Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Two

Just a few weeks after moving my parents' stuff out of storage I found myself standing in front of the house I grew up in. This day would be one of the last I ever spent inside it.

Neurotic as hell, my father had rented a tiny U-Haul truck and expected me to help him move into an apartment. Instead of renting a large moving van or preferably a big truck he chose one of the smallest moving vehicles U-Haul has to offer. Making matters worse, each load we took to the apartment only filled about one-third of the moving vehicle's capacity. We made trip after trip back and forth between the house and apartment. It was totally unnecessary.

That day my father worked me to the bone for nearly twelve hours and didn't even buy me lunch. Autumn was kind enough to stay with my mother to keep her company. Dad wouldn't dare yell at her with Autumn around. He only does that when I'm there because I don't matter. This was no way for Autumn to be spending her weekend. I felt really awful about it while dealing with Dad's bullshit all day long.

Near sunset I was exhausted. The muscles in my arms were wiped out. I could barely carry anything heavier than a book. Hours earlier I told Dad that I was done for the day, but he kept pushing me. "Just one more trip." He said. That was like three or four moving van loads ago. Finally, he roped me into helping him carry a large wooden antique hutch that was part of my great grandparent's dining room set down the front steps to the driveway. I told Dad multiple times I probably wasn't going to be able to lift it because I was too tired. He didn't listen to me. So, we got about halfway down, both my arms gave out, and the hutch tumbled end over end until it hit the concrete driveway and splintered. It was ruined.