Counting the cars on the NJ Turnpike

This started out as an e-mail to a new friend (you know who you are) but it gradually turned into something else. I started writing this on Saturday but wanted to wait until all that cat racket blew over before posting…

I’m in New Jersey today sitting at the kitchen table and drinking tea like I’ve done hundreds of times before. It’s weird how something so safe and familiar can at the same time seem so strange and foreign. I visit all the time…almost once a month, but it’s always odd being “home” after not living here for so long. Five years. Five years since I thought of this house and this zip code and this phone number as home. Now it’s my parents’ house. Like hearing a popular song playing in another room—you know the lyrics, you know the melody, but it’s too far away to really enjoy…

Something just seems …off…

I have a brother at war. Actually, I don’t know why I said that like that…like it’s 1942 and I’m the oldest in a family of 12. We’re the only two. Since he left, my house has become an homage to Gab—yellow ribbons, e-mail print outs, pictures everywhere. My mom even keeps a yellow candle burning for him—you know the kind. The tall yellow pillar in a glass holder. You get them in the Goya aisle at the supermarket, or, if you live in a city, at the corner bodega. The mirror in my room—what was once my room—is covered with his face: his high school graduation picture, he and his girlfriend, baby photos. I had to move them aside to check my lipstick. Am I jealous…a little bit. Mostly I just miss him. At church tomorrow they’ll ask about him. “How’s your brother? I’ve been praying for him…” I’ll smile and nod and say that I got a MySpace message from him not too long ago and he’s doing well, looks great (if a bit sandy). I’ll say that his ship left Kuwait last month and that he’ll be home (God willing) in mid-August. Then (as an afterthought) they’ll add “…and how are things in DC? Wonderful, I’m sure. You’re always wonderful.” They smile, answer themselves, and move on. Yup, wonderful. Hunky Dory. (Churches thrive on clichés)

Truth is that things are not wonderful. They’re not even great. I’ve mentioned before that I feel a little lost these days. A little unsure. I feel like the shutdown scene in A Space Odyssey when HAL goes “I can feel it…I’m losing my mind…I’m a…fraid.” It’s not that I’m always sad, because I’m not. I’m still (mostly) the same me—the laugh, the sarcasm, the optimism—it’s all still there, but there’s something different at the core. Something is missing. Something aches.

I took the train on Friday morning. I rode up with a friend who was also headed home for the weekend. He slept most of the way while I looked at the scenery and listened to Simon & Garfunkel’s America over and over again. It’s my favorite travel song. Even though he was asleep, I was glad he was there…I didn’t want to have to sit next to a stranger. The comfortable silence of a friend is a thousand times better than the chatter of a stranger. The storm in my head started to fade a little as I watched the trees and towns roll by. It was a tangible escape. I felt a little lighter when I got out in New Jersey. I think it was the first time I was actually happy to be in Newark…

Moe picked me up from the train station in her new car. She was a few minutes late so I sat on a plant holder and lit a cigarette while I waited. A man who was missing several teeth came up to me and asked to bum one. I lit it for him. He gave me a toothless smile and asked me if I was a stewardess. “I don’t think they’re called that anymore,” I thought as I shook my head. “My wife was a stewardess,” he continued. “She was pretty like you. Beautiful eyes. Gone 13 years now…” He walked away before I could respond. I don’t know what I would have said if he’d stayed.

Last night around 11 I went outside for a cigarette. My dad was on the air. My mom was on her computer. I stepped out onto the back porch and leaned against the rail. It was pitch black, save for a few fireflies. I realized I’d forgotten what silence sounds like. Living on Connecticut Avenue, I’ve grown accustomed to the cars rolling by, people shouting on the streets, the loud rattle of the window unit. This was different. This was quiet like I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was good to only hear myself for a while.


___________________

I’ve been contemplating leaving Washington. It’s the first time that I’ve really thought about it seriously. In the past it was always an “I’ll eventually end up in NY” kind of thing. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m done with DC. Most of my friends have left. I’m not exactly in love with my job. And there is just something about NY that I miss. Walking along the water in the City on Saturday afternoon I realized that I’d forgotten how amazing it all is—so much bigger than this city will ever be. The buildings are taller. The streets are wider. It’s just so incredible. It made me wonder why I lived here and not there. I was hit with a nagging sense of dissatisfaction. To be fair, however, when my train rolled back into Washington today, the sight of the Monument reminded me that I love this city too.

In the car this morning, my dad, who knows how I've been feeling, said to me, "If there are things that aren't working you just need to try something else." I know I’m not really ready to make any drastic decisions just yet, but the wheels are definitely starting to turn…I have to make some changes. I just haven't decided which yet...