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Amazon Trail:
The Last U-Haul

ere comes a time in a dyke’s
life when she has to say no —
I haven’t gotten there yet.

These last few years of living in
town, single, have been rich with
self-discovery, friends and inde-
pendence. I wouldn’t have missed it
for the world, but something was
missing. I guess I’m just the marry-
ing kind.

Who wouldn’t be? My
girl is the best thing since sliced
bread. So I’m moving in.

This is an entirely new
experience — I have never moved in
with someone else. The closest I’ve
gotten is parking a travel trailer out
back of a girlfriend’s house. Not
this time. My girl is getting the
works — me and all my stuff. I keep
expecting her to cry uncle; instead
she fills up her van every time she
visits and trucks it on home.

It’s as if I’m reassembling
my identity at my girl’s house.
There’s a melding going on even
before we cohabit. So far a chunk
of my library has moved into her
guest room, and my cat figurine
collection awaits me in a closet.
Two-thirds of my t—shirts and most
of my jeans are set to go, while a
conga line of furniture has already
danced to its destination. Every
time I turn around there’s another
item that needs to be packed up for
our combining-households garage
sale. I am amazed at the number of
pieces of who I am I’ve hauled
around from place to place.

So many of these posses-
sions are veterans of setting up a
single household: the little garage-
sale stereo, the donated recliner, the
battered end table with its drawers
for stashing stuff. It’s hard to sell
some of the things that need to go.
The couch sags with memories, the
sheets absorbed a fountain of tears.
The green table held so many of us
at Thanksgiving and the card table
extender was central to 4th of July
gatherings — they’ll both go back to
my innkeeper friends. My girl and I
will still do holidays, but we don’t
need two of everything.

It’s just that — well, every
piece of furniture has a story, every
pot and pan collected in my bache-
lorhood is like a medal of survival.
I’m kind of proud that with the help
of my friends, I actually have sur-
vived. I may have nearly depleted
my savings, but I’ve made the pay-
ments on my house and kept it in
good enough repair that it’s found a
buyer. It was friends, again, who

 

helped me get it in shape to sell.
Not two weeks after a swarm of
lesbians weeded, mowed, trimmed,
cleaned and repairefd, the buyer bit.
Hallelujah — my girl and I can stop
commuting and can nest together.
But what friends! First
they helped me set up housekeep-
ing, now they’re helping me dis-
mantle my life here. With good

Every piece of

 

one. I was through with love. These
friends became my family. It was
wrenching to learn that I needed to
leave my family, but it’s exactly
what I need to do. Unlike the part-
ing I experienced at 18, I get to do
it right this time — to leave with
their acceptance, love and blessings
on my queer head.

So I’m moving again, hir-
ing my last U—Haul. Because this is
it, the one I’ve been hoping for, the
one I didn’t think could happen.
We’re a matched set, two halves of
a whole, star-crossed lovers and,
after a few years alone — with
friends helping me to see a lot more
than just a house clearly — I know
this is right. I couldn’t be more
smitten — and I couldn’t be more
astonished at what has grown
between us. She was one of those
friends who helped me to survive
my time alone. Just a kind, gentle,

furniture has a story,

every pot and pan collected
in my bachelorhood is

like a medal of survival.

cheer they are letting me go, though
it’s as painful for them as for me. I
remember one of the innkeepers
accompanying me on my house-
buying expeditions. She showed me
the need for a lot of light in a
house, made repairs seem do-able,
helped me to recognize the value of
the house I bought. I remember
garage saleing with the innkeepers
and the librarian, snagging a book-
case here and a set of sheets there. I
remember an innkeeper dismantling
the second-floor stairs so we could
get my bed up there. I remember
the retired schoolteacher working in
my front garden, pulling weeds I
couldn’t keep up with. This house
is more than four walls, it is filled
with generous, sustaining energy
that is hard to leave behind.

With these friends, I did-
n’t need a girlfriend. Wasn’t look-
ing for one. Didn’t, frankly, want

supportive friend. Isn’t that the
way it often happens?

I have to admit that the
single life was not exactly heaven
on earth for me, but it had its
attractions, one of which was stabil-
ity. Moving would not have been in
the picture until I was too rickety to
handle a house. Instead, here I go
again, feeling like a lesbian
Vagabond, but headed for the home
I’ve been searching for all these
years. My girl, who’s been as sur-
prised by the turn of events as I,
keeps saying, “Who knew?”

Who knew I had one last
U-Haul trip in me? V

Copyright Lee Lynch 2004. Lee
Lynch is the author of eleven books
including The Swashbuckler and
the Morton River Valley Trilogy.
She lives on the Oregon Coast.Her
web page is at leelynch6.tripod.com