Monday, April 16, 2012

I was at school, looking out the window. I saw that Greek man swing open the back door of his little restaurant, done for the day. I always felt the thrill of clocking out when I saw his mini car speed away.

It was one of those days that my hands got nervous, and the clock seemed lodged in a certain moment, the clock seemed lodged in my throat. It didn't matter what the teacher said, or what the students said. I would never learn or feel as much as a tiny thrill speeding away in a junk car, every afternoon. I felt like that Greek man was leaving me behind, expecting me to run his numbers and sweep his floors, even though I was in school so I would never have to. As I sat in that gourmet class, I felt cheated out of a miserable job at a Greek restaurant. And that's just it.

Class ended and I went to wait for my ride home. I waited and waited on the curbside to be collected. To go home. After waiting a significant amount of time, I finally accepted the fact that there was no ride that had been arranged. Some other person was not going to swing by and wheel me home, vehicle style. I was meant to walk.

So I walked, and tried to look at my feet and the sky in equal amounts. I really hated looking straight ahead of me, it just reminded me how far I was from home. It reminded me that I had no clue where home was, or what it was.

I saw some pretty cool things. I saw homes on hilltops where cellphone salesmen probably live. I saw homes where kids probably meet to play basketball. I saw homes where hippies might live, with real houseplants and cats and glowing computer screens in their tiny kitchens. I saw incredible mature trees and baby trees. I passed by the local restaurants and saw courtship, and excellent tips, and business dinners. I saw hungry people and full people, and a few who ordered dessert.

Did I ever find home that night?

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