Going Home Again And Other Stories
She leaned her head against the window, watching patchwork fields and river ropes creep by. It had been an interesting weekend, a wonderful weekend, an exhausting and emotional weekend. Now, she was technically on a business trip, three hours from her current place of residence.
As far as she was concerned, she had left home an hour before.
The iron bird skated across layers of atmosphere, touching down in a stomach-jarring (if not unsettling) manner and coming to rest in place next to the airport.
As she found the tram and cruised through the terminal, she closed her eyes, both in exhaustion and remembrance.
The weekend had started with a late taxi, a couple flights with good conversation, and a happy greeting at home. She had managed to talk to just about everybody she intended to catch while she was there in a variety of scenarios, including a barbeque with friends, a meal with grandparents, late nights, early mornings, days of bouncing around, a church in which she was always comfortable, and waffles.
She had been alarmed at the things that were different, relieved at the things that weren't; saddened by some changes, happy with others. At some point, she realized that any time she visited after that weekend would be completely new -- the people that had shared her life for the previous five years would soon be scattered in every direction.
It was still home, in all its glory (or lack thereof), and those people were still family. Every street she drove down held a memory, every house she passed spurred a thought, every conversation brought back old stories and showed new paths. It had been a crazy, wonderful weekend, and flying away had been the hardest thing she had done in recent history. Alas, life went on, and now it was time for her to move on with hers.
Her flight back had been considerably less interesting than the one there, but after this she was headed to a luxury hotel right in the heart of the city -- considerably different than the couch on which she had spent the last two nights.
The week passed with a large degree of interest. She was attending a class that would leave her certified ... well, half-certified to handle hazardous materials. The drills at the end, in full haz-mat garb, left her almost surprisingly interested in the field. On top of that, she got some quality time with her sister (and some time of lesser quality) and managed to get tolerably caught up on life. By the time she was dropped off at her apartment, she was dead tired and mentally drained. A week of classes following a weekend of craziness was almost too much.
In the solitude of her apartment, she could think about things, about life again. No matter what she did, though, she kept coming back to the previous weekend.
That feeling had returned. The one that said things would Never Be The Same.
Maybe she was ready for it now.
Andrew: Hey Albert ...
Albert: Yeah?
Andrew: Good luck exploring the infinite abyss!
Albert: Thank you! And hey -- you too!
--From the movie "Garden State"
As far as she was concerned, she had left home an hour before.
The iron bird skated across layers of atmosphere, touching down in a stomach-jarring (if not unsettling) manner and coming to rest in place next to the airport.
As she found the tram and cruised through the terminal, she closed her eyes, both in exhaustion and remembrance.
The weekend had started with a late taxi, a couple flights with good conversation, and a happy greeting at home. She had managed to talk to just about everybody she intended to catch while she was there in a variety of scenarios, including a barbeque with friends, a meal with grandparents, late nights, early mornings, days of bouncing around, a church in which she was always comfortable, and waffles.
She had been alarmed at the things that were different, relieved at the things that weren't; saddened by some changes, happy with others. At some point, she realized that any time she visited after that weekend would be completely new -- the people that had shared her life for the previous five years would soon be scattered in every direction.
It was still home, in all its glory (or lack thereof), and those people were still family. Every street she drove down held a memory, every house she passed spurred a thought, every conversation brought back old stories and showed new paths. It had been a crazy, wonderful weekend, and flying away had been the hardest thing she had done in recent history. Alas, life went on, and now it was time for her to move on with hers.
Her flight back had been considerably less interesting than the one there, but after this she was headed to a luxury hotel right in the heart of the city -- considerably different than the couch on which she had spent the last two nights.
The week passed with a large degree of interest. She was attending a class that would leave her certified ... well, half-certified to handle hazardous materials. The drills at the end, in full haz-mat garb, left her almost surprisingly interested in the field. On top of that, she got some quality time with her sister (and some time of lesser quality) and managed to get tolerably caught up on life. By the time she was dropped off at her apartment, she was dead tired and mentally drained. A week of classes following a weekend of craziness was almost too much.
In the solitude of her apartment, she could think about things, about life again. No matter what she did, though, she kept coming back to the previous weekend.
That feeling had returned. The one that said things would Never Be The Same.
Maybe she was ready for it now.
Andrew: Hey Albert ...
Albert: Yeah?
Andrew: Good luck exploring the infinite abyss!
Albert: Thank you! And hey -- you too!
--From the movie "Garden State"
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