“Cry, cry, baby,” would be the theme of recent weeks. Janis. Hair-blowing in the wind, rolling down a Colorado highway. Only, not so much. More truthfully, just crying – no rocking out to the former rock legend.
I’m one of the only people I know who talks about the tears of landing into a happy place. But, crocodiles are lining up to swim around my moat. This analogy isn’t too far off either. My life is a bit fairytale-ish and has been since Eric proposed to me six years ago. Now, the prince and princess and their little prince are getting a castle (if we can call a townhouse such a thing).
Nonetheless, I feel as if I’ve left Atlanta for good or even for the first time. The bandages are fresh on my skin once more, and the scenes of leaving friends in parking lots, waving their hands in the air, or watching them walk away from my front door are coming rushing back.
I miss bitefuls of food I could only get at Cafe Diem, like the salmon farfalle, or at the biker bar/restaurant next door – stuffed chicken and tater tots. Pimento cheese sammies with a bowl of homemade vegetable soup from World Peace Cafe. Pots of tea served on the side.
I miss that new movie and dinner theater Eric and I were just getting to know. And, the memories left all over town. Driving down the main drag of Little Five Points where Eric and I had one of our first walks, the kind where you keep walking up and down the street and then end up standing on the sidewalk beneath streetlights taking in the last sips of the evening.
What about strolling down Mimosa Blvd. in front of Primrose Cottage, the historic house where we were married, listening to vows and crickets echo in the air.
When something becomes permanent, we want to send it back. When we cut the tag, sign on the line, or give the firm handshake with all sincerity, panic sets in. Did we make the right decision? We really liked the house on Valley Rd. too, didn’t we? The heat down south was actually kind of nice, right? “Etc. Etc.,” to quote Radiohead.
Reason after reason begins to pile up, like unwritten letters to old friends. We want. We miss. We realize the old sweater was way more comfortable than the new one. We begin to dig our way out beneath the fence we created between now and then, there and here.
And then, a question arises from a new friend who asks, “Is there anywhere else you’d want to live?” “No,” I say affirmatively with a smile of conviction.
Huh. Goodnight, Janis. I am changing the channel. Until next time.