I've posted this on Facebook, but I like it enough that i feel the need to place it here. Sorry to those who have already read it.
We're driving down the freeway. The 118 west to be exact. I can't stand that after you pass through the canyons, KROQ's overrated music starts chopping up. Static infiltrates the speakers of Stef's car. Welcome to suburbia, USA. We turn off the radio
I place my fingertips just inches away from the window. Heat emanates off the tinted glass. Reasons why I hate southern California: 1) windows on a sunny day are fire hazardous I keep thinking that maybe just maybe, this time So Cal will be different, more accepting of my shortcomings, more welcoming...i hope. and yet.
We exit off Olson Rd and while i know that it's not spelled the same, i can't help but think of those two decrepit twins i so loved when i was five. But only for a moment. Just after i think, what's that street we're supposed to turn on? Wildflower Ave? Wild Boar St.? Raindance Rd? fuck, what is it? Poor Stef is already thinking about how the hell she is going to avoid traffic on the way back, and i can't even get to our first destination.
Moments later i remember that Wildwood is the evil street we turn right onto. Wildwood. and then after wildwood is.....and that takes me a while because for some reason Native American names are so foreign and non-catchy to me...Big Sky. Big fucking Sky. That's the street. But it doesn't matter at that point because all i can think about is that lawn. those lawns. Who the fuck cuts them so flawlessly? I imagine leaping with wildflowers and daisies through the lawns, the sound of music comes to mind and i start humming..."i am sixteen going on seventeen i know that i'm naive...fellas may think--"
Hll Canyon comes around. "Which one is it?" stef asks. "umm..." seconds go by..."this one, this one! on the right!" Their lawn is just as perfect.
I stand outside, no one knows we're there yet. I can breathe, but all i breathe in is heavy air and smog. welcome home? but no. it's not home. It's something else. and yet.
The smell of baked sweets creeps into my nostrils...i have bad sense of smell, but this...this is different.heavy sweet butter mixed with fresh cinnamon and vanilla..but really it's the butter i've deprived myself (even though my body wouldn't really show it) for four long years that's housing in my senses.
I take a deep breath. Knock. Ring the doorbell...and all of the sudden i feel like a Jehovah Witness evangelist because no one answers, and i want to ring again.
knock. ring.
My little sister answers the door and for a second i step outside my short tubby body;i feel like i, ten years ago, am answering the door for myself. She smiles (I smile?), I smile (she smiles?)
...home, or its distant synonym.
We're driving down the freeway. The 118 west to be exact. I can't stand that after you pass through the canyons, KROQ's overrated music starts chopping up. Static infiltrates the speakers of Stef's car. Welcome to suburbia, USA. We turn off the radio
I place my fingertips just inches away from the window. Heat emanates off the tinted glass. Reasons why I hate southern California: 1) windows on a sunny day are fire hazardous I keep thinking that maybe just maybe, this time So Cal will be different, more accepting of my shortcomings, more welcoming...i hope. and yet.
We exit off Olson Rd and while i know that it's not spelled the same, i can't help but think of those two decrepit twins i so loved when i was five. But only for a moment. Just after i think, what's that street we're supposed to turn on? Wildflower Ave? Wild Boar St.? Raindance Rd? fuck, what is it? Poor Stef is already thinking about how the hell she is going to avoid traffic on the way back, and i can't even get to our first destination.
Moments later i remember that Wildwood is the evil street we turn right onto. Wildwood. and then after wildwood is.....and that takes me a while because for some reason Native American names are so foreign and non-catchy to me...Big Sky. Big fucking Sky. That's the street. But it doesn't matter at that point because all i can think about is that lawn. those lawns. Who the fuck cuts them so flawlessly? I imagine leaping with wildflowers and daisies through the lawns, the sound of music comes to mind and i start humming..."i am sixteen going on seventeen i know that i'm naive...fellas may think--"
Hll Canyon comes around. "Which one is it?" stef asks. "umm..." seconds go by..."this one, this one! on the right!" Their lawn is just as perfect.
I stand outside, no one knows we're there yet. I can breathe, but all i breathe in is heavy air and smog. welcome home? but no. it's not home. It's something else. and yet.
The smell of baked sweets creeps into my nostrils...i have bad sense of smell, but this...this is different.heavy sweet butter mixed with fresh cinnamon and vanilla..but really it's the butter i've deprived myself (even though my body wouldn't really show it) for four long years that's housing in my senses.
I take a deep breath. Knock. Ring the doorbell...and all of the sudden i feel like a Jehovah Witness evangelist because no one answers, and i want to ring again.
knock. ring.
My little sister answers the door and for a second i step outside my short tubby body;i feel like i, ten years ago, am answering the door for myself. She smiles (I smile?), I smile (she smiles?)
...home, or its distant synonym.
Can you please add a Facebook "like" button to your blog? Thanks.
ReplyDeletethis has nothing to do with this post. although i loved it. i love all your writings. but i just wanted to tell you, did you notice that wings, yours, and my blogs all have a color in the title? i think that means something!! and thanks for your comment. >3 thats like <3 but cooler.
ReplyDeletei love this one! mostly because i'm in it, but also because it was the day i realized you had a twin sister about ten years younger. yay tgi fridays in thousand oaks...
ReplyDelete