The A/C is only coming out of the defroster, and we are slowly roasting in our truck. Rolling down the windows is like putting an industrial sized hairdryer to your face and hands as the heat around Phoenix is relentless. Thankfully, this lasts only 45 minutes until the a/c begins to work properly. 330 miles to L.A.
The driving is quieter than in previous days. I suspect we are both recounting in our minds the shared but I’m sure very different experiences we shared along what would finally be a 3700 mile journey. It still hasn’t fully hit me that I am moving back home. The hectic nature of a roadtrip such as ours allows little time for introspection and reflection, but this silent drive, which literally into the sunset, allows for just that. I think of the friends I’m both leaving and coming home to, the familiarity of D.C. quadrants and metro stops replaced by a sprawling freeway system I definitely wouldn’t mind holding off on using for a while. I think of BBQs at 1250 Columbia Rd with Eddie, Davin and friends, and I think of dancing like Felice’s grandfather…whenever and wherever.
Suddenly, I realize that I no longer need our atlas. I simply know which exit I’m going to take next. My mom lives on the first floor of a stucco apartment building that is on the corner of Benito and Valley, and as I pass by I yell out my halfway rolled down window, “Ma! Wo hui lai le! (Mom, I’m back!).”
I park the Penske, and Brian and I go inside to devour fried dumplings Mom has just prepared. As usual Mom put a little too much sesame oil in the dipping sauce, but I don’t mind so much this time. I just smile and eat.
1 comment:
so i was talking to vince last night and he mentions that he just saw you in shanghai.
hit me up if you come down south.
peace
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