Moving four hours away, into my parent's basement means, something else. It means moving to my home town. Which I left at age 18, 18 years ago.
Which is fine really. I harbor no hard feelings. We (the town and I) didn't know how to get along when we first lived together. What with we me being an angry artsy type and the town being hicksville. I didn't know how to smile. But I do now. Having long since learned to let my love shine, I am all sorts of fun and happy. This is who I am now.
This town is different too. It is bigger. There are non-white people living here. And the edge that is still hick? Well, I find it charming. Maybe I'll take up line dancing. Although, um, probably not.
But, today it happened. I knew it was going to. I was recognized. At my son's new day care no less. By someone from my high school no less. All my eighteen years of being anonymous, of being able to make up my back story, are gone. Perhaps this is a good thing. After all, I worked very hard to get here. Might as well take some credit.
I can't hide!
Well, I will miss my old radio stations. There are no less than three country stations here. Which is not too bad in small doses. In fact, I have taken quite a fancy to this song. I like to think, that if Mr. Hall were a country singer, he would sing this to me.
I say to me, welcome home Mrs. Hall (nee Godsmack) Welcome home indeed!