Ever After

Going home is dangerous. There is always the possibility of tripping over a sacred cow and waking it up. Once awake and moving, it is unlikely to maintain its homey, kitschy aura and it is even more likely to take that first step towards falling from grace. No one wants to see this happen, especially not dewy eyed romantics popping in to visit after being gone a few years.

The dear hearts and special people who make up the memories fabricated by my absence are still here. They are pretty much the same as they were two years ago. In fact they are pretty much the same as they were ten years ago, or even twenty years ago. That's the thing about going home, nothing ever changes. Well, nothing except the memories. The fond memories of good ole Aunt Shirley holding court in her kitchen after Uncle Hal scraped her and Johnny Walker off the bathroom floor are less funny now that she uses a walker. And Cousin Zeb's funny forays down the local alleys in search of exotic fumes wane as his own kids begin to approach the hunting age. Gotta make way for the next generation.

Aunt Hattie's locked fortress begins to take on a slightly crowded look as the clothes over run the hanging space and begin to sit next to her on the living room sofa and kitchen table. And no one can remember which one of Aunt Pearl's cats begat who now that the generations are piling up in living fur balls everywhere. George forgot I was coming, even though I called to remind him twice, so I drive on by and nostalgia grips me by the throat.

I listen to the old songs on the radio and my heart lurches now and then. Was it really like this then? A green light pops up and I screech to a stop as three young teenagers slowly ride their bikes across the street in front of me. Right here, and I have a green light! Memories of another accident in this same place pop up and I wonder what is is about this corner? Is there some kind of hex that makes fourteen year olds court death here?

I stop at the local watering hole on my way out of town, but the pickings are slim. Cube Mountain water, the special kind that probably came from the fountain of youth, lots of sugary fake fruit drinks and some Pepsi, but no Coke, because everyone here knows that Coke eats up car batteries. They know lots of secret stuff here, but my particular brand of poison is missing so I drive on.

I came, I drove around and I drove away, a little sadder and a little wiser. This isn't my home anymore and these aren't really my people, just their memories are. Going home is dangerous, it rewrites the old stories and they cease to be funny, or cute, or even sweet. There are no happily ever afters here, only ever afters.