Adjusting XII

AXII

The bus ride back to the Tri-state area is long and uncomfortable. My back hurts, I'm a little drunk and having an aisle seat is not making it any better. I can't complain much about the aisle though. I got a shitty seat because I got into it with some other regulars at the bar about my need to push everyone away and had another beer instead of leaving early like I was supposed to. It is what it is, and hell, I am going home. Eight hours later, my Dad meets me with the sunrise in midtown. We grab breakfast and he take me straight to Grand Central to catch the train to my adoptive parents house in Connecticut. I want to tell him thank you for planning this trip for me the way he has, for not holding a grudge that I was taken in by a family soon after I turned 18, for not pretending like nothing happened, for supporting and taking interest in my pseudo family and not getting angry like my mother when I slip and say “adoptive parents” in her presence instead of “Kat and Ed.”, for even if it hurts him or makes a part of him feel guilty for the childhood I received that we both can't change, never showing it or taking it out on me. But it's all understood in the round trip tickets he puts in my hand with a hug.

“Tell them I say hi!” He reminds me cheerfully while I step towards the platform.

“I will, Dad, See ya Tuesday!”

“Gooooooo Mets!”

I pump my fist in the air twice while I'm walking away to show him I heard. Wednesday will mark the end of the seven years its been since we've seen a home game together, and it's been a very long seven years. I find a window seat quickly this time and settle into a nest of memories and country music the entire way, the rest of the way, home. I'm exhausted, its been over twelve hours of traveling. When I finally make it to Norwalk I do something I've only done once before and take a cab from the station to the house. I hadn't bothered to call home and let anyone know I was on my way and don't want to bother anyone before noon to come get me. The streets rush past the cabbie windows and a feeling of culture shock is slowly taking over me. Only now am I realizing just how long its been since I've been home. I keep expecting to see an abandoned house or freight tracks, a cobblestone alley way hidden and forgotten behind some brush. Everything looks so... civilized. I start to become uncomfortably aware of the new clothes pedestrians are wearing, and clean hair. I look down at myself and bad brains book bag on the backseat beside me, my boots my friends have nicknamed The Hillbilly Heels, and grass stained jeans. My hair is becoming dangerously close to dreads. I am definitely going to need a shower and change of clothes before venturing out to visit my friends in town. I wonder, if this is how strange home has become to me, does it mean I have indeed adjusted? Finally the cab pulls up front and I step into the morning air, the smell of fresh cut grass and ocean around me. I take a deep breath and grin. Ed is on the porch with his back turned to me, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey!” I yell from the drive, waving my arm violently.

“Hey,” He says looking up from a book. “didn't know you where coming home.”

“Yup!” I grin. “Took the 11oclock last night. My dad set it up so I could come straight here.” We talk for a minute, then he crushes out his cigarette and goes inside. I can hear Kat's voice from the kitchen and smile, content. Then I crush out my own cigarette and sit for a moment soaking it all in, the sunlight, and birds, the smell of the porch and Riley purring against my leg, the time that's past. When I'm ready I swing my bag over my shoulder for the last time this weekend and step inside.

“I'm home!” I sing into the living room.

“Coffee's in the kitchen.”