At 36,000 feet my breath slows down. The slant of the aircraft is comforting, the nose still angled up. I’ve never had to put “home” in quotation marks before, but that’s all I write on my iPad note page. “Home.” Question mark. The man beside me watches me do it. He’s headed for business in Houston, complaining about the cold in Chicago. I don’t give a fuck about either, but I can tell he’s thinking about my 8 character statement. “Home.” ?
Since when is home intangible? Sure, sure, it’s where your heart it, but it’s still a place isn’t it? The place where you have your underwear drawer and your income tax receipts and your old high school boyfriends hockey jersey?
Maybe. Maybe not, though.
Maybe for some people, home is literally where their heart is. Like at that instant, home was right there, beating and jet engine powered at a 35 degree angle over Galveston. That puts a twist on things.
“Where do you want to live? Like… ideally, for the long run?” My brother asked as we shotgunned up the Sea-to-Sky highway. “…no where…really…” I could only answer.
The Pilot comes over the speakers. “We’ll be heading through storms over Texas, please remain seated as I keep the seatbelt light on for your safety.”
Texas has never had turbulence before.
And neither has “home” been in quotations.
xo & yw
It’s been five years since we piled blankets in the back of his 4Runner and spent the night up on that look out. Dry desert air whipped dust at the windows but you’d have had to shoot us to get us to notice anything but each other. This was our routine. Whenever we could crawl out of bed, we would go for a drive and crawl back into each other.
He greeted me outside the bar, all smiles. Looking as good in my city as I felt when I went back to his. 5 years changes some things. But not as much as you’d think.
Look at you, you’ve gone all Vancouver on me he says
I’m not sure if he’s referring to the fact that I’ve learned how to walk in high heels or that I cross the road with an arrogant authority, but I laugh at the dig and the conversation rolls like open water on a breezy day.
The city closes around us and we’ve run out of things to do on a Tuesday night. Neither of us in the mood for a club and neither of us wanting to leave.
Take me for a drive he says
We go for a drive because that’s what small town kids do when there’s nothing else on the go. We stop at a gas station outside the core and walk up to the glass window that’s for after hours hooligans.
A tin of Copenhagen short cut I say and a bottle of water and an empty slushie cup, if you don’t mind
He laughs the kind of laugh you can only make when you’re happily surprised.
You can take the girl out of Kamloops, but you can’t take Kamloops out of the girl he says
And there we were; two small town kids under a Chevron neon at 2am, itching to get the hell out of Dodge and into each other. 5 years changes some things. But not as much as you’d think.
xo & yw
It’s hard to let go and move on when you’re constantly staring into the past.
No one could have told me that all it takes is the strength to look forward.
Once you shift your eyes from the rear view to the windshield, it just comes that quickly. He’s no where on the horizon. & not because you didn’t fight for it and not because he left and not because it wasn’t “meant to be” … he’s not there because he doesn’t belong there. He’s not there because there’s no place for him there. He’s not there because you don’t want him to be.
And all of a sudden your foot’s on the accelerator and you’re laughing as you stare out the driver side window. This view is much better & you can listen to Fleetwood Mac as loud as you want now. You can go your own way.
xo & yw & go get your kicks
* PC: kellyash.blogspot.com