My feet were in the lake
Don't get out of the car until you've gathered all the trash, all the bags and bundles buried in the trunk. Leave no trace in the garage. Unpack that bag before you sit down, stow away suitcases so we can get to stirring soup. Erase each trip as if it never happened, never disturbed this tidy scene.
I wonder now why we weren't allowed to show that a journey took place, a place journeyed us--why we had to smooth suitcase footprints from the bedspread. Why she needed to be unruffled, to have everything the Same As Before?
I gather the trash, sort the paper and plastics. I hang up the clothes and fill the suitcases with each other--a blue box Matryoshka. The old habit chides me to scoot each chair back into place, to rub the rubbish bin with a cloth until it shines.
But my feet were in the lake, my toes touched stones. My eyes met others and my hands held hearts. My railroad track future ripped up and hovered before steering, shifting and assembling itself in a new direction.
So I leave my treasures on the bed. I tell the trash to stand guard for one more day. The place looks loose, disrupted.
As if someone has been on a trip.
Monday, July 27, 2009 at 2:07PM | Share Article 3 Comments | Email Article Print Article | Permalink
Reader Comments (3)
Welcome home, Jen. I'm glad you enjoyed BlogHer and I can't wait to here more about your trip!
Welcome back. I think it is important that our homes bear witness to our travels - they bear witness, after all, to the rest of our daily lives.
(And unpacking gradually is such an easier process - on the body, on the soul - than having to do it all at once.)
Even if you put everything back just as it was before you left, your words and your pictures would mark this journey you are on. No markers for the journey make it easier to pretend that seismic shifts haven't occurred, that the safety of the status quo still exists. Freedom isn't free and sometimes we pay a high price for the travels of the soul. Visible reminders of the progress we've made help us to make the next step rather than pretending we are standing still. And I think, I hope, it is possible to stir the soup with the suitcase still on the bed, waiting for the next adventure.