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arwyn
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I can't go home.
This bastion of my childhood.
I played on the construction equipment when I was 5 and they were redoing Division Street. We played King of the Hill on the pile of gravel left behind at the end of the day.
I played at the playground in city park in the shadow of my church, Christoph's house, and the university. I wasn't always a child there.
I rode the buses from my house, to downtown, just to wander around and not be home. Sometimes I caught a transfer to the mall. Most times, I just watched people. Only once or twice did I feel unsafe.
I jumped in puddles in summer, my hair froze white on the walk to school in winter when I was in middle school. I was on my own.
I did a morbid makeover at the local hot topic with my best friend. I even dyed my hair black to make it authentic. We shopped at goodwill so our grunge wear was accurate despite the movement ending 4 years earlier when Kurt died.
Then I moved. I had a new hometown. A new place to pretend I belonged, when my 90's angst that was endearing in the city became weird and antisocial in the small rural town. I was even more alone there, despite finding new people.
I tried going home as an adult, but no one was there. I didn't belong.
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181218
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