September 2015

I’m sitting in a Starbucks not far from home but a little too far to be on foot after sundown.  This caffeine buzz should keep me moving though.  I’m just not sure which direction to move but I know I don’t want to go home. 

Every Starbucks is exactly the same no matter where are go.  I abhor the coffee here but tonight this has become a safe place.  It’s Philly.  It’s New York.  It’s College Park, MD.  It’s everywhere except North Carolina.  Oh yeah, and I feel like I’m 24 years old again. 

But I am 39 and I am in North Carolina.

Twenty-four "the first time" was near the end of Nashville, TN.  Those few years were truly some of the greatest adventures of my lifetime.  I moved there fresh out of college because I just didn’t want to go home.  I found a great little apartment in a nice gated complex and a great shitty job just up the street at a motel not far from the airport.  The only vehicle we could find that we could afford was a 3 year old Ford F150 with a manual transmission that I learned to drive on the fly when dropping off my boyfriend at work and having to get back home again.  We made nice with the neighbors and had weekly cook-outs and played pool at a local dive bar. 

Then I jumped out of a moving car to get away.  I didn’t want to go home so I packed a bag and flew north for 6 months.  In early September I headed back to Nashville with an ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.  We found an even better apartment on the other side of town with 2 bathrooms, 2 parking spots, a balcony, and a piano.  There was also lots of wine, lots of vodka, and way too much whiskey.

I got my job at the motel back and enjoyed the monthly visits from the TN Air National Guardsmen.  They brought me dinner, peach cobbler with ice cream, and all sorts of other wonderful treats.  One was particularly taken with me.  A very handsome nurse 16 years my senior with the most charming smile.  He would call the front desk and see what I wanted for dinner and place the delivery order.  He would have it delivered to the front desk, paid for, and would show up with a 6 pack in time to eat and chat with me. 

The rest of my time working there was very quiet.  I would sit at the table behind the front desk listening to the Top 40 radio station and watching people go in and out of the Waffle House next door.  I spent so much time alone there.  I treasured it. 

When I wasn’t behind that turquoise formica desk, my ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and I would cause whatever trouble we could.  We frequented  the local tattoo/piercing shop, we drank until we couldn’t stand up, and we partied until we passed out.

Eventually, I grew tired of all that and decided to go home. 

That’s when I landed the dream job I hated to love.  The job that I loved so much that I didn’t care how poor I was, I was just happy to wake up everyday and do it.  I parted ways with the ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and moved in with a new boyfriend.  He was, and continues to be, a vile human being but I pretended for a year and a half that he was ok.  The last six months I was afraid to go home and timed my arrivals to coincide with his departures and my departures with his arrivals.  My strength reared it’s head one day and I got out of there.  I found a new home in a fabulous dump of an apartment above a butcher shop. 

That was a home I never wanted to be away from.  Well, with the exception of the bug issues and heat problems early on.  Once they were remedied, we had a wonderful 3 bed, 1 bath shit hole with a party rooftop and a piano that looked and played as if it had been rolled down Oxford Ave and hit by a Septa bus.

Oh the parties we had there!  Friends were plentiful, coffee was always hot and ready, and the washing machine in the kitchen made for a great beer cooler!  The oven never quite worked there and my sister flooded the kitchen thanks to that washer more than a few times but things were always positive.  And when they weren’t, there was always good people to be with.

When it was time to move on I found a friend also in need of a place to live and a roommate, and a wonderful house in Philly.  It had a marble mantel, a big private backyard, a claw foot tub, a finished basement with a washer and dryer, and all the old character of a great Philadelphia row home.  I have never loved a house more than I did this one. 

Our mutual friend warned me to not move in together.  But I loved the house.  I’m not sure how long things were good for or how long they were bad but eventually, I was locked out of the house and there was an attempt to run me over with a car.  And again I got to the point of avoiding going home.  That’s about when I moved to NYC.

My road has been littered with not wanting to go home.  Tonight is the first time in a long time I’ve felt it.  If my car was properly working, I’d likely still be out and about instead of back on the comfort of my couch.  The air is stale in here.  No matter how much we keep the windows open, it doesn’t help.  I think we are both ready to pack up and find a change of scenery.