I learned some saddening news this week.
Matt, Shaunelle and Loaf are moving away.
My bonus year of guaranteed couch surfing in RVA is over.
Matt and the Greatest Dog in the World are heading to Georgia. Shaunelle now works in the Tri-Cities, so it looks like Petersburg, Hopewell and Colonial Heights will remain a part of my life in some form or fashion.
Although we knew this had to happen at some point, it’s still something I never wanted to happen. This house atop Chimborazo was the catalyst for the best post-college experience I’ve had so far. You could come and knock on our door because we’d been waiting for you. This was our Friends house. This was our How I Met Your Mother house. This was our Jersey Shore, our Real World. This was our halfway house between the our early 20s and the real world.
Much like my fraternity and our infamous chapter house at 210 Deep Creek Road, this was a house where inseparable bonds were forged.
If that house were a sitcom, I was the among the characters added after the first season to try to keep it afloat. I came after the first year of tenants. Matt and Shaunelle had lost two before I arrived in August 2009. After I arrived, we went through two fourth roommates before we realized it just wasn’t going to work with four. When I left for six months, my room never got refilled. I was able to come back in to round out my third year before heading to Charlottesville.
Those three years, including the time when I officially unofficially no longer lived there were amazing. Over time, it truly became home. The very first time I changed the address on my license was there. Other than my mom’s house, I had been pretty transient during and after college (never mind the extraordinary amount of time I spent on Bull Run Drive in Hopewell). I couldn’t bear to go to the DMV back then and say that some of the places I’ve lived back then were where I officially lived (never mind that being a little illegal). When I arrived at that house, I knew it was going to be a place that stuck with me. It was in that house when I stopped calling my mom’s house home. Never mind that I was subletting: It was home.
But it is time to go. It’s run its course. Despite how amazing living in that house was, preparing to make my home as a married man is going to be more awesome. Although probably with fewer keggers in the backyard. Probably.
I still have the key to 210 on my key chain. When I got my new license, I still kept the one that said I was a Richmond, Va., resident in that Church Hill home. I’ll continue to hold on to it.