We are sad but trying hard to convince the other that we’re excited.  That we’ve done the right thing.  The trailer, empty now, follows a dad and grandpa back to the place we still call home.  I don’t completely know your thoughts, but for myself, I want to dart down the three flights of stairs and tear after the disappearing taillights, beg them to take me, too.

Our first venture outside the apartment is to the grocery store just a two minute drive away.  The prices make me gulp.  I knew I would miss our sweet Fareway, but I didn’t know I would long for its familiarity like a dear friend gone missing.  We are afraid to buy anything.  I don’t have a job and the price tags look uncomfortably high.  Our sadness, to which neither has admitted yet, wins out over our qualms about money – we hope to deceive one another (and ourselves) with celebratory food.  We look for wine, too…everywhere.  We feel almost like guilty alcoholics when we finally ask and learn that we have to visit a liquor store for anything like that.

We come home to the new rooms that are not home.  A bottle of cheap red wine to celebrate and console and nachos that don’t taste quite as delicious as I remember from when I was little.   An episode of X-Files from our tiny television with the headphone plug into which you sometimes have to poke your little finger to make the voices heard.  We snuggle on the couch with each other, wanting to belong, wondering when the feeling of being a grown up will start to kick in.

Scully and Mulder’s familiar bantering reassure me, and at some point in that first evening, the cozy feeling creeps in. I know that everything is good and my life is beautiful…as long as I am not without you, everything will always be beautiful.  You love me.  I love you.  I begin to love the insecurities because I am sharing them with someone else.  “I can put back all the pieces, as long as you’re around.”

“Home…sits across the table
Home…is dreaming in my sheets
This house is just an address, you lift me from all sadness
This house is just an address, you’re my home
You are my home
You’re my home, you’re my home, you are my home”
-Ellis Paul, “Home”