Friday, Dec. 15, 2006
So, tonight I will find my way to the Airport to gather you up and bring you home. You have always found this pinpoint to trouble you, anxious over the lines of strangers and irritated with the timetables. I could watch people being received forever. Those who come to greet their arrivals hardly ever hang dusty expressions on their faces or in the doorway of arms.
I know a that there will not be much of a smile on your face when we meet eyes. You will be tired, and I have become nothing more than a quoted caption in a finished photo album. None-the-less I will not be able to help mine.
I will assist you with your 3 bags, gifts for the ones you keep close, and your then there is mother's mandolin. All will be transfered into my car, and then out of my car, and into your tiny house. When I am gone, driving home with the speed of those who are moved by repulsion, to the only place that feels like I want you to be to me, you will put on your baggy bed pants, Nameless Coffee House tee under a wool sweater. Then you will crawl under your comforter and tell Lisa everything about your trip that I needed to hear.