Boxes filled my life. I didn't know I had these many things in my closet, let alone all the other junk scattered around my house. Art, mainly, but some books and papers as well. I was lucky enough to have absolutely lousy taste in art, at least according to mainstream opinion, so I could obtain it for prices normally reserved for truck-stop condoms. Many people seemed to feel I would have been better of putting a truck-stop condom on my wall than some of the things I brought home.

And now they were all going into boxes. "Honestly, Benedict, I don't know why you can't just move some of this garbage over to Metha's place and stay here. It's not like she's far away; you could visit her whenever you wanted. Your uncle and I can help you fix up your room so it doesn't look like vandals attacked it." My mother was a great help packing; she was a world-champion short-distance fretter, which meant that she had to be physically in the room where the object of her fretting was, and preferably she would interpose herself between the fret-ee and anything he or she might want to do. I hadn't bothered to ask her to help, really, because I knew she'd be there, and because I knew she'd be absolutely no help.

"Mom, I told you, you can fix up my room any way you want," I said patiently, navigating my way around her fretting form and depositing another handful of closet-detritus in a box. "And I'll be quite close, so I can come by and visit you whenever I want... I mean, whenever you want. And you all could come visit me there. Metha likes you and she loves company."

"Listen to your mother, son," came my father's voice from downstairs. He wasn't helping pack either, not because I didn't want him to, but because ESPN was showing bocce. In fact, chances were good he didn't even know what we were talking about, but was simply just yelling random bits of encouragement every so often. My parents were a team, solidarity all the way.

"Yes Paulie, I recognize that a boy his age needs his independence, but we don't push." Apparently, Uncle Paul was taking my side, strangely enough. Actually, the fact that my mother talked to Uncle Paul didn't worry most people, until they discovered that the two didn't always agree. Having an argument with an imaginary person tends to be a little off-putting, to say the least.

I sighed and ignored it all. I had three boxes filled with God knows what and it seemed like the fourth might be the end of the junk in the bottom of my closet. I wasn't sure why I was packing things I couldn't identify, but what with all the other boxes, a few more didn't seem to make any difference.

"If he wants independence, why doesn't he join the service or something," said my mother to Uncle Paul. My mother didn't really want me to join the Army, but for some reason going thousands of miles away and alternately getting shot at by crazed lunatics and shouted at by crazed officers seemed a better option for her than moving across town.

"Ma, come on, you know the Army wouldn't take me," I said, patting her on the shoulder. "Besides, I don't like the military."

"Your uncle served for years, best thing that ever happened to him."

"Maybe, but Uncle Paul isn't me. Besides, he told me himself that he didn't want to see me make the same choices he did."

"Oh really? Paulie, when did you tell Benedict that he shouldn't join up?"

"For God's sake Ma..."

"Don't interrupt. I see. I knew he was lying, Paulie."

Of course I was lying, since "the best thing that ever happened," to Uncle Paul had concluded with his death, far too long ago for me to remember being told anything by him. Truth to tell, I couldn't really remember what he sounded like either, which made listening to him difficult. "Look, it doesn't matter," I said, closing the now-full box. "I'm going to Metha's place and I'm sure we'll all survive. You can do whatever you want with my room, turn it into a sewing room or something."

"Benedict, what am I going to do with a sewing room? I haven't sewed anything in years."

"Okay, a den, a library, another toilet! Whatever! The point is, it's your room now."

"Look, just put it off for a week or so, let us get used to the idea."

"Listen to your mother, Ben." Dad was good, I have to give him that. He managed to pick the right moments to interject without even hearing.

I shook my head. "You can get used to it easier if it just happens. Trust me, it's for the best."

"Paulie, now is not the time to be telling him that kind of thing." What kind of thing, I'll never know. "He doesn't need any ideas. Across town is too far, Bennie. At least start out with across the street..."

"Mom, Metha doesn't live across the street. She lives where she lives, which is where I'm going to live. It's not even a mile away. What difference does that little distance make?" I was making a mistake arguing, but I'd being doing it for three solid days now, whenever I was home.

"It just does, young man," said my father from the doorway. Commercial breaks needed to be shorter, if only to keep one of the team on the sidelines.

"Dad, do you even know what we're talking about?" I asked impertinently.

"Does it matter? I agree with whatever your mother was saying." This united front thing had been getting me in trouble since I was old enough to walk.

I sighed again. "Hand me the packing tape, will you?"

"Come on, hun, he's in one of his moods," my father said, leading my mother away. "You can't attempt to reason with him when he's like this."