LJ Idol Week 21: Current Events
This week's topic required us to find a story in our local paper to get inspiration from. This was my story I used.
It was the worst kept secret in the newsroom. Which was saying a lot because there weren’t many secrets that were well kept. (Although, when you work in a place where the main aspect of everyone’s job is to uncover information, it’s not all that surprising that gossip tends to spread fast.)
So of course everyone knew I was moving months before I actually put in my official resignation. Which gave a lot of people a lot of time to ask a lot of questions.
The conversations always went the same way.
“Where are you moving to?”
“Texas.”
This was always followed by the same reaction.
“Oh,” they would say, like I just told them I was moving to the moon. They would nod, try not to look like they were horrified or disgusted or both.
“To Austin,” I would add, and then I would wait.
It never took long. A split second perhaps. Then the horror and the disgust would fade away, replaced by delight or excitement.
“Oh! Austin!” they would say. “Austin’s great!”
“Yeah,” I’d say. “It really is.”
•••
The first time I went to Texas, I was twenty-one years old. My parents and I went to San Antonio to watch my younger sister compete in a colorguard competition. Mostly, when we weren’t watching girls twirl flags, we walked up and down the River Walk, tried every Mexican restaurant in the vicinity and complained that the history books made the Alamo seem so much bigger than it actually is.
It was a fun city, the little portion I saw of it, but if you had told me then that I would move close to there someday, I probably would have laughed. I was a Californian after all, and everyone had heard all those pesky Texas stereotypes.
The second time I went to Texas, I was twenty-seven. I went with my sister to help her find an apartment to live in when she started at the University of Texas in the fall. We explored the UT campus, explored all the areas around campus and found her a cute apartment next to a small wooded area with a stream running through it.
The third time I went to Texas was a year later, to spend a week with my sister. I didn’t know, as I got on the plane the morning I left, that I was going to fall in love.
We went to Hula Hut, a Hawaiian-Tex-Mex restaurant overlooking one of Austin’s three lakes, and sat on the patio and drank margaritas and ate queso and watched the boats float by. We went to Barton Springs, an oasis in the middle of downtown, and floated in the natural-made pool and then sunbathed on the grass. We went to Sixth Street and explored all the little shops and checked out the beers at all the many bars, walking in the streets with a crowd of other people once it got past the point where cars were allowed to drive through the area.
We ate Tex-Mex and barbecue, saw a movie at Alamo Drafthouse (the same Alamo Drafthouse that would one day announce a female-only showing for Wonder Woman and set off a Twitter uproar) and enjoyed the hot weather than never got cold, even when the sun disappeared.
By the time I left, I knew I was going to come back.
•••
I knew I was going to move to Austin long before I ever did.
I had an epiphany the year I turned thirty. My dad was getting remarried. It had been five years since our mother had passed away. My aunt - my dad’s sister - flew out to help him celebrate.
I spent three days with her before the wedding, talking to her and laughing and learning about who this amazing woman really was. Before that day, she had been the aunt who sent me Christmas cards and I had seen maybe five times throughout my entire life.
I sat on the couch after dinner one night, laughing at the story she was telling about my dad when they were kids, and there was an ache in my chest. An ache that said I wished I had known who my aunt really was before I turned thirty.
I vowed then and there that I wouldn’t be the aunt my nieces and nephews only knew by a Christmas card. They would know me, because I was going to be there.
It was only a matter of time from then.
•••
On a Friday afternoon in the February after I turned thirty-one, I turned in my key to the newspaper office in California. Two days later, I was in my car, my black lab on the front seat next to me, speeding across the desert to my new home.
I had an apartment, but not a job. I had my sister there, but no one else I knew. I had a future, but no way of knowing what it would really be like.
There is a sign, when you cross into Texas from New Mexico.
“Welcome to Texas,” it says.
My eyes lingered on the sign as I drove past. And then a rush of emotion I didn’t know I was harboring escaped, swelling in my chest, streaming down my cheeks.
I brushed away the tears, smiled at my dog sitting next to me, knowing without a doubt I had made the right decision.
It felt like coming home.
Thank you for reading! Also, you should all visit Austin if you haven't :) This was written for Week 21 of therealljidol. You can read more stories inspired by current events here. Voting should be up Thursday night if you are inclined to vote for me or anyone else!
It was the worst kept secret in the newsroom. Which was saying a lot because there weren’t many secrets that were well kept. (Although, when you work in a place where the main aspect of everyone’s job is to uncover information, it’s not all that surprising that gossip tends to spread fast.)
So of course everyone knew I was moving months before I actually put in my official resignation. Which gave a lot of people a lot of time to ask a lot of questions.
The conversations always went the same way.
“Where are you moving to?”
“Texas.”
This was always followed by the same reaction.
“Oh,” they would say, like I just told them I was moving to the moon. They would nod, try not to look like they were horrified or disgusted or both.
“To Austin,” I would add, and then I would wait.
It never took long. A split second perhaps. Then the horror and the disgust would fade away, replaced by delight or excitement.
“Oh! Austin!” they would say. “Austin’s great!”
“Yeah,” I’d say. “It really is.”
•••
The first time I went to Texas, I was twenty-one years old. My parents and I went to San Antonio to watch my younger sister compete in a colorguard competition. Mostly, when we weren’t watching girls twirl flags, we walked up and down the River Walk, tried every Mexican restaurant in the vicinity and complained that the history books made the Alamo seem so much bigger than it actually is.
It was a fun city, the little portion I saw of it, but if you had told me then that I would move close to there someday, I probably would have laughed. I was a Californian after all, and everyone had heard all those pesky Texas stereotypes.
The second time I went to Texas, I was twenty-seven. I went with my sister to help her find an apartment to live in when she started at the University of Texas in the fall. We explored the UT campus, explored all the areas around campus and found her a cute apartment next to a small wooded area with a stream running through it.
The third time I went to Texas was a year later, to spend a week with my sister. I didn’t know, as I got on the plane the morning I left, that I was going to fall in love.
We went to Hula Hut, a Hawaiian-Tex-Mex restaurant overlooking one of Austin’s three lakes, and sat on the patio and drank margaritas and ate queso and watched the boats float by. We went to Barton Springs, an oasis in the middle of downtown, and floated in the natural-made pool and then sunbathed on the grass. We went to Sixth Street and explored all the little shops and checked out the beers at all the many bars, walking in the streets with a crowd of other people once it got past the point where cars were allowed to drive through the area.
We ate Tex-Mex and barbecue, saw a movie at Alamo Drafthouse (the same Alamo Drafthouse that would one day announce a female-only showing for Wonder Woman and set off a Twitter uproar) and enjoyed the hot weather than never got cold, even when the sun disappeared.
By the time I left, I knew I was going to come back.
•••
I knew I was going to move to Austin long before I ever did.
I had an epiphany the year I turned thirty. My dad was getting remarried. It had been five years since our mother had passed away. My aunt - my dad’s sister - flew out to help him celebrate.
I spent three days with her before the wedding, talking to her and laughing and learning about who this amazing woman really was. Before that day, she had been the aunt who sent me Christmas cards and I had seen maybe five times throughout my entire life.
I sat on the couch after dinner one night, laughing at the story she was telling about my dad when they were kids, and there was an ache in my chest. An ache that said I wished I had known who my aunt really was before I turned thirty.
I vowed then and there that I wouldn’t be the aunt my nieces and nephews only knew by a Christmas card. They would know me, because I was going to be there.
It was only a matter of time from then.
•••
On a Friday afternoon in the February after I turned thirty-one, I turned in my key to the newspaper office in California. Two days later, I was in my car, my black lab on the front seat next to me, speeding across the desert to my new home.
I had an apartment, but not a job. I had my sister there, but no one else I knew. I had a future, but no way of knowing what it would really be like.
There is a sign, when you cross into Texas from New Mexico.
“Welcome to Texas,” it says.
My eyes lingered on the sign as I drove past. And then a rush of emotion I didn’t know I was harboring escaped, swelling in my chest, streaming down my cheeks.
I brushed away the tears, smiled at my dog sitting next to me, knowing without a doubt I had made the right decision.
It felt like coming home.
Thank you for reading! Also, you should all visit Austin if you haven't :) This was written for Week 21 of therealljidol. You can read more stories inspired by current events here. Voting should be up Thursday night if you are inclined to vote for me or anyone else!