Been Ohio
Visiting Ohio from Los Angeles is nothing if not a relief, first and foremost. To get away from this awful bullshit is reward enough to fly to Serbia-Montenegro. Add on top of that the fact that my life is still in Cortland, Ohio, waiting for me to come back to get it, and the ingredients are set. Two and a half weeks away from the city and with mostly all of the people I give a fuck about was a perfect chance to take stock. No amount of mulching, mosquito bites, poison ivy, induced meat consumption, hangovers, or awkward emotional feelings could overpower the simple grace of sitting at the fire until the sun came up, listening to the chorus of song birds swell like they did in turquoise dawn, confusing the insomniac wobbliness in my stomach and knees for the trembling excitement of sharing a genuine experience with old friends.
If it had been possible, I would have held Amy's hand for 20 days straight, only then would it have felt like we'd been together long enough during my time back so that hugging her up to eleven times when saying goodbye wouldn't have felt so unsatisfying. Had it been possible, I'd have cooked dinner every night for Mom, and let Dad cook for me every night, as well. If it weren't for the grandparental landscaping obligations, I would've gotten on the bike with Dad much more, but as it stands, we were both able to enjoy a day at a baseball game, a day splitting wood, a day sitting around a pile of smoking kindling, bitching about Republicans, and one brisk but rewarding ride circling Cortland, commiserating the prospect of People We Know signing up for the Marines. Matt wouldn't have been on borrowed time, either, and I might have gone camping with him, and he might have gone to Philadelphia with me. And speaking of Philadelphia, all my people might have been there, as well, and I might have had the time to go down to Baltimore with the Smallwoods and the Brehms and squeaked one day more out of the last week. In any event, I wouldn't have crashed at 11:00 after drinking and smoking since 3:00, and that might have made for one more Best Tim Smallwood Story Ever. But to come away from that time and realize that my one regret while back home was not ordering a Vasilio's pizza hints to how lucky I feel to have that life in Cortland, Ohio, waiting for me to come back to get it.
We are all still friends.
If it had been possible, I would have held Amy's hand for 20 days straight, only then would it have felt like we'd been together long enough during my time back so that hugging her up to eleven times when saying goodbye wouldn't have felt so unsatisfying. Had it been possible, I'd have cooked dinner every night for Mom, and let Dad cook for me every night, as well. If it weren't for the grandparental landscaping obligations, I would've gotten on the bike with Dad much more, but as it stands, we were both able to enjoy a day at a baseball game, a day splitting wood, a day sitting around a pile of smoking kindling, bitching about Republicans, and one brisk but rewarding ride circling Cortland, commiserating the prospect of People We Know signing up for the Marines. Matt wouldn't have been on borrowed time, either, and I might have gone camping with him, and he might have gone to Philadelphia with me. And speaking of Philadelphia, all my people might have been there, as well, and I might have had the time to go down to Baltimore with the Smallwoods and the Brehms and squeaked one day more out of the last week. In any event, I wouldn't have crashed at 11:00 after drinking and smoking since 3:00, and that might have made for one more Best Tim Smallwood Story Ever. But to come away from that time and realize that my one regret while back home was not ordering a Vasilio's pizza hints to how lucky I feel to have that life in Cortland, Ohio, waiting for me to come back to get it.
We are all still friends.