It took moving out for me to finally get to know my neighbors.

I was selling my belongings before heading back home to New York. Sitting on a roofed porch with a tea and a fan, I waited for customers. Maybe I’d glean some last bits of wisdom from a spot I’d soon put in the rear view.

First came a couple in a truck with an off-kilter carburetor. Their home had been destroyed in the recent tornadoes in the South Delta. I helped them load my futon and ice-maker. Next came a young dad in a big SUV. When he opened his trunk to load my headboard, colorful balls toppled onto the country road like plastic bubbles. An expectant mother whose car had gone kaput came for Styx, my beloved silver Corolla.

Families, both young and old, went down that same dirt road with stuff that ceased to be mine. But they gave me something valuable in return – their stories. I was happy to have played a small part in their own, adding a few more faces to this chapter of my life.

It took moving out for me to finally get to know my neighbors. It was the beginning of a long hot summer in the Mississippi Delta, and I was selling my belongings before heading back home to New York. Much of my furniture was already lined up on the porch. I waited outside in a folding chair with a cash box in my lap and my phone opened to Facebook Marketplace.

Earlier that day, I had found a home for my toaster and microwave. A café owner whom I finally got a chance to engage in long conversation with gladly took them off my hands for a discounted rate. She moved here from a city, too, she confessed. But she settled down with a mutt and met a man, building a radically different life. I always pegged her for a local in hunting gear and boots. But she was just like me.

Now, sitting on a roofed porch with a tea and a fan, I waited for more customers. Maybe I’d glean some last bits of wisdom from a spot I’d soon put in the rear view.

A direct message online came before the sound of the truck, its carburetor sluggish and off-kilter. I got up to greet the couple coming to fetch my futon and ice-maker. The tailgate was loaded up with plenty of furniture already, some of it worn and taped up. I anticipated a haggle. I also anticipated trouble after struggling to pin down an ETA with the couple all morning.

I was frustrated. They were supposed to pick up the items yesterday. There were plenty of bad-faith actors on the site trying to take advantage of sellers. So by the time they finally parked and the older man helped his wife from the passenger seat, I was scowling.

“We’re coming far. Sorry about it. From Rolling Fork,” the wife said. The two of them had clear, bright eyes in spite of their tired faces.
She strode forward in jean shorts and a rock T-shirt, a “Delta strong” pin clipped to the front. The pair’s home had been destroyed in the recent tornadoes in the South Delta. I let go of my reservations and helped out the pair with the sofa, sliding it into the back of their truck with a smile.