I feel like Emily in Our Town.
I am sitting at my parents’ cluttered kitchen table. The flowers from two weeks ago wilt in the vase, vitamins and boxes of tissues are strewn across the dirty tablecloth. The kitchen stove is coated in years of cooking goo, the walls are crammed with messy collages of children and grandchildren.
And I love it all. All this mess that I was raised in. All this chaos. All the never enough room and the too many people and the why can’t we all just relax!?
I want to hold on to all of this, slip it like rings onto each finger, clank it around with me all day. When I’m not here, it’s just a place where I’m from that doesn’t suit me anymore. When I am here, I never want to leave this spot. This spot exactly – the big dormer window full of cushions, tucked next to the smells of the kitchen and the chaotic front porch.
I call the airline to add two more days. Two more days of ducking all my adult responsibility so I can nest here, eat my mother’s weird dinners and my father’s hot chocolate and be ten again. But it is 600 dollars. And then I wish I was the kind of success that always had a spare 600 dollars. Because I would pay it.
Every minute seems wasted right now as I sit alone up late after everyone has gone to bed. The word “treasure” is trite and stupid, but when I am here in this after dark silence, I understand it. Understand how someone first said, “love. that is a treasure. value it.’
And then it sounds stupid again. But I know what I mean. This is diaphanous. This home. These people. Fleeting already into memory. Hold on to it Emily says, it’s over so soon.