Homesick

Do you know what happens when you leave?

Other people stay.

And they keep doing things.

Like having birthdays, going on dates, going to college, injuring themselves, and having fun.

All of this continues to go on, even though you're not there.

The leaves still change color. The first snow of the season still delights. The mountains still guard the valley.

Without you.

But, you tell yourself, I'm doing things, too. Over here.


I'm having an adventure, just like I always wanted.

And you're glad about that. You're smart enough to know it won't last forever,

And you will remember this time with fondness and gratitude.

So you try to be happy about being here.

And usually, you are.

But then it's your brother's birthday.

And Halloween is right around the corner.

And then it'll be November, and you'll be missing Thanksgiving, Pie Night, and your own birthday.

(How can you miss your own birthday?)

You swallow. You don't cry

But suddenly you are melancholy. A subtle misery weighs on your shoulders like a cloak.

You can't stop thinking about home.

Your best friend will be gone when you get back, you know.

Your other best friend has already left school. You'll be alone there.

Your brother will be driving. Your sisters will all be older, changed.

Everything will be different.

Everything.

You want to go home. You want to get back before you're too far behind.

But mostly, you're just selfish. You want to be back where things are familiar. Easier.

Where your family and friends are.

You think about it, dream about it, look forward to it desperately.

Then realize, with a jolt, that it's still eight weeks away.

You're only at the halfway point.

What?!

You grab the calendar off the wall and shake it, angrily, like a broken clock.

You've been here forever. How can there still be more you've got to do?

What is taking so long?

Finally, you stop shaking the calendar, throwing it across the room instead.

Then you clamber into bed and hide under the thick blankets.

And, in your melancholy stupor, you think of home.

You think about it harder than you've ever thought before, trying to make it real.

And it almost is.

You can see your family in the living room, watching a scary movie.

You can hear them laughing and making fun of each other.

You can even see the cat chasing the dog around the corner.

But, you aren't there. Even in your imaginings.

You are pressed up with your nose against the front window,

Watching your family. Missing your family.

But you can't go inside.

Not for eight more weeks.