GET OUT: WHEN YOU’RE ASKED TO LEAVE NICELY

“Get out,” are more than just pretty words.

I’ve heard it said before.

It was said by a roommate I once had.

Here’s what I did: I got out.

If you didn’t know, roommates can be complicated.

They start out one way, then change to another.

I’ve always been a good roommate, a trait I learned from sharing a room growing up, living in a dorm, living in a barracks.

Living together gives perspective you can’t get anywhere else.

I joined a household with a secret: my roommate didn’t live in our shared apartment.

They lived with their sweetheart in the same building, the same floor.

It was a secret because of the rent situation: Their parents were helping out and could never know The Truth.

Shacking up wasn’t always a popular way of life.

Because my roomie was balancing so many things, everything had to be just so.

At the time I was far from ‘just so.’

Get Out! Who, Me?

I kept to myself, picked up my stuff, went to work, came home.

Call it a normal life.

The household I joined had its own rhythm. It was communal with shared cooking and cleaning in the shacked up apartment. With strict rules to follow.

It lasted a few months.

Before I left the apartment I shared with a roommate who didn’t live there, I got a line on another place and checked it out.

On moving day an older man showed up to supervise. They sat in a chair and watched me pack.

It was a dad or an uncle. Since I was an uncooperative roommate in the commune life I might be a problem on the way out?

I saw that as two different things tied into one, which was a bad fit.

The now ex-roommate pretended they lived in the apartment while their uncle/dad was there to keep up the myth.

After I was gone I got a few phone calls from the real roommate down the hall. I had left a few things and I could pick them up.

Which I did.

But I never saw the old roommate who had once been so friendly and open.

Where were they?

When I arrived their true love said they locked themselves in the apartment their parents paid the rent on, my old place, to avoid having to interact with the bad man. Me.

“They don’t want to see you. Even your voice traumatizes them.”

I said I understood.

Like I understood the words they said, but not so much their reaction.

2

To leave the building I had to walk by the door to my old apartment, which was a reminder.

Instead of going back to the apartment I’d just left, I yelled down the hall.

“IF YOU FIND ANYTHING ELSE, GIVE ME ANOTHER CALL, OKAY? SEE YOU LATER. I’M LEAVING.”

The coast was clear for their life to continue.

After yelling at the door so my old roommate could hear me one last time, I wished them well and never returned.

The Rest Of The ‘Get Out’ Story

Since there’s always a story behind The Story, this is it:

The older man supervising my Get Out day was my dad’s brother.

He came to my father’s funeral years later and I picked him up at the airport.

We talked about that day and what happened after I left.

The ‘live in’ roommate down the hall had finally flaked out and showed who he really was.

My roommate who didn’t live in the apartment the parents paid for?

They had a re-set and made something of their life with other people in another city.

I saw them for the last time at their father’s funeral.

We talked about moving day quickly. They asked me if I was ready to apologize for not being a better commune guy.

Which seemed weird.

How many times have you waited for an apology? For how long?

Without giving it much more thought I apologized. What was I apologizing for? Didn’t ask.

If they needed something as simple as an apology to balance themselves, I gave it.

Was it sincere? As sincere as an apology for something untold can be.

What was I sorry for? I was sorry they needed to lie to their parents to live the life they wanted to live.

Sorry that they chose flakey people to share their life with.

Most of all I was sorry they were so keen on keeping their bad memories alive.

I was sorry for their loss on funeral day for their dad, and sorry for their loss on my Get Out day.

2

Above all, I was sorry to learn they had reported me to their parents for inviting an old girlfriend to spend the weekend.

Their parents were against premarital sex. And shacking up.

They told on me, got me kicked out, and lived in fear I’d retaliate.

“Do you remember me yelling down the hallway on my last visit?”

“Yes.”

“That was all the retaliation I needed.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m on the good side of Karma. I figured life would sort you out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it was good seeing you. I’m sorry how things worked out.”

“They worked out fine.”

“All is fine then?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”