my parents and (after quarantine) my friends. There's still so much to do and so much to see.
And while I don't currently intend to move back to Scotland (Pim and Sienna will as soon as they get their visas sorted), people don't seem to believe me. As I was saying goodbye to some friends, several of them told me, "I know you'll come back. I know it."
Whatever I do and wherever I end up, I know I'll occasionally text Sienna to remind her of the time she set fire to the kitchen twice while making wings. And I'll remind Pim that she watched the first season of The Witcher TV show four times. And I'm sure they'll tell me they remember when I thought throwing my key out a window was a good idea (it was not). We'll keep encouraging each other to write. And I know I'll see them again.
Book recommendation: The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. These books are a literary staple. If you've never read them or haven't read them in a long time, find the nearest copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and dive in! These children's books are so fun and heart-wrenching and adventurous - you are sure to love them.