A Sort of Homecoming
Created | Updated Mar 25, 2008
It was time to go, past time. I was packed and the Jeep had been loaded for hours. I paced around the house, agitated and nervous like a wild animal locked in a cage. I stared morosely at the clock on the kitchen wall and reverse engineered the trip. The drive will take two hours and forty-five minutes, call it three. The timing would be tricky. I knew I did not want to get there by dinner, but it was too late for that now anyway. For damn sure I did not want to get there too early and end up getting caught in that quiet period between dinner and the nightly news. I also didn't want to get there too late and find them waiting up for me. Ten o'clock, or maybe between ten and ten thirty. I'd need to leave here between seven and seven thirty, more specifically I would have needed to leave here about ten minutes ago.
I dumped my tea in the sink, rinsed out the glass, and stood at the kitchen sink staring out of the window at the Jeep. It was the only car in the driveway. All of my roommates had gone home already. In fact, most of them had skipped classes Tuesday to leave Monday night. The only sound in the house was the incessant ticking of the kitchen clock. Time marches relentlessly onward whether you are ready for it or not. I tried to tell myself that no matter what happened over the next few days eventually it would be Monday and I'd be hoping on my bike heading off to class and this whole weekend would be a memory.
I was going home for Thanksgiving. This had been decided three months ago and this was getting ridiculous. What was I waiting for? I need to snap out of it, shake it off, and go. Of course three months ago it had seemed so far into the future that it was easier to trick myself into thinking that today would never come. I tried saying it out loud to see if it felt any different, "home for Thanksgiving". My voice sounded thin and shaky as it was immediately absorbed by the cavernous silence of the house. I'm losing it now, I can't be talking to myself, this is crazy.
Six months I had lived in this house and in all that time I don't think I'd ever been alone here before. That was part of the charm, something was always going on. There were seven names on the lease, meaning that the rent was split seven ways. In actuality, there was always a host of boyfriends, girlfriends, study partners, and refugees from hated living situations. People came and went like cats. I never really knew where any of them came from or where anyone was going. Most of the time we didn't even bother locking the door and even when we did, everyone knew about the key in the mailbox.
I had been invited to a couple of people's houses for the holiday. Last year I had spent the day alone watching football and eating pizza. That was not to be this year. I had noted the furtive glances when I announced that I would be going home this year. No doubt there was a discussion about it in a back bedroom. None of them had ever heard me mention having a family before. As far as they knew I had sprung from the ground like a weed. I was grateful that no one said anything directly to me. There were the usual overtures of availability should I want to "talk about it" but everyone seemed to sense that this was something I was going to have to deal with on my own.
I broke away and in one single motion walked out the door, got in the Jeep and started it. I was officially en route there was no turning back now. Thinking about it, it occurred to me that they were probably as nervous about this as I was and that thought made me feel better. I pulled onto the freeway heading south. The on ramp made me think of the painfully slow climb of a roller coaster heading out of the gate and up to the end of the belt. Click click click up and up and up filling you with excitement and terror. You want out, but not really and it's too late anyway. Then you get to the top and just for a moment you teeter on the edge, not moving, your heart beating wildly in your chest in deadly anticipation and then you feel a shift and suddenly you're plunging straight down so fast you can't catch your breath or even scream.
Oh Christ I really need to focus or I'm going to crash which granted, would be one way out of this, but wouldn't really resolve anything. I caught a slight chill and turned up the heat. It was already dark. I hate how early it gets dark this time of year. It was only eight o'clock and already it was pitch black outside. I needed music, loud music, I hit the button for the CD player:
"River going to take me, sing sweet and sleepy,
sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home.
It's a far gone lullaby, sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds I've come since I first left home.
Goin' home, goin' home, by the riverside I will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul."
No, bad choice. I can't deal with that right now. There has got to be something better on the radio:
"And the years are rollin' by me.
They are rockin' evenly.
I am older than I once was, and younger than I'll be.
That's not unusual.
It isn't strange,
After changes upon changes, we are more or less the same.
After changes, we are more or less the same.
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
Going home, where the new york city winters aren't bleedin' me.
Leadin' me, to goin' home."
What the hell is this, some kind of sick conspiracy. How about blessed silence, much better just the hum of the tires on the freeway and the gentle, soothing vibration of the engine. Then I noticed it, 85 North. What the hell was I doing going north? How could I have been so stupid to have gotten on the freeway going the wrong way. I swore loudly, whipped off the exit ramp and pulled over onto the shoulder. At any other time this might have been amusing but not today. I knew what this was. This was no accident. I had sabotaged myself and I was furious at no one but myself and then I was furious for losing control and becoming furious. I sat there gripping the wheel, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.
I checked my watch, I had been going the wrong way for half an hour. Between standing there for half an hour in the kitchen like an idiot and driving the wrong direction, I was now looking at an arrival time of midnight, wonderful. I yanked the map out of the pocket in my door and spread it out over the steering wheel thinking that maybe there was some sort of short cut that would put me back in the right direction without having to actually turn around and go back the way I had come. It was completely futile of course and I was just folding up the map when the interior suddenly became awash with retina piercing flashing blue lights.
I didn't want to look. Maybe it was just a UFO and I was about to be abducted by aliens. No such luck. I squinted into my rear view mirror and could just make out a state trooper strolling in that state trooper stroll shinning his two foot long mag light all around the Jeep. I was seized with a moment of panic when I reached to hide my stash and didn't find it in the cup holder where I always kept it. Right as he was even with my window I remembered that I had put it deep inside my pack in the back seat, way out of reach just to keep from giving into the temptation to break into it.
After dealing with the bright light in the face treatment and the "concern" about how abruptly I had decided to exit the freeway, I was sent on my way. I must have answered all of the questions correctly, but I had blown my chance to spend the weekend in jail instead of having to go home. I pulled onto the road, got back on the freeway, and tried to get comfortable. I was still letting the scan function run wild on the radio when I passed the exit for Chapel Hill. I moved over into the left lane, down shifted, and speeded up just to prevent any more tactical errors. According to the bright green clock display on my dashboard, I was now looking at a twelve-thirty arrival time.
I had made it to the other side of Greensboro when the Jeep lit up with flashing blue lights, again. I had no idea how fast I had been going, what was on the radio, or even what I had been thinking about. I knew that I had jumped out of my skin when I saw the lights and was pretty sure that I had jerked the Jeep rather erratically in the process. He was zooming up behind me and just as I was reaching for my turn signal, he slide over into the left lane and shot past me so fast that the Doppler effect actually rocked the Jeep. Damnit, I had one nerve left and now it was shot. I was still completely manic and shaking uncontrollably, on the verge of hyperventilating a few minutes later when I saw a sign for a rest area.
At that point, I did not care what time I was going to get home. I simply was in no condition to drive and had to pull over. The rest area was lit up like a used car lot. Tables were set up with coffee and donuts and an unbelievable number of people were milling around. I wanted no part of that so I pulled over as far away from the action as I could get. I got my cell phone out, considered calling home to let them know I would be late, reconsidered, thought about calling one of my friends just to let them talk me off the ledge, but in some kind of fit of pent up rage, I ended up throwing my phone into the trees. For a split second it felt good, then it felt silly, then I had to get my flashlight out of the Jeep and go hunt down my phone once again irritated with myself for losing control.
The cold air felt good on my face and I felt better once I had retrieved my phone. I opened the door fully intending to get back on the road but the dome light seemed to make my back pack glow. After a stunningly short period of internal conflict, I yanked up my pack, snatched my stash out of the pocket and marched resolutely to a picnic table up the hill from the Jeep. After a good twenty minutes of power smoking in the cold, I definitely felt calmer. I sat there on the table somewhat irritated that I had not succeeded in my determination not to give in to the sweet escapism of thc, but I managed to rationalize it and if I had really intended not to smoke anything, I wouldn't have brought it along.
I sat there in the dark watching the goings on at the rest area below. People pulling up, kids jumping out of the car and running around in circles happy to be free of the confines of the back seat on a long road trip. The adults all looked tired and harried, but brightened at the sight of donuts, coffee, and the friendly face of a volunteer trying to make sure that all the drivers on the road were wide awake.
I finally stirred from my perch and started back down the road, through small town after small town as the scenery became increasingly rural. It was all familiar but I felt distant and detached like I knew it only from a dream. I stopped one more time when I reached the small, one lane, dirt road leading to the house. It was the sight of the mailbox that gave me pause. Something about the name, my name, stenciled on the side in shinny black paint. I peered through the trees. I could just see the house.
It had been almost two years since I had seen the house. The day I left I had never intended to see it again. I would not be seeing it now if I had not had to get my parents to sign a form so I could get financial aid for school. Until that moment, they had no idea where I was or if I were even still alive. I had pleaded and begged the university to work around my having to contact them, but they were used to the traditional eighteen-year-old kid, bright eyed and out on their own for the first time. They just would not conceive that my situation could be any different. The form simply had to be signed or I would not get the financial aid without which I would not be an incoming freshman.
It was now two in the morning, record time. This was not what I had in mind. I drove up the road and up the driveway. They were still up. Not only were they still up, but every single light in the house was on and they were on the front porch dancing with excitement like little kids. Even the dog was jumping up and down.
Maybe this weekend would turn out all right after all.
I dumped my tea in the sink, rinsed out the glass, and stood at the kitchen sink staring out of the window at the Jeep. It was the only car in the driveway. All of my roommates had gone home already. In fact, most of them had skipped classes Tuesday to leave Monday night. The only sound in the house was the incessant ticking of the kitchen clock. Time marches relentlessly onward whether you are ready for it or not. I tried to tell myself that no matter what happened over the next few days eventually it would be Monday and I'd be hoping on my bike heading off to class and this whole weekend would be a memory.
I was going home for Thanksgiving. This had been decided three months ago and this was getting ridiculous. What was I waiting for? I need to snap out of it, shake it off, and go. Of course three months ago it had seemed so far into the future that it was easier to trick myself into thinking that today would never come. I tried saying it out loud to see if it felt any different, "home for Thanksgiving". My voice sounded thin and shaky as it was immediately absorbed by the cavernous silence of the house. I'm losing it now, I can't be talking to myself, this is crazy.
Six months I had lived in this house and in all that time I don't think I'd ever been alone here before. That was part of the charm, something was always going on. There were seven names on the lease, meaning that the rent was split seven ways. In actuality, there was always a host of boyfriends, girlfriends, study partners, and refugees from hated living situations. People came and went like cats. I never really knew where any of them came from or where anyone was going. Most of the time we didn't even bother locking the door and even when we did, everyone knew about the key in the mailbox.
I had been invited to a couple of people's houses for the holiday. Last year I had spent the day alone watching football and eating pizza. That was not to be this year. I had noted the furtive glances when I announced that I would be going home this year. No doubt there was a discussion about it in a back bedroom. None of them had ever heard me mention having a family before. As far as they knew I had sprung from the ground like a weed. I was grateful that no one said anything directly to me. There were the usual overtures of availability should I want to "talk about it" but everyone seemed to sense that this was something I was going to have to deal with on my own.
I broke away and in one single motion walked out the door, got in the Jeep and started it. I was officially en route there was no turning back now. Thinking about it, it occurred to me that they were probably as nervous about this as I was and that thought made me feel better. I pulled onto the freeway heading south. The on ramp made me think of the painfully slow climb of a roller coaster heading out of the gate and up to the end of the belt. Click click click up and up and up filling you with excitement and terror. You want out, but not really and it's too late anyway. Then you get to the top and just for a moment you teeter on the edge, not moving, your heart beating wildly in your chest in deadly anticipation and then you feel a shift and suddenly you're plunging straight down so fast you can't catch your breath or even scream.
Oh Christ I really need to focus or I'm going to crash which granted, would be one way out of this, but wouldn't really resolve anything. I caught a slight chill and turned up the heat. It was already dark. I hate how early it gets dark this time of year. It was only eight o'clock and already it was pitch black outside. I needed music, loud music, I hit the button for the CD player:
"River going to take me, sing sweet and sleepy,
sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home.
It's a far gone lullaby, sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds I've come since I first left home.
Goin' home, goin' home, by the riverside I will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul."
No, bad choice. I can't deal with that right now. There has got to be something better on the radio:
"And the years are rollin' by me.
They are rockin' evenly.
I am older than I once was, and younger than I'll be.
That's not unusual.
It isn't strange,
After changes upon changes, we are more or less the same.
After changes, we are more or less the same.
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
Going home, where the new york city winters aren't bleedin' me.
Leadin' me, to goin' home."
What the hell is this, some kind of sick conspiracy. How about blessed silence, much better just the hum of the tires on the freeway and the gentle, soothing vibration of the engine. Then I noticed it, 85 North. What the hell was I doing going north? How could I have been so stupid to have gotten on the freeway going the wrong way. I swore loudly, whipped off the exit ramp and pulled over onto the shoulder. At any other time this might have been amusing but not today. I knew what this was. This was no accident. I had sabotaged myself and I was furious at no one but myself and then I was furious for losing control and becoming furious. I sat there gripping the wheel, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.
I checked my watch, I had been going the wrong way for half an hour. Between standing there for half an hour in the kitchen like an idiot and driving the wrong direction, I was now looking at an arrival time of midnight, wonderful. I yanked the map out of the pocket in my door and spread it out over the steering wheel thinking that maybe there was some sort of short cut that would put me back in the right direction without having to actually turn around and go back the way I had come. It was completely futile of course and I was just folding up the map when the interior suddenly became awash with retina piercing flashing blue lights.
I didn't want to look. Maybe it was just a UFO and I was about to be abducted by aliens. No such luck. I squinted into my rear view mirror and could just make out a state trooper strolling in that state trooper stroll shinning his two foot long mag light all around the Jeep. I was seized with a moment of panic when I reached to hide my stash and didn't find it in the cup holder where I always kept it. Right as he was even with my window I remembered that I had put it deep inside my pack in the back seat, way out of reach just to keep from giving into the temptation to break into it.
After dealing with the bright light in the face treatment and the "concern" about how abruptly I had decided to exit the freeway, I was sent on my way. I must have answered all of the questions correctly, but I had blown my chance to spend the weekend in jail instead of having to go home. I pulled onto the road, got back on the freeway, and tried to get comfortable. I was still letting the scan function run wild on the radio when I passed the exit for Chapel Hill. I moved over into the left lane, down shifted, and speeded up just to prevent any more tactical errors. According to the bright green clock display on my dashboard, I was now looking at a twelve-thirty arrival time.
I had made it to the other side of Greensboro when the Jeep lit up with flashing blue lights, again. I had no idea how fast I had been going, what was on the radio, or even what I had been thinking about. I knew that I had jumped out of my skin when I saw the lights and was pretty sure that I had jerked the Jeep rather erratically in the process. He was zooming up behind me and just as I was reaching for my turn signal, he slide over into the left lane and shot past me so fast that the Doppler effect actually rocked the Jeep. Damnit, I had one nerve left and now it was shot. I was still completely manic and shaking uncontrollably, on the verge of hyperventilating a few minutes later when I saw a sign for a rest area.
At that point, I did not care what time I was going to get home. I simply was in no condition to drive and had to pull over. The rest area was lit up like a used car lot. Tables were set up with coffee and donuts and an unbelievable number of people were milling around. I wanted no part of that so I pulled over as far away from the action as I could get. I got my cell phone out, considered calling home to let them know I would be late, reconsidered, thought about calling one of my friends just to let them talk me off the ledge, but in some kind of fit of pent up rage, I ended up throwing my phone into the trees. For a split second it felt good, then it felt silly, then I had to get my flashlight out of the Jeep and go hunt down my phone once again irritated with myself for losing control.
The cold air felt good on my face and I felt better once I had retrieved my phone. I opened the door fully intending to get back on the road but the dome light seemed to make my back pack glow. After a stunningly short period of internal conflict, I yanked up my pack, snatched my stash out of the pocket and marched resolutely to a picnic table up the hill from the Jeep. After a good twenty minutes of power smoking in the cold, I definitely felt calmer. I sat there on the table somewhat irritated that I had not succeeded in my determination not to give in to the sweet escapism of thc, but I managed to rationalize it and if I had really intended not to smoke anything, I wouldn't have brought it along.
I sat there in the dark watching the goings on at the rest area below. People pulling up, kids jumping out of the car and running around in circles happy to be free of the confines of the back seat on a long road trip. The adults all looked tired and harried, but brightened at the sight of donuts, coffee, and the friendly face of a volunteer trying to make sure that all the drivers on the road were wide awake.
I finally stirred from my perch and started back down the road, through small town after small town as the scenery became increasingly rural. It was all familiar but I felt distant and detached like I knew it only from a dream. I stopped one more time when I reached the small, one lane, dirt road leading to the house. It was the sight of the mailbox that gave me pause. Something about the name, my name, stenciled on the side in shinny black paint. I peered through the trees. I could just see the house.
It had been almost two years since I had seen the house. The day I left I had never intended to see it again. I would not be seeing it now if I had not had to get my parents to sign a form so I could get financial aid for school. Until that moment, they had no idea where I was or if I were even still alive. I had pleaded and begged the university to work around my having to contact them, but they were used to the traditional eighteen-year-old kid, bright eyed and out on their own for the first time. They just would not conceive that my situation could be any different. The form simply had to be signed or I would not get the financial aid without which I would not be an incoming freshman.
It was now two in the morning, record time. This was not what I had in mind. I drove up the road and up the driveway. They were still up. Not only were they still up, but every single light in the house was on and they were on the front porch dancing with excitement like little kids. Even the dog was jumping up and down.
Maybe this weekend would turn out all right after all.
