Hey Y'all, I'm Home!

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Today has been one of the greatest days I can think of to date. It all started when my mom opened the door to my dark bedroom, letting the light from the hallway seep in and cover my eyes. 5 a.m. Kill me. I got up and stumbled around for what was probably 5 minutes, AT LEAST, trying to figure out what I needed to do to be ready to go to the airport. I got my swimsuits, toothbrush, carry on bag, all the last minute things I needed. I kissed my pillow pet goodbye, I couldn't fit him in any of my bags and it ripped me apart to leave Lionel behind for such an amazing trip. But somewhere, between singing along to country music on the way to the airport and landing in Dallas, I became okay with leaving Lionel home alone for two weeks.

Texas is probably one of the happiest places on earth... Well, to me. The earliest memory I have in life is eating too many cheetos and throwing up on the tile floor in our ghetto little appartment in Austin, Texas. Austin, about 3 hours from Dallas, is where my favorite memories originate. They're so vivid, like it all happened just yesterday. Those memories in the lone star state are the earliest ones I have. My mom, dad, and I would climb into our Rodeo and drive 3 hours to Dallas to visit Grammy and Pop Pop. Everything about their house gives me the most distinct feelings of naustalgia. The anticipation of being on Stacy Road; just OH so close to Grammy's, but at the same time so far, the sound of the different bugs in the trees, the feel of the pebbled ground beneath my little feet, the smell of chlorine and spaghetti Pop Pop always made for dinner, the wind chimes "ding"ing and the beautiful birds chirping. This place was home to me, and I don't think that's ever really changed.

When I stepped foot out of the airport in Fort Worth, I KNEW this was the place I called home. The humidity hit me like a ton of bricks; I could practically feel my hair curling itself. It was like someone shrunk me and threw me into a humidifier. My Pop Pop hugged me and I smelled the fruity Extra gum in his breath. His New Jersey accent kept me company on our car ride back to the house. Pulling up to the driveway was like a dream. I stuck my head out the window and screamed, "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" We pulled into the garage to see my Grammy standing by the door waiting, holding a sign that said, "Welcome back! We missed y'all!" Her embrace was so warm, or maybe it was the humid heat, but NO DOUBT something about that hug felt special. The house still smelled and felt the same. I walked around and noticed that they had taken the awful wallpaper down, thank heavens, and replaced it with a beige paint. The pool still looked and smelled the same, the pebbles still felt the same on my (still very litle) feet, the hot tub was still just as cold as the pool. I took my things to my room, layed on the bed, appreciating the low temperature of the bed sheets, and took it all in. That feeling I had was... well, it was home.

In my dreams, yes, I grew up riding horses and wearing torn up blue jeans and cowgirl boots all my life. But I haven't. I grew up in Alpine, Utah, where if you don't have a flat screen, you're basically Amish. Texas is not where my house is, but the feeling I have here isn't a feeling I've had anywhere else. You see, to me, home isn't just a physical place. It's a mental state; a feeling. It's the feeling when I'm on the hammock reading a good book, it's eating crepes in the morning on the diving board, it's finding lizards in your bed in the middle of the night.

No, I haven't grown up here in Texas. But this flat terrained country town is MY town. It's where I call home. Not because it's what's on my license plate, but because it's the first place that ever stole my heart.

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  1. Your writing it always beautiful. Any english teacher's dream, it is crafted just right. I love love love it. Good job girly :)