Crosswood Court shutdown

Months to prepare, and I wasn’t ready.

I thought I was far enough along, but I was not fully packed. Crites arrived, we grabbed breakfast and the moving truck, then started loading the truck attic. The unpacked possessions caused setbacks. Early in the week, the air around Nashville had been comfortable, breezy with temperatures suited to spring, not too humid.
 
We faced brutal setting for hauling furniture and boxes. The day before Crites arrived, the temperatures soared into the low 90s with humidity in tow. To my knowledge, the mercury has not left those uncomfortable heights.  In 24 hours of loading, we would drink a 24-pack of bottled water. For most of the day, it was two of us. The couches caused further setbacks, as I knew they would. They are the most difficult pieces of furniture I own. Four years ago, they were difficult to bring into the house, and they would prove just as hard to remove. The wooden frames along the bottoms must be removed before they can fit through the door. My neighbor lent a power drill to aid with the couches, and they filled a big chunk of the truck.

 A last supper at Jalisco didn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach. After years of chicken enchiladas verdes, my favorite Jalisco specialty, I could not finish my meal. Worse yet was a neighboring table, where a pair of slow-talking good old boys traded stories of the best meals they had that week. I don’t catch who makes an Ultimate Burger with two grilled cheese sandwiches serving as buns, but I pledge to never visit there. Same goes for the $5 whole friend chicken. I didn’t hide my disgust, and they didn’t notice. I had burnt out on these types of public moments. At least they didn’t have their cell phones on speakers; then I would have had to speak up. They did solidify my resolve to move.

My friend Trev provided much-needed relief around 6, helping us into the evening as the last big pieces came together. Three people gave me room to pack, Crites room to take items to the truck and Trev room to pack them. Around dusk we packed it in. I sent Trev home with a magnum of Cotes du Rhone that I didn’t get packed and he more than deserved for easing the burden on two older men. When he drove off, everything in the house could be removed in the morning. We could bring everything outside, then scrub and mop in short order.

 I dropped off Crites at his hotel, and spread my sleeping bag on the living room area rug. Percy immediately loafed in the middle of the bad and I had to lie next to him, half on the carpet and half on the sleeping bag. He knew something seismic was coming but had no clue this was the last night in the house where he lived longest.

Cat and the Fatman

As a kid, any move was preceded by nights in the house with no furniture. I always enjoyed sleeping in the old house one more time, even on the floor. My hamstrings cramped painfully from dehydration and at times I lurched around the house trying to calm the muscles stretched into tightropes. When I sleep, I slept deeply and conjured weird dreams, as if five years of Crosswood Court memories melded into one set of dreams.

At 6 a.m., I started cleaning., moving to clean out rooms and reduce the remaining clutter. I joined Crites for a quick breakfast at his hotel before we started the final push. There was a scrubbing of bathrooms, removal of everything headed to Colorado and a lot of angry cat protests. The outdoor cats arrived early for their final meal, passing as if the food plates would still be there with fresh cans on Sunday morning. We even locked Percy in the shed while the property manager reviewed the empty house.

After the property manager cut me a check and the drier finished with the last of the curtains, we loited for a bit. We brought Percy in and drank some extra water before beginning the caravan. Crites struck up Colorado by Grizzly Bear. The formless, ambient tune seemed the perfect summation of what sat ahead of us.

We had reached the end of Nashville, and it was time. With Percy locked in his carrier and the drugs taking effect, we locked the doors a last time. Crosswood Court would fade into history. Billy and his son were there to say goodbye. I thanked him for being a good neighbor and his son for always being a good boy. He said I would be missed. That felt good, when a neighbor talks about how different it will be without you.

One of the outdoor cats appears from the hedgerow and after several attempts to approach her, she darted off one more time. If I had tears, they were only for her and her kin.

Our exit lap took us past Opry Mills Mall, the Grand Ole Opryhouse House, the Opryland Hotel and the tackiest spots in a tourist town. We looped around to Interstate 24 and climbed from the Cumberland Basin toward Clarksville. In 45 minutes, we left Tennessee for western Kentucky. There Percy made it clear that the sedatives would not stop him from interfering in the smooth passage. His first accident arrived 80 miles in, necessitating a cleaning of both cat and carrier. I hope he would calm down, that the pill would let him rest. Constant meows radiated from the carrier behind the passenger seat. I listened to no music and instead serenaded him with reassuring talk that surely meant nothing to him.

Instead I relief on music in my head. The Dances with Wolves soundtrack was embedded on the folds of my brain, and I replayed the music of John Dunbar’s transit to Fort Sedgwick.

Illinois passed without incident, and the mass of highways that converge upon St. Louis proved little trouble in navigating. A gas stop arrived in concert with the storms that would rage through the evening. Thanks to graduation at Mizzou and a dearth of affordable hotel rooms, the night ended in Fulton, Mo. Winston Churchill gave a speech there – don’t ask me where, since we left the highway for the hotel and made no side trips.

While I checked in, Percy delivered a second accident, all liquid this time, nearly a straw-breaking accident. As soon as we entered the hotel room, I asked Crites to close the bathroom door behind me. I bathed a filthy, growling cat till his fur shed the foul smells of nine hours and two accidents in his carrier. He was clean, and I was satisfied. I put down a towel and he went for it. While I was hauling in more junk from the car, Crites toweled him and received a swipe for his efforts.

I slept, but not soundly. Percy alternated beds between Crites and myself, eating hungrily and using the litter box freely. Each time I awoke, I checked the window for daylight, ready for the second and final push to Colorado.

As long as my car and the moving truck went undisturbed, I didn’t care about anything else. I didn’t want to think about another 700 miles and all of Kansas with a cat resisting his sedatives. These days were too full to digest anything, so even nightmares in a Missouri hotel were welcome if they distracted me from everything that still had to go right.