Fifteen years ago, I had stood looking at the rental truck that held the contents of my life. Will, Mistress’ handyman, was behind the wheel. I would be leading him to the storage shed I’d rented to hold it all.
“Are you sure this is all?” he asked me. The truck was packed with box after box of my possessions. The only furniture was a bed with its mattress and box-spring and one overstuffed chair. I probably could have taken more furniture but didn’t know what I’d need or where I was going to put it.
“Yup, this is it, the culmination of six years in servitude.” We looked at each other and chuckled.
“Then let’s go. We can get this all moved before lunch.”
“All right, you know where the sheds are, if we get separated. I’ve got unit 63.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
I got into my old Mer
