You wanted a blow-by-blow account of my trip to “my hometown,” didn’t you?
I should begin by saying I don’t have a hometown. We moved too much (Army), and any place that might have been home isn’t because I have no familial connections remaining (though I do shout out to Susan B, in case she’s reading, because she occasionally e-mails me news about our former classmates and friends, and she’s a sweetheart, and also to Nick, who needs to know that no, I will NOT vote for McCain).
In this little area nestled in north Alabama among the Appalachian foothills, I sort-of have three “hometowns.”
There’s the city within whose limits existed the rock house we lived in when we first moved here. The house is gone, and I’m pretty sure the motel I’m in was built on its former location. I’d give up my room (where Tom is still snoring and Aaron’s cell phone is alerting him of text messages while he sleeps) for the rock house still to exist.
Then we moved to the small town where I went to school with the same people for almost five years–a record!–and where Lynne and Riley and I met and became friends and got into ten million kinds of trouble (no regrets!). I haven’t driven there yet, but I will, to see certain houses and to visit the graves of Lynne’s parents. Now that Riley is dead, Lynne’s sister and brother-in-law are the only people here who are part of my “adopted” family.
Finally, there’s the town with one flashing light–Not even a stop light! Didn’t it used to be a stoplight?!?–where I finished high school. I drove through it this morning after a quick trip to the cemetery to make sure my father’s still there (he is). And yeah, the houses are smaller than I remember them, but the roads are also prettier than I ever appreciated–HILLS AND CURVES–and if you asked me for directions anywhere, I couldn’t give them, but I can drive by memory to every place I want to go.
Some things have changed and some things haven’t. I kept getting out and shooting pictures when suddenly I realized: You were only going to dash to the cemetery. You didn’t take a shower or brush your hair or put on makeup. HELLO!
It would be bad enough to see anyone I knew who could say, “Jesus, she’s as big as a house.” But I don’t have to make it easy for them to whip out their cell phones and say, “She didn’t have on makeup and SHE WASN’T WEARING A BRA.”
Fortunately, all the people I saw driving around were old, and since I’m only thirty-five, they probably don’t know me. Nonetheless, I rushed back here to the motel to clean up a little, and now I’m going to find a florist.
Don’t worry. I went to the hill with the flagpole where I used to prance in my Color Guard uniform and boss people around and took a photo. Thank goodness Lindsey loaned me her camera, right?
