i can’t help that every time i come back to my hometown, i am reminded that every moment is a “last”. the town that housed my innocent firsts becomes a town of sentimentality. i almost seemed to know that as soon as i left it for the first time, every experience i would encounter would be tainted by the idea of the past. everything that happens becomes something that has happened all too soon.
i constantly think of how soon, i won’t say bye to my dad in the morning when he wakes me up before he goes to work. and how soon, i won’t say bye to my mom when she leaves for work in the afternoon. i’ll stand in the frame of our door, watching her change her shoes, put her work bag in the back seat, her water in the front. in between each movement, she’ll look back and wave to me. i’ll wave back. i’ll wait until the garage door closes shut and her car disappears past the bend of the cul de sac because i want to be there every time she looks back. i wonder if she does look back and wave.
i feel as if the goodbye means more now, because i’m in a town that has become my past. i feel as if each goodbye is closer to the last, the distances between each growing wider, making each feel more than the last. this goodbye feels more like the ones i do on sundays from the train window.
i remember standing in the same door frame when i was a kid. i would wave to you the same, and wait until you left. it would be a moment of sadness, and then a wash of freedom as i had the next few hours to myself. i think now, when i stand in that door frame, i feel a mix of the same me. i feel the memory of myself, smaller, standing in the frame, waiting so i could be free. but now, i have been free. i have been free for months at a time. now, i want to be home.
time to me is painful. it feels so full of goodbyes. i never pay attention to the hellos.