Member-only story
A Warm Wind
On leaving your hometown.
My friend — one of my best friends — watched me slam my trunk on a cold, wet Christmas Eve at around 2 p.m. It was the last door left to close. We embraced like brothers do. Someone may have said “be well” or “good luck” or “peace out.” But the doors were all closed now. And my friend — an amazing friend — closed the door to his own car and drove off into the winter abyss, back to his girlfriend, his life, his Friday afternoon.
I watched the car drive away. Now it was my turn.
I climbed into the driver seat and spoke a brief soliloquy to my cat, all caged up in her cat carrier with enough food, water and catnip to distract her from the hostage situation, and we meandered down U.S. Route 62 for one last lap around the block before embarking on a solo voyage to my new home of Austin, Texas.
When I next got out of my car, I was at my Nana’s house. It was a home I knew very well. It was my home after home had left me, my home away from home, my home for when I came back home, and my home when home was lost — my centering point. No matter what other faces awaited my arrival, it was the one constant place that endured 28 years of address…
