Hello, I appreciate you being here.
The Move
Hoboken, NJ
A Wednesday night in late June 2007, at my local pub, I asked around to see if anyone could help me move that Sunday morning. The silence grew louder and louder. It was embarrassing to ask.
Everyone there—all my friends—knew I couldn't afford movers. I was desperate. At the end of the night, Fitz and Coakley, who were like big brothers to me, said they'd be there.
That Sunday was moving day, and it turned out to be the hottest day of the year. The temperature hit 106 degrees. I was about to move into my first adult apartment that wasn't a basement. I had just turned 32.
A few months earlier, my apartment had flooded, and I had put the few things that weren't permanently damaged into a small storage unit. Then I began sleeping on a coworker's couch in his condo.
I met Fitz and Coakley at the storage facility in Hoboken at 9 a.m. I knew both of them could've been down at the Jersey Shore or on a golf course with a couple of cold beers. Instead, they were there for me. The scorching sun poured down on us as we—mostly they—carried plastic crates of books and CDs from Fitz's minivan up four flights of stairs to my new apartment.
I noticed both guys had sweat soaking through their T-shirts. Totally drenched.
I ran across the street to the deli and got them each a bottle of Gatorade.
Neither of them smiled during the move, but they were there when I needed them. Knowing that made me almost cry. How fortunate was I?
When it was over, I thanked them.
Coakley nodded and said, "No problem, Wade."
Fitz patted me on the shoulder and said, "Enjoy your new place."
They gave me the best housewarming gift I've ever received: their friendship.
Thanks for reading,
Adam
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