Everything else I owned was still in my childhood bedroom twelve miles to the west.

My high school yearbooks were in the closet.

The oak dresser my father had refinished stood against the north wall.

My winter blankets were folded up in the hallway linen chest.

I went back to my car, took the key out of the ignition, and opened the trunk one last time to make sure nothing was left.

The trunk was empty.

I reached up into the dark opening of the unit, took hold of the heavy bottom handle of the steel door, and hauled it down with both hands.