A Sort of Homecoming

My trip to Shrimp Town and City Where the Water Bends was surprisingly – normal.

In my recollections, they were larger than life.  (To be fair, the dragonflies and mosquitos really were.) I expected that I would be overcome with emotion as soon as I saw the airport gate where I used to wait for my trips home. I worried that I would cry as soon as my friend came to meet me at Arriving Flights. I thought my heart would drop to my stomach and fly to my throat, simultaneously.

But arriving in my sort-of home felt right, without feeling dramatic. The airport Christmas tree was draped in Carnival colors, just like I knew it would be. My friend and I fell into a rhythm of conversation on the way back from the airport as if I had been gone two weeks. And as we took a walk in the afternoon, the sidewalk buckled over the live oak roots (faded silver beads dangling from their branches) just as it always had and still does in my memory.

I saw my old and wonderful friends at the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, where we looked out into the misty evening at the lights glowing over the City Where the Water Bends. There were a few awkward pauses, but then our stories and laughter flowed easily. At the wedding, we danced and goofed off in the candlelight, and we felt the sweat gather and our hair curl in the humidity, just like any other spring or summer evening we had spent in the porch light or standing on sticky bar floors.

There was a brass band; mint juleps and hurricanes. We were so at ease.

In the morning I drove to Shrimp Town; I treated myself to the scenic route and to the roads I had always loved. I stopped to take a few pictures.  I expected I'd take them with desperation or urgency, wanting to recapture the feeling of adventure, independence, and novelty I felt when I'd first driven them. But I didn't feel urgent or desperate; just peaceful.

The next morning I went to visit my coworkers. I sat in my rental car in the rain, just outside my old office, and noticed that my initials were on the license plate of the car in front of me! After catching up with my coworkers and my boss, I revisited some of my favorite spots in my sort-of hometown: the library and its garden, the grocery store with the incredible cheese samples, the roads I travelled every day between the office, the gym, and my apartment. Fortunately, the sun had come out.

There were also some frustrations. I remembered how much of a hassle driving could be, along one-lane, curving roads, when a single bridge out (or getting stuck behind a rusty pick-up towing an old motorboat) could mean a 25 minute delay or detour. My purse even slid off the front seat as I braked for an unforeseen obstacle, which reminded me about that near-daily annoyance! Also, my hair doubled in volume within a few hours of deplaning.

I had started to think of City Where the Water Bends and Shrimp Country as entirely magical places, filled with multi-colored sprinkles, butterflies, sousaphones, warm breezes, ceiling fans, oak leaves, perfectly sweet oranges, the freedom of the open road and, well, abundant water and shrimp. I remembered my job as hassle-free with angelic and unharried coworkers and supervisors. Going back to my sort-of home allowed me to remember that it's a place on earth, with its own hassles and limitations. It also reminded me that it's not a place in my imagination or fairy-land – it's a real place that I can visit and remember.  My trip was rejuvenating and delightful, but now I'm happy to be back in City of Sidewalks. I feel so full of love, for my new home and for my always Sort-of Home.