Family
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Looking outside, I see rain. I watch as each raindrop destroys itself against the windowpane, and it seems that the world is a carcass filled with dying droplets.
The bagel in my stomach feels like a lead weight, pulling me down, trying to keep me from moving. My coffee is bitter, but I need it to stay awake, and I gulp it down as quickly as I can. I wonder fleetingly whether bitterness is necessary to keep our attention on life.
Though it only takes a few seconds to reach my driveway, my umbrella is soaked, and I shake it out as I slide into the driver’s seat. The drive to the freeway is so familiar to me I don’t even notice driving there anymore, and the next thing I know I’m merging with the rest of the morning traffic, my stomach clenched in a tight fist.
I feel a conflicting rush of emotions, happy, angry, sad. I see flashbacks, crocodile tears, screaming, and voices bouncing violently against crisp, white walls. There are slamming doors, numbing silences, swift glances made of ice an steel.
A quick honk and a raised middle finger jolt me back into my car. I taste the bile building in my mouth, and I’m almost ready to spew venom, but my weariness lulls me into a quiet complacency; the warmth of my car and the drone of the morning news quickly send me back into my own little world.
I am smelling ginger and garlic, listening to the sizzle of vegetables frying in the kitchen. I can hear laughter and soft hands stroking my head as I fall asleep. I listen to the hum of sewing machines and voices singing long-forgotten songs; I think I almost remember the lyrics and tunes, but they flit away just as I’m about to pin them down.
I reach the lot and quickly park my car. Nervously, I feed the parking meter and shuffle into the building. Sitting there, waiting, I wonder if my heart will calm down in time. There is so much tension in me: weariness, excitement, love, apprehension. A line of strangers pass by, chattering, so certain of their destination.
Before my heart can quite totally calm down, I see familiar faces. A quick hug and an exchange of “how are you-s” follow, and we rush to the baggage claim. As I watch them, their eyes scanning like hawks for their luggage, I start to wonder, why is it so different now? Meeting them feels awkward, strange, familiar-but-not-quite. They look back and smile, and a rush of warmth explodes inside my chest.
I realize I am meeting my family for the first time as an adult.
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