It's been three weeks since I moved out of my parents' place. On Friday, Josh helped me haul my shit from his place to mine; a basement suite being rented out by a Mexican couple with a 3-year-old son. Thankfully it wasn't as if I had a lot of stuff to worry about; I packed the entirety of my belongings into two garbage bags and a suitcase belonging to Josh's parents, which he let me borrow.
My new place is in a picturesque but less-than-obscenely-rich neighbourhood in the northwest part of the city, within reasonable distance to my place of work and my parents' house and a couple minutes' bus ride to the c-train. There are big old trees with great thick trunks growing in people's front yards, casting shadows over the streets, and the day Josh helped me move in they were raining fluffy little seedlike things shaped like caterpillars on the road.
When I'd first met with the woman who was renting out the basement, Sarah, she seemed... not rude, exactly, but impatient. She didn't sit down and talk with me or anything and gave me a lot of information very quickly. It might've had something to do with the fact that I got there almost an hour early and must've caught her off-guard, because the whole famly was still in their PJs. Anyway, she seemed much better on the day I moved in. She sat down and chatted with me and Josh, talking about the guy who had lived there before me (a slob, apparently, who'd ruined her pool table) and the home business she was trying to get off the ground. I didn't have work until three and Josh didn't work until five, so he sat down with us in the living room and flipped through a set of encyclopedias Sarah had bought second-hand for her son, mostly listening quietly.
On our way out the door I said to Josh, "Oh, and before I forget," and grabbed him in a hug as tight as I was grateful.
"...You're welcome," he said.
Josh has done so much for me, starting long before he drove 20 minutes into the city in the dead of night to help me escape from my parents' house and letting me live with him for a week and a half while I got my shit together. He's been supportive of my decision to move out, never once made me doubt myself, believed in me, been there when nobody else was, and gave me a few much-needed kicks in the ass to get me going. When it comes to offering warmth and comfort, he kind of sucks; he refuses to coddle anybody. But he is, all things considered, my best friend.
. "So, yeah," I started to explain when we were in the car. "I wanted to thank you, but I didn't know where to start." Josh said he understood, and mentioned vaguely about having been in my position before; that "it's probably best not to say anything" because he knows exactly how I feel. I was curious about what sort of situation he'd been in before that was similar to mine, but I didn't pry. Josh doesn't give up his secrets easily.