Empty Nest

Single in the City means a lot of things. It means that you are truly free to come and go as you like. But you are probably so busy with work and family that you end up in as much of a routine as married soccer Moms may find themselves. Granted, if this happens you do have the option to run away and do your thing without having to get permission or find a good babysitter.

If you have not guessed, I am single. And I have found myself in a bit of a routine between work and home that is making me feel the need to shake it up…. A lot! But there has been a part of my routine that is now changed forever. Usually getting into work before 7am and home after6, I hop in my car and tool home, ready to relax. As I climb the stairs from the underground parking lot, mumbling to myself about the highlights or lowlights of the day, I begin to hear the cacophony of children at play. Laughing, screaming, and running around. At the top of stairs I turn the corner, headed to my apartment, I enter the fray.

“My” kids are an international group of 4-5 depending on the day. Korean, Indian and European American. They always stop and surround me as I make my way to my front door. Sometimes they would chase me up the stairs and I would have to tickle each of them, leaving them in piles of laughter as I ran to the door and closed it before they collected enough strength for another onslaught. The closing of my front door usually ended the game until the next day. But not always. Sometimes it continued with knocking and running away when I opened the door, or pushing their way in only to be chased back out again.

When they weren’t chasing me, or trying to tickle me, or hanging onto my bags as I ascended the stairs, they would stop and ask me questions. My main interrogator was 5 year old Charlie. He was very curious and not at all shy about getting the information he felt he needed. He would ask: Where did you go today? What do you do at work? How long are there? Are you going tomorrow? How about on Saturday? What is in your bags? Do you live alone? Why? How come you are not married? How old are you? Where is your Mom and Dad? Are you a baby? The list goes on…and on. I think Charlie is going to be a journalist or writer someday. He patiently waited for an answer to each of his questions and he thoughtfully took aim for the next.

Two weeks ago Charlie told me he is moving home. I asked him where. He said home to Korea. I looked at my little friend and told him that I was going to miss him very much. He smiled and said okay. About 20 minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I looked through the peephole and saw nothing. The knocking continued. I opened the door and it was Charlie. He said he would miss me too and gave me a hand written note that explained it all. I was his friend. I gave him a big hug and thanked him. 10 minutes later, there was another knock on my door. It was my little Charlie. This time he gave me a picture he’d drawn of me and him.

Early on a Saturday morning, I was awakened from sleep by people making quite a lot of noise for 5:30am on a weekend. I peered out of my window and saw that it was Charlie and his family moving out. I watched for a minute then got up to make some coffee.

Now when I come home after work, there are no children playing. No one chasing me up the stairs hoping I will tickle them, no one asking 20 questions about my day and my life. And I miss them. Especially Charlie.