Maybe They Had it Right All Along

No one despises the mundane simplicity of a small town more than a wide-eyed teenager. The moment I held that rusty 1999 dodge neon key insured in my own name, I knew I would escape the moment I could. Wearing second-hand gowns, principal Terry adjusted my tassel from east to west while my packed car was within eyesight, enabling me to drive away from that three stoplight town the instance my yearbook held every classmates name.

I dreamt of a luxurious apartment with exposed brick and loft ceilings somewhere in New York or Los Angeles, maybe even London. Anywhere that the only form of familial communication would be through a telephone that could be ignored. I would tell my relatives that I am more successful than I am, live in an apartment that they don’t know I could never afford, and in a serious relationship with a fictional man that checks all their boxes. While in reality, I would work at a 24-hour diner, skimping on food to pay for my overpriced shoebox studio with noisy pipes and rude neighbors. But I would be on my own and I would love every confusing, lonely, blurry moment in the shimmering lights.

I envisioned a life where I would bask in the freedom of apathy and drink alcohol like water. I would play guitar until three in the morning while my current lover admired the view from my sheet-less mattress on the floor. I could casually hook up with someone I didn't have to explain to my parents, or by obligation bring to a church service to clear my grandmother's conscience. I could kiss girls in a basement club, with joints being extinguished in warm, half-drunk beer bottles rimmed with blue lipstick. I could wear fishnet stockings beyond the secrecy of my locked childhood bedroom. I could go to a coffee shop without someone knowing the spelling of my name or the classes I am taking. I could download an app to swipe on, rather than get set up with my parent's friend's boss' son. Rolling my eyes while listening to the adult's upselling. "He plays football and is even getting a scholarship for it. Plus he helps out at youth group and wants a big family.” As if I didn't know Tom Richmond since we finger-painted in Kindergarten. But if I left, I could go anywhere and do anything and be anyone, and no one within earshot would have an opinion.

I always thought my mind was bigger than the conservative confines in white picket fencing. During the countdown of my senior year, the peak of my nights was picking up my friends from their houses down the street and getting bitter, one dollar coffee from the only drive-thru McDonald's we had. We would listen to music our parents hated while driving on gravel roads framed by waving fields of yellow and green. Every time we would drive further and further away, while my stomach would flip with excitement knowing that one day I wouldn’t have to say, “should we turn around now? It’s getting late.”

While mom filled our house with the scent of blueberry pie, we would drive an hour to the city to buy pretentious domino-sized chocolate cake, glazed with Smucker tasting syrup, which we would lie about tasting flavor undertones only because it was spelled in Italian. We would wear makeup that made us look older, and bought tight clothes from a mall that had more occupants than our town's population. We would watch racy TV at Emma's dad's house while he worked late to pay alimony. We’d practice kissing and adopted language that would make our parents scold through a gasp. Teachers would come over for dinner and pastors would play hockey with uncles. And with every little thing piling to amount to an enormous disdain, I would recite all the things I wanted to escape from while counting down the hours to freedom.

I'd scoff at the bell clock waking me every night on the hour. I'd laugh at the gaudy murals and cheesy shop names in pastel block letters. I’d roll my eyes at hymn services. I'd look at the flowers as something to sell, rather than something to water. I thought the sky was made to be scraped, rather than be a canvas for endless clouds. The cracked roads as something to drive away from, rather than to paint with chalk. I thought our town’s people were cultish, rather than a community. I saw everything in opposition and grew bitter at my teenage leash.

I wanted to fly. Runaway. Discover the world and search the corners and edges until I find places that align with my soul.

So I did.

And much to my surprise. Alone.

My friends got scared. My sisters got married and comfortable. Classmates who moved away for school, came back after they held a degree in their shaking hands. Everyone who told me they wanted to leave couldn’t when the time came. “It’s just so expensive and my parents are letting me have the basement while I save up for a house.” “I don’t know what the use of looking for a job somewhere else is when I could work for my uncle.” “Justin and I want to start having babies right away and we want grandparents close.” I was astonished. We spent countless recesses' and sleepovers resenting the barren streets and boring boys, only for them to marry them two years later and live on the same street where they grew up.

I couldn't understand. While I rented a stuffy room across the ocean, I would pity the stagnant lives they must live. I assumed misery and blamed their “behavior” on being stuck or scared. I deemed them weak or uninspired. And I thought that for a long time. Seven years, in fact. And then one day it changed. And through the confusion and the abrupt epiphany that comes in drunken silence, I missed home. A home that doesn't only consist of a walkable circumference and the promise of a fourth traffic light. It goes beyond physicality and memory.

I have found my ambition and exhausted it. I have kissed more mouths than I could count. I have lived in cockroach-infested apartments alone and I have lived in a penthouse in exchange for giving my boss frequent blowjobs. I have worked midnight shifts doing laundry for hotels and I have worked miserable corporal jobs where I am respected because I earn expendable income and wear pantsuits. I have fallen in love and I have had my broken heart bleed into watercolor that I frame and display on my wall like a scarlet letter. I have let go of friends and I have made many more. I have traveled halfway around the world and tried every substance I could take. But then I became a little of everything, pieces of me scattered in different rooms and cities and lovers. I spent so much time not being someone, that I never decided who I actually was.

I got into an uber and picked a random address that was far from the city veins. And as I looked out the window, the skyline soon melted into trees, and then fields. And I cried. September used to mean something. A kiss used to be electrifying. Our paths used to all lead to the same place. I grew nostalgic for nights where we were lucky enough to have the time and ease to drive and laugh and scream into the sky, knowing the only thing we could lose was our innocence and our first love.

A first love I haven’t thought about in years. I gained self-control over cyberstalking and diluted the memory of a high school romance that fit too perfectly, too young. Someone I loved in the depths and agony of falling first. And that mental distance remained until a friend told me over the phone that he is now a husband. And the wife is the woman he left me for. I told myself I pitied him, assuring myself that I had the last laugh. I lived in multiple bustling cities and got expensive education and accomplished things I never thought I would. I told myself I was superior. I thought that small town would envy my exciting life and worship my bravery.

But now I grow jealous of him. Of everyone. My friends. My sisters. Maybe they got it right. Everything I wanted to escape, I now crave. I want a 9-5, not tear-filled nights praying an agent will finally read my poetry while serving beer to drunk men that don’t look at my face. I want a life partner, rather than a string of nameless hallow one night stands with tattoos, scarves, and mommy issues. I want a house, not a place that I can’t paint the walls while paying a rent that is double a mortgage payment. I want to be able to run into friends at the grocery store rather than have to schedule something a month in advance only to watch them flake. I want to read a book in the evening rather than work until midnight to afford a drink on Friday. I want to drive a car, rather than having strangers sneeze on me on the subway. I want my kids to see Grandma and Grandpa whenever they want, and my sisters to come over for dinner. I want my mom’s blueberry pie recipe tickling my nose and midnight bells soothing my insomnia. I want a backyard with a dog with a cliche name and a purple leash. I wanted a community where I rarely have to introduce myself or feel the need to reinvent myself to eliminate judgment through their different lenses. I want cracked sidewalks and PTA meetings and doctor office lollypops. I want apple trees, bike rides, and town campfires. I want a schoolyard crush marriage and tiny toes to kiss. I want everything I thought I didn't. Everything I had. I didn't know as a teenager that mundane simplicity could be the most beautiful, exciting adventure in life. I didn't know I could deserve happiness as simple and as easy as choosing it. Maybe they had it right all along.