It’s going on two years since I’ve been traveling North bound on this I-87 road and I cannot say that I am any closer to my destination. Journeys always start out exciting.
It was the summer of 2016 in August. The wind blew through the windows of my beat down 1996 Buick Regal. We wobbled all across Brooklyn, my car and I, messed up shocks and struts, but we were finally going places. I had waited for this moment for so long and here I was, doing it! I met some people along the way. They smiled and shook my hand. I made a few changes because I had determined that this was going to be my home forevermore. But after so long I began to realize that I never prepared for a road trip. I didn’t have passengers with me singing the same songs from the playlist I prepared. It was me the whole time screaming off the top of my lungs with no one there to tell me to shut up! I miss all those people that used to tell me to shut up because telling someone to shut up validates your relationship.
The summer turned to winter and then it happened again. Seasons were changing and so was I. I was turning cold. I still receive those same smiles and handshakes I received when I first arrived, but everyone leaves. I smile back at them while extending my cold hands, I look them straight in the eye with the knowledge that yes, you too will leave – it hurts like hell. How do you make a home alone?
Home, they say, is where the heart is. And if my heart has never been self-centered and has always been tied within the lives of others, I wonder if I will I ever reach my destination. If I cannot penetrate bits of my heart through the perfect smiles and firm handshakes of the people on this North bound I-87 road, then I might reconsider how far I want to travel on this road alone. I should have thought about that southern hospitality.