Driving a u-haul, her and I. All of the heavy things, the first of two trips we have to make.

Clenching very tightly, I don't like driving this truck but I do it because she wouldn't be able to do it herself, she says. She says that about a lot of things and I'm not sure at what point her anxiety actually cripples her.

Driving the u-haul, with the knowledge that maybe, percentage-wise, we might be at 25% complete with the day. That's a generous estimate. This is better than she was last night, when I arrived at her place to find that she was 45% done packing her things, when she's had the better part of a month to put her things away.

It does feel like I'm babysitting a lot of the time, mostly because before she does literally anything she's asking me if she should do it. Like, "Should I put the food away?" right after we finish eating. Not an unreasonable thing to ask, but we've been together for almost two years and the first time she asked me I told her that food-born illness would wait until the end of the program we were watching.

Driving the u-haul, making a left onto 21st Street. I'm thinking about how the day has to end at some point. Tonight I will lie my head down and all of this will be done. The only way that won't be the case is if I do something today that follows me into tomorrow. As in, I crash the truck, I injure myself, damage something of hers, say something I can't take back.

I sure have said a lot. I told her how angry I was at what she was dumping onto other people, her friends, me. All of her possessions, display cases, figurines, a box literally labeled "Junk". "Why are we moving this?" one of her friends asks. I just make my eyes wide and smile without actually smiling. I'm having a hard time holding back when she gets despondent. I'm also having a hard time with sympathy. She's my unreasonable oppressor, in this scenario. Yes, she is shouldering a moderate monetary cost, yes she is burdened by living in a place that might be infested, but seems mostly contained at this point, but this is a choice she is making and the way she has gone about it is putting many people through pain. We are drained by lifting about thirty boxes of possessions, 95% of which I know she has not interacted with in the time we've been together. As a reminder, that's almost two years.

We just finished the left hand turn onto 21st street in Queens, in the u-haul, and suddenly a loud pop, crack ping. Like a cap gun just went off inside the cab of the truck. No smoke, did something just explode? Did I hit something? My ears are ringing? My hearing is fading back in? How loud was was that? Is this following me to tomorrow?

"What was that? Are you okay? Can you hear?" we're both so confused. The truck is still moving, slowly, but it doesn't seem to be a mechanical problem. I'm disoriented, asking repeatedly if she's ok and if she can hear me.

My hearing is mostly back after a minute and I'm trying to just keep driving while the adrenaline of something bizarre and unexplainable is wearing off. She says she saw something whiz by her window. She's having issues communicating any more detail than that, she's mostly just repeating herself and saying how scared she was.

While we're unpacking later I go to her side of the truck. All glass is intact. Nothing stands out. The passenger side mirror, I look at it a little closely. On the outside theres a gouge, a little bit bigger than the head of a pin. Something is lodged tightly in the plastic enclosure. Glass or metal, I'm not really sure but it's jammed in tightly.

I have no idea what it is or where it came from. I only know that it made me feel small and not in control of most of the things that happen around me, despite my every effort.