You would think that after 7 years I would have learned how to say goodbye to Arkansas. But every time I drive through the Ozarks on my way to the airport, I get the same feeling I had when dropped off at summer camp. A sick panic, like when you oversleep or get broken up with. The separation anxiety is familiar, but not any more manageable than it was the week I started college.
The most masochistic factor in all of this is that I chose to leave. It wasn’t like I got shipped off to war or exiled to a foreign country. I high tailed it out of my hometown with a smile on my face and my middle finger hanging out the car window. I never considered the consequences: missing my brother’s entire college experience, my Granny dying, my cousin planning her wedding… family reunions and 21st birthdays. And so I’ve become a weird, long-distance relative, blowing in and out of town every Christmas and 4th of July. Not a member but not excluded.
It’s easy to forget the South in New York City. I work 50-60 hours a week, drink on the off hours, and plan out every weekend so I never really have the time or solitude to analyze my life and realize… that I don’t sing anymore, or paint. I don’t go to church and I use boys just as much as they use me. A free bird, lost in the city smog and just trying to survive.
Will I ever find my way back?
1 comment
July 6, 2011 at 5:02 am
D Eben Jones
I weep in sadness that you’re not here to sing. But you will always sing when we beckon.
I weep for joy in the courage you’ve found to leave. But you will always come home when you heed the family desire.
I weep in pride that you have made your way and have stood alone in strength. But you know the compassion of a long distant touch.
And through my tears of sorrow, joy, and pride, I take comfort in knowing you are mine
You are a strong and everlasting part of the tribe.
You never have to worry about finding your way back because in your heart, my heart, and the heart of the tribal family, you have never left and never will ,no matter the distance between us all, no matter the silence of the song, and no matter the softness of whisper that beckons the call ,to come home. You are there.