Relaunch: Deja Vu, a.k.a. Fae's First Apartment

Last week, Fae came into the family room and announced: “Well, this is it, parents. I’m going to my apartment now. I officially live somewhere else.”

Gulp. Although this long-awaited event was no surprise, I have to admit that a voice inside my head whined: No, I’m not ready. But at the same time, a louder voice said: This is good, this is right, it’s time. So I swallowed down the lump in my throat, gave my beautiful firstborn a squeeze and fought tears by reminding myself that even though she won’t be sleeping under the same roof, she’s not going far. Fae’s first apartment is only a half-hour drive away. We made plans to have lunch on Thursday to discuss our blog, and that helped. She’s gone, but not really gone. Besides, her bedroom is still full of stuff, most of it all over the floor. If I miss the essence of Fae, I just need to open the door.

Now. About Fae’s first apartment. If déjà vu actually is a disturbance in the matrix, Keanu Reeves better show up soon, because I’m a little freaked out. There have to be thousands of apartment buildings in the greater Boston area. What are the odds of Fae’s first apartment being in the same town and same apartment complex where I had my very first apartment, back in 1983? This is exactly the case; a weird, spooky kind of coincidence. It wasn’t until after she signed the lease with her roommate and described the complex (a cluster of brick buildings circling a courtyard with a pool at the center) that things started sounding eerily familiar. I’d even forgotten my old address until she mentioned it.

Before Hubby and I stopped by Fae’s apartment for the first time to haul her mattress and box springs up three flights of stairs, I swear I wouldn’t have been able to find my way. Those driving directions have been buried in the “inactive” sector of my brain for 26 years. But as soon as we drove into the complex, it was like dusting off an old scrapbook. Although her building is two doors down from my old building, and she is on the third floor while I lived on the first, the apartment layout is exactly the same. And her bedroom, the smaller of the two (which I’d also inhabited, while my slightly wealthier roommate took the larger one), looks exactly like my old room. I could even offer advice on the best angle for her bed.

While Hubby sat on the floor with Fae to work on the Internet hookup, I sank into a chair and contemplated memories I hadn’t accessed for nearly three decades. During the two years I lived here, I was 24 and 25, just slightly older than Fae, working as a radio copywriter, making barely above minimum wage and eating a lot of soup. Hubby and I were newly in love and I surprised myself by thinking, ya know, I could marry this guy. Memory snapshots came to me, of parties with friends, playing my guitar, drinking wine with my roommate, and having dinner with the couple down the hall.

And as I watched Hubby with Fae, I also felt a pang of jealousy. She has the luxury of having her parents nearby to help as she begins her new life. When I was her age, my parents were in the midst of a heart-breaking divorce. They were hundreds of miles away, both literally and emotionally. There was no way I could call on Dad to help set things up in my apartment, or have lunch with Mom on a random Thursday. Sure, it forced me to be independent. But there was also an element of loss.

So, although our journeys are different, what is identical for Fae and me at that age, (in addition to the weirdly coincidental street address), is the fact that the twenty-something years represent a time of huge transformation. It reminds me of books I read when Fae was a toddler, chronicling the amazing changes that occur in the first few years of life. Surely these next years will be equally transformative. But instead of first steps, first teeth, and first words, it will be new friendships, romances, life experiences and career changes that will color the rest of her life.

- Callie