The Storage Unit

CIDER

About one weekend per month, Greg gets a strange gleam in his eyes and begins frequenting our small apartment storage unit with more attentiveness than usual. His mind begins to work furiously and the trips get longer and longer. I know that the battle has begun when boxes and bikes begin to make their way into the den, and then the living room, slowly taking over the front of the apartment and rendering it impassable. Greg is not seen or heard from in this initial battle; and were it not for the occasional thump or indistinguishable muttering, I would assume the boxes had finally taken him.

This dismantling continues until the storage unit is nearly empty and the apartment is quite full. Then, logically, reassembling must take place, and after a short break where battle-wounds are tended to and courage is rejuvenated, back he goes to begin the Tetris-style reconstruction. Box after box goes back in, the bikes find their home, and soon - aside from vacuuming - the task is complete.

Grinning madly he takes me to see the result of his hard work. I step into the vault and survey a scene that is remarkably similar to the previous design. Still, the fact that he has accomplished this feat is given much praise, and proper appreciation is to be expected. As we step back into our apartment, a brooding silence falls over the two of us, and I know we are thinking the same thing:

"Perhaps next month. . . "