Our apartment was in the older part of the suburban town where we lived. The crappier part of town, but not dangerous or anything. It just wasn’t pretty. The siding was dirty white aluminum. The front steps were covered in astroturf, for some reason. And the river rocks that surrounded the building were half-covered with dirt and planted with plastic flowers, a particular horror I hadn’t seen anywhere else—yellow daffodils and bright purple tulips all year round.

I checked the mailbox in the entryway. Nothing. When I got to our apartment, I fumbled around with my keys before realizing the door wasn’t locked. Of course my dad was home. Where else would he be? We were leaving in a little over a week. And it’s not like he had a job to go to. That was the whole point behind this crazy move.

Most of our things had already been packed up and sent ahead. But my dad was still scrambling to box up the rest. “Hey,” I said. Which was apparently enough to scare the crap out of him. He jumped up and knocked over a stack of empty boxes, tripping over himself as he tried to stand upright.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he said, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead. “Can you hand me the tape? Might as well make yourself useful now that you’re home. Wait, aren’t you home kind of early?”

I handed my dad the roll of packing tape. “Yeah. So, uh… You might get a call from the school.”

He sealed up the box he’d finished packing. “Truancy? Grades?”

“Well maybe that too. But—don’t get all weird on me—they had some asinine idea that I might be suicidal.”

He froze with his hand on the box, the tape dispenser dangling off the side.

I scuffed at the worn spot in the beige carpeting with my foot. “God, Dad. I told you not to get weird. They’ve got things totally wrong. But I thought you should know that their idea was stupid, so if they called, you would be informed. Ahead of time. So you didn’t freak out.”

My dad didn’t freak out. Ever. He handled everything with this amazing calm. It drove me crazy. Sometimes I wanted him to admit that things sucked, and that our moving to Japan was not the Next Big Exciting Chapter of our lives, but yet another minor tragedy.

He was fine regardless of what happened. Once he’d had a spouse, a good job, and a nice home in the suburbs. With a lawn. And a fucking brilliant springer spaniel. And one by one all these things had disappeared, and still he was fine. Either he was the most resilient, optimistic person I’d ever met, or he was really good at lying to me, which was a depressing thought.

“Well, now that you’re here, I’m going to put you to work.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He handed me the tape dispenser. “Seal ’em up.”

I walked around the room taping boxes shut. They were labeled with their various locations: Goodwill, Epilepsy Foundation, Half-Price Books. The entire apartment smelled like new cardboard and cheap plastic.

There were a few boxes with his sister’s name on them. My aunt Jenny. When my dad had offered that I could stay with her and finish high school here, I told him I would rather chew off my right arm. We didn’t see eye to eye. On anything. And although she’d never said anything outright, it was clear she was borderline homophobic and disapproved of the way my father was raising me.

My dad looked up from his spot on the floor. “Do you need any more boxes for your stuff?”

“No, I’m good. Ironically that’s what caused the problem with the school. Apparently someone remembered that giving away your prized possessions is a red flag for suicidal ideation.”

“Well, I’m glad they checked in with you.” He wiped his hands on his jeans.

“It’s not like I gave my guitar away,” I said.

This was greeted with silence that lasted just a little too long.

“Jesus, Dad! It’s the only thing I’m bringing except for my clothes. Don’t tell me I have to leave that behind too.”

“ The walls are pretty thin in the company dorms…”

“So I’ll play outside. I’ll play at school. Hell, I’ll hang it on the wall and call it art.” I wasn’t sure why I was making such a big deal. It wasn’t like I could play much anyway. Only a few basic chords. But I was quite attached to the thing anyway.

“Oliver...” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Dad, it’s the one thing. I’m leaving everything else here. School, my friends…” I tried not to flinch at that last bit. Because beyond Maddie, there was pretty much only one other person I could stand. Maybe two.

“I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just need to check the apartment regulations. They have quite a lengthy list of restrictions...”

“Whatever.” I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cold cereal. Dinner of champions.

Then I closeted myself in my room with my guitar. It was nothing special. It was an old Korean-made acoustic. But I loved the feel of it anyway. I loved how it sat in my lap, loved the feeling of the frets on the fingerboard. I ran my fingers up and down the strings and listened to their metallic whispers.

“Oliver?” My dad knocked on the door. “Oliver, you okay in there?”

“Yeah. Fine. Great. Just give me time to brood like the teenager I am.”

“Sounds great. I’ll just be worrying over here like the parent I am.”

I played until it was dark and I was too tired to do anymore, and my hand ached from playing with too much tension, and my fingertips were in danger of developing blisters instead of calluses.

Was I an ass for being less worried about leaving my friends behind than losing my guitar?

Probably.