It was finally time to leave Florida behind. We were trading the beach for the mountains, the humidity for dryness, and sea level for 6500 feet of elevation. I was excited to hike, discover new places, and take Daisy on our new adventures.
But, I was still worried.
Yes, it was true Nick had gone an entire two weeks without video games. But it was also true that he had just purchased another vape pen, a sign that he was still trying to numb himself. I also had a feeling that the impending freedom of playing video games after the move was the only thing that got Nick through those two weeks; like it was his reward for lasting two weeks.
Our cars were packed and we were heading out early. My mom was coming with us to help us move and unpack. Nick would drive his car to Colorado alone. Daisy, my mom, and I were all in my car. We decided to break up the drive into 3 days since we had Daisy with us.
During the drive, Nick would text me to tell me how bad his OCD was. He would call me telling me how many vape cartridges he had smoked. While we were driving through the farmlands of Texas, he called me telling me he had maxed out how fast his truck could go. He laughed as he told me this, but the behaviour still concerned me.
We finally got to Colorado on January 6th, 2020. As we did a walkthrough of the house we'd be renting for the next year, I had no idea the depths of loneliness I would end up feeling in this house. At the time, I just felt excited because there was a backyard for Daisy and the house had more space than we were accustomed to
Nick didn't set up the video games, either. He planned to wait until my mom flew back home so he could spend time with us.
Our movers (and therefore furniture) would end up being several days later than we expected. During that time, we would explore the town and surrounding areas with my mom. With each passing day, you could tell Nick's mental state was getting worse and worse. He tried to be engaged during our outings, but he was starting to come apart.
At some point, we got tired of not having a kitchen table or anywhere to sit, so we went and bought a cheap table - assembly required. The three of us sat in our living room trying to put it together. Nick was working on screwing together a stool and the screw wasn't cooperating. He got up and left the room in frustration. My mom started to worry that her presence was the issue, but I reassured her it had nothing to do with her. Nick was still stuck. He had braved two weeks over Christmas without video games and now that there were less people around to serve as distractions, he was starting to experience his own version of withdrawal symptoms. Even so, she booked a flight home to "give us space to settle in", but I knew part of it was still out of concern that she was overwhelming Nick.
The movers still hadn't arrived by the time my mom left. The day she left, I got up before the sunrise to drive her to the airport. During the drive, the moonlight was causing a silhouette of the mountains. We were both amazed by the beauty of this place. Then the topic of Nick's OCD came up. I reassured her again that her presence had nothing to do with Nick's difficulties. He loved her and wouldn't want her to feel that way. I pulled up to the airport entrance and we got out of the car. I gave her a huge hug and held back my tears. If I had known this would be the last time I'd see her until October 2021, I would have hugged her harder. She wished me luck with the movers and starting our new jobs, then she turned around and headed inside. I got back into my car and watched her head inside from my rear-view mirror.
I cried a little more on my way home. The sun was starting to rise. And while that's usually the type of sentiment you hear from a writer before someone something great happens in the protagonist's story, this sunrise was the start of a few very dark months.
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