We hopped in the car and hit the road early Friday morning. I had weeks to finish packing but of course ended up doing a majority of it the previous night. It was a weird feeling, removing almost all of my possessions from my childhood home. I knew I would be back living there again soon, but my room just looked so empty and incomplete. The car told us it was 72 degrees when we left Michigan, it was late August, just a few days before my 18th birthday. We were heading south. I don't remember much of the drive, I know I slept a lot. I remember the cheap motel we stayed at overnight, I found a bug in my bed. When we finally crossed the border into Texas, the car thermometer read 114 degrees. We stopped at a gas station to fill up and grab some snacks in the afternoon and I found a crayon literally melting on the concrete. I had never experienced this kind of heat before. It was the kind of heat where you run from your car to whatever building you're going to, because the act of running produces less sweat than the heat does if you walk. This was probably one of the worst places I could've come to play a winter sport.
I left home when I was just 17 to move across the country and play ice hockey. It wasn't easy. I thought I was going on a big adventure, but what a found was a long series of identical days. Wake up, work out, skate, work out, skate, go to bed. Some days were so hot, the ice in the rink would melt, so those days just saw extra work outs. I quickly fell into a black hole of monotony. I didn't get along with my teammates or coaches. I felt like I just didn't really belong there. I missed home. I was young and wanted to run away, but when I did, I realized all the things I was running from were the things that meant the most to me.
When I finally did get to come back home to Michigan, I felt like the piece of myself that was missing when I was in Texas was finally filled again. I was happy for the first time in a long time and I haven't left Michigan since.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteVery interesting story. I can tell that you value Michigan as your home. I love the first paragraph; you are descriptive and provide vivid details to the reader. My favorite line is when you say you can see a crayon melting on the sidewalk. WHAT! The second and third paragraphs feel more as if you are telling me a story in chronological order versus writing a descriptive memoir. Your first paragraph really sparks my interest and curiosity, but slowly dies down as I read the second and third paragraphs. My question for you would be: what wasn’t in Texas that you had in Michigan? There’s a really popular saying in marketing and ethics that goes, “Even no message is a message.” You can be super descriptive by describing things that aren’t in Texas, but were present in Michigan. For example, you could write: as my family and I pulled up to our new house that looked less like a home, I noticed there was no old shed in the backyard to store our winter sleds or yard tools. I don’t know, something similar to that, but your own details!
ReplyDelete