Returning Home

I thought that back then I had discovered a brand new plane, that somehow a meager middle school version of myself had carved the whole of southern Florida into a memory labyrinth. My 7 p.m. drive down memory lane proved otherwise. Granted, I had never drove around the area, especially not in the dark, but that night taught me two things.

Southern drivers are rather rude, and my grand labyrinth was actually a geographical box that spanned maybe two or three roads in either direction from my previous home.

It reminded me of a fish in a bowl. I had memorized every contour of that within the glass, but toss me out of the water and I might as well be on Mars.

Navigate Mars I did, though, all the way to her house. It was farther back in the neighborhood this time around. I blame the “labyrinth.”

I had my cry, sweet shudders traded from my shoulders to hers. The wait had been just as long as the last, but the gathering momentum of our years stretched its worth. Yet one step inside told me that all was well. A familiar dinner of unknown cuisine awaited me at a table that never moved with faces that never changed.

Many say that those you share blood with are your family.

No, it’s the ones that nurture you, bring to life the dormant soul that has been awaiting its chance to take on a new form.

Friends are the family you choose.
~E