traveling back

part i

on the first leg of my trip back to iowa, i stopped in marion, ia to stay with my dear friend, amy. we enjoyed conversations about friendships, proximity, and our oh-so-similar families. we sat around on all too familiar furniture: couch (my permanent napping spot when living with amy in the Res), papasan chair (which garnered her freshman dorm room on Vollmer 1), and the gliding rocker (a garage sale find that fit well into her graduate school apartment). inevitably, she reminds me who i am again and again.

the next morning, amy went to work. getting hungry, i ventured into the small town of marion to scrounge up some chain restaurant grub. on my way, i got stopped at a stoplight. red, green, yellow, red, green, yellow. no one moved. my chicago road rage kicked in, and instead of laying on my horn, i peeled off down a side street only to see the cause of the traffic jam: a funeral procession. feeling like a mega bitch, i drove to jimmy john's with my tail between my legs. on my way, i stopped at a small boutique called willow tree or willow something or another. after talking about the weather (naturally), the owner told me about the coyotes and barn owls she had heard the night before. i was jealous, for a second.

part ii

after leaving amy's, i backtracked to iowa city to visit lovely angela. i made a pit stop along the way to see an old boyfriend (old as in ex, not age), only to find that, while it was great to see him, some things never, ever, EVER change. and that's okay.

angela and i drank mojitos, watched beyonce videos, went to target, got pie at village inn, and dreamt about our futures. refreshing, no?

i left her house late, determined to get to waverly to spend some time with my parents.

part iii

i was going to drive to her house alone. i could cry that way. but on saturday morning, my mom suggested i just come with her. so i did. and i pinched my elbow the entire way up the hill. this way, i didn't cry.

we all met on the hill, grandma's possessions laid out like trinkets at a bazaar. she was so...exposed. i opted for sentimental items (her favorite mowing hat, sweat stained as it may be) over tvs and vacuums. i had planned to spend the night there, but everything i loved about the house was gone. the walls were stripped, the kitchen table was gone, and her smell was replaced by others. it was easier to leave this way. i felt a sense of finality. closure. understanding.

part iv

i pondered whether or not to drive by her house once more before i left town this morning. i didn't. but i did cry most of the way home. not because of the house soon being sold, but because i can't believe she's gone. even with her possessions in my trunk, it hardly seems real, which was evidenced by the two times i picked up my phone to call her. i drove back to chicago, and when i got into the city, i was greeted by homeless people, people walking in the middle of the street, and throngs of people hurrying to and from the train. with my grandma's spatulas and blankets in tow, i imagined she was coming home with me. and i think, maybe, she did.