Because

Because we're driving down the back road in the dead of night with the cover of the sunroof down and a really bad country song pulsing through the car's speakers, but I don't even care that I hate country. Someone makes a joke and we all laugh, even though we all forget what the joke was in a few minutes. Eventually, we recount the trials and triumphs of the day, as if retelling the glory of a great battle against a near unbeatable enemy instead of a long day at the mall in Vancouver. Remember when? Remember that? Remember? Oh, my feet hurt. We forgot to buy that. You'll have to try to find it in Grande Prairie. Eventually, the conversation fades with our energy levels, and I'm left with staring out the window at the full moon framed over Mt. Baker, now invisible in the dark. That night, I lay out our purchases like the spoils of war on the worn dining room bench, counting and dividing and piling and re-evaluating and reminiscing. Receipts go in one pile. Useless bags in the recycling. Stuff for The Mom, The Brother, The Sister and myself go in separate piles, but nothing for The Dad because he likes to pretend that he's a minimalist hermit who can pack a toothbrush and hop on the plane. Someone turns the TV on, and we watch the USA vs. Brazil beach volleyball match but never find out who wins. Eventually, we get onto YouTube and watch a contemplation of epic Independence Day fails, filled with fireworks exploding when they shouldn't be and drunk teenagers attempting to vault over three Costco tables that split in the middle when landed on by said drunk teenagers. I have never felt more at home. The Brother and The Boys get out the electric guitar at about ten minutes to twelve, just because they can. I call The Sister and The Mom and talk until the middle of the night, because the time difference doesn't really care that I need my sleep. After all that, after all the teeth are brushed and the lights are turned out and the pajamas are tugged on and every weary eye is shut for the night, I lie awake and think. I ask myself if I'm a bad person. Am I a bad person for wanting to stay with these people who have become my family? Am I a bad person for having to choose between two different groups of friends, both of whom I love deeply but am forever doomed to have to choose one over the other? Am I a bad person for choosing between family and adventure? Mountains and the ocean? Pines and eucalyptus? 

Is it wrong that I'm tired of saying goodbye?

Is it wrong that I don't want to leave?

Comments

  1. This is so beautiful, honestly. I love the scenery description, and all of the details. You should write like this, more, I really enjoyed reading this. :D

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    1. Thank you so much! I really appreciate that :) Thanks for commenting, Catie!

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  2. Love this! It just feels like a home and I like the honesty at the end. (And the bit about your Dad's minimalist hermit preferences XD)

    I don't think it's bad to have to chooce. We make choices everyday. Sometimes we have to make really tough ones, like choosing between two good things. And, sheesh. Who likes saying "good-bye"? Seriously, that is the worst thing ever. (So I'm an awful person who will leave without a word because I hate good-byes so much.) None of it makes you a bad person. Just human. :)

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    1. Thank you so much! (And goodness, that man. *shakes head*)

      THANK YOU SO MUCH ASHLEY!

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  3. This is lovely, I especially love the first person plural at the beginning. A heart split across two countries. It's hard, but I was thinking about this today as I swam in a river (true story), and maybe we're blessed to be able to have such love for more than one place. That's how I feel, anyway. You don't have to choose. You can love them both.

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    1. Thank you so much, Emily! Yeah, it's something that I'm trying to deal with and accept, but it is a little hard when both of my homes are so far apart. One of the quotes that's really helping me is the one by Winnie the Pooh, "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." It's just a lovely quote, it's on my Wall of Utter Procrastination. Thanks for commenting!

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