“You know what, my girl? They say there’s no place like home, and there’s not. Why else would I sacrifice good money for
the chance to risk sitting less than six inches away from a strange woman who wants to talk about her cats, run across
airports looking like an idiot to catch the next flight, and attempt to ward off millions of germs just to get back to where I
can raid the fridge and wear no makeup all day? Because home is more than that – it’s cooking with Mom and it’s Daddy’s
hugs and your sister’s laugh. It’s the music we make, the stories we tell, the lessons we’re taught, the people we are inside…
because, really, that’s who you CAN be at home.
The person inside.”
I was going to refrain from admitting to writing that because it’s probably rambling and idiotic…
but it comes from a little speech I gave my friend at college. So it’s… yeah… kinda mine.
And yes. I’m home. Glorious.
ps – read the story. it’s long but it’s good.
The girl next to me was actually a friend from school (another Hannah, haha!), and it was a good thing, too. Even though she was probably laughing inside at me taking pictures of the (adorable!) polar bear napkin… she didn’t give me the weird youmustbesomekindastrangeartistthing look. I’ll love her forever.
SO I was walking through the Salt Lake City airport. I’d just gotten off my 4.5-hour connection from Atlanta, and I wanted to stretch my legs. So I left the D concourse and just sauntered towards the general direction of A, knowing that I had plenty of time to get back to D for my flight. I’d planned it all – stop in the restroom, freshen up, get pizza, sit down and catch up with the free wifi for a bit, then finish my exercise before hopping on the next long flight.
I was walking into the A concourse, finally getting the kinks out of my legs, and looking for my favorite pizza place (which was GONE, by the way… some seafood bistro or some fancy-smancy thing by which this poor college kid was deeply offended), my phone buzzed. I’d texted Mom to keep her updated when I’d landed in SLC, like I always do.
“Let me know when you’re at your gate.”
I texted back, “Just walking around for exercise, can’t sit still that long!”
“Well, your plane is overbooked. So at least get over there and check it out.”
“WHAT? ugh!! They always do that to me.”
“Are you close?”
“Um, kinda. I hope that this works out…”
“yeah, you’ll be okay. Close?”
“I’d better be!”
At that moment, I arrived at my gate… looking over the crowds of people, scanning for the desk and hoping for a seat. A blondish head. A puzzled yet familiar face. TOO FAMILIAR.
“ROBERTA?” My sister. What was… “what are YOU doing here?” I hope I didn’t look too flabbergasted or squeal TOO loudly. But it had been six months. And I was told she was coming home TOMORROW.
Me: What’s ROBERTA DOING HERE?
Mom: “hee hee!! Christmas surprise!”
Mom: “You have seats together, too!!”
or NOT, because Ro had no idea that I was scheduled to fly in and meet up with her, so she’d changed her seat from the middle to an aisle seat a few rows back. But we’d been assigned seats apart before, and people always switched with us, because it’s so cute/rare/unusual that sisters want to sit together or something. Turns out that the seat next to me was the ONE seat on the airplane that no one showed up to claim. Perfect. No random/awkward confrontations with the seatmate.
She proceeded to share her earbuds with me (I’d stupidly left mine at school), we listened to the Head and the Heart and she made fun of me for taking 24 pictures of the rain on the airplane window. Yep. That’s Ro.
Nice to see it again after Florida.
It was so FLUFFY! (I’m gonna DIE…)