Steanville, Out

Ever since I moved to Atlanta (almost 13 years ago), Stacy has lived here, having moved herself just the year before. We met the first summer I arrived and have been dear friends ever since. There are so many reasons we were destined to meet (out of all the apartment complexes in the city, her older brother and I lived in the same one in neighboring buildings, we both worked for different divisions of the same company), but we met through a mutual friend, my one friend I had when I moved here that I’d known since high school, who also knew Stacy’s aunt.

We met when I was single, still had a dad alive, worked at an entry-level position at CNN, lived in an awful apartment outside the perimeter; she also single, a junior-level publicist at Cartoon Network, living with a roommate, driving a Toyota Corolla. And now here we sit—me, with my own company, a house, a husband, dog, and baby. Her, with her longtime boyfriend, Sean, making it as far up the company ladder at Turner as one could ever possibly hope (it doesn’t hurt that she’s a marketing genius), living in a loft in the heart of the city.

Up until last week that had been the case for as long as I can remember, our lives existing this way. Talking over AIM almost daily, meeting up almost weekly for drinks, a walk, or dinner. Yesterday, she started a job in NYC and she and Sean moved over the weekend. My avoiding going out for that last drink didn’t change the fact that they left. My, being busy on the computer when Sean came by with a truck to collect the furniture out of our attic we’ve been storing for them didn’t stop them from getting on that plane. They still signed the lease on the apartment in Chelsea even though I am struggling to process what it fully means to live in this city without them here, and that I can’t drive by their old apartment without crying.

Honestly, Stacy is the best friend I’ve ever had in my lifetime, more like a sister than a friend. From tennis partners, to yoga buds, to pedicures, dinner parties, concerts, conversations ranging from gossiping about our hairstylist to strategic career moves, and just about anything else close girlfriends can share – you name it, we’ve discussed it (at length, often over wine).

Things seem fleeting right now with them moving. Like time has passed and various people we love have all come and gone through this city. I don’t know what that really means for us, and I don’t need to think about it right now. All I can think about is that they aren’t here, but I’m trying to be positive and accept this change, because it’s very selfish of me to think otherwise. What I haven’t said is that it is an incredible move for them. Great job, great city, all the right reasons in the world to leave. Things will change, for certain. But, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad thing, this change. For right now though, I can’t see that, I just know it’s really, really hard.

Stacy’s brother Scott (who himself moved from Atlanta to NYC about four years ago), Dan, and I used to joke when Stacy and Sean got together that they could be in their own little world that we all called Steanville, sort of our own little Brangelina couple of the group. Like, Oh, Steanville won’t be joining us tonight because they are watching the Wire all weekend. And now, instead of Seacrest, out (a reference we’d all get because we’ve worked in TV) it’s Steanville, out.