It's an adorable carriage house, moments from Forsyth Park. It's exactly where I want to live. It's just a little room, and the kitchen reminds me of one you'd find in an RV. There are built in bookcases and a window seat that Banana Pants would love.
I couldn't help but imagine my dad there with me. He's been gone 11 years, today. When I was little I used to come to camp on Tybee Island, every year when I'd come home I'd tell him that someday I was going to live in Savannah. And I did. In the early part of the past decade, I moved with Paul, my ex husband. We lived at the very camp I had loved as a child.
And now I'm back, but this time on my own and nearly nine years after leaving. In so many ways it feels like a time warp. I'm staying with my old boss, my free time is spent with Pookie and Mr. Duff and in so many ways it feels the same. My new office is just across the street from my old one, and I find myself looking for parking off the exact same streets.
I could feel my dad, my Popoola, laughing at me today. Measuring my apartment in flip flops to make my best friend's husband spin his top. I could feel him hug me as I cried inside this tiny carriage house as I was feeling lost and simultaneously at home. I can even hear him whispering for me to slow down, because there's no point in living so damn fast.