The Prodigal Daughter Returns

This past week was Thanksgiving, which warranted my first trip home since moving out August 18^th. In the two weeks leading up to the return of the prodigal daughter I was filled with a strange sense of excitement. After dreaming for years of leaving and never going back, after planning to not go back until Christmas break, I was perplexed about my excitement. Whatever the cause, though, Tuesday couldn’t come soon enough for me.

The day came and I said a “quick” good-bye to the Minimalist before jumping into my seat between a fat man who snored and the bathroom on the tiny, toy airplane. Through the flight I felt every bit the college student as I worked tirelessly on my MacBook doing homework.

Twin picked me up from the airport and on the way home I tried smoking my first cigarette since before pneumonia (a menthol-complete fail) and Twin made one of her patented illegal U-turns. Once in town we met up with Coco at Starfucks and everything felt exactly the same.

Then I went home, where quite a bit was different. Including, but not limited to: the layout of my room, the color of parts of my bathroom walls (due to massive amounts mold growing behind them), the smell of my portion of the house (again, due to the mold) and the arrangements of cars in the garage (it seems Mother’s “fiancé” has taken over the dominant spot). Brother and his girlfriend, Sorority Sister, arrived a little later and the fun began from there.

Allow me to explain something—Brother and I are ridiculously alike. People say we look alike. We talk alike. We dance alike. We act pretty damn similar when drunk. We really have come a long way from that time a babysitter said seeing us fight was the best form of birth control. So needless to say, it was amazing seeing him.

Wednesday I made Mother a belated birthday lunch (spicy chicken wraps and orange essence rice), complete with champagne. And we revitalized a family tradition by driving through bum-fuck towns for 2 hours to sit in a freezing cold trolley and ride through 3 miles of Christmas lights. It was much better than it sounds.

Thursday was D-day. The D stands for: digestive problems, dinner, diet disaster, etc. I woke up early, mashed far too many sweet potatoes (with orange essence) and trekked over to Papa’s, where I showered because I refused to shower in that mold box again. Eventually, we headed over to Stepmother’s parents’ house where 4 generations of Southerners gathered and ate food full of lard. I stuck with the green beans and turkey.

Friday came and was by far the most stressful of all days. With homework left to finish, belongings spread between two houses, Christmas decorating to refuse to do, a 3:45am wake up call to get Brother, SS and I to the big city early enough to get amazing deals, cookie dough to assemble, and a visit I promised to Adult*, I had no time to spare. Surprisingly, by 1pm I had only 3 things left to do, which was a perfect excuse to take a Starfucks break with Coco. It was lovely. I smoked a whole cigarette, we talked about Christmas plans, and she oh-so-delicately and politely shared her less than favorable views on the Minimalist. When it came time for her to babysit I returned home to…you guessed it…do more homework.

Twin picked me up around 10pm and we sped over to Mother’s to make roll out some cookie dough and get my clothes. That left me with one thing left on my list—a visit to Adult. We arrived at his apartment (which I was yet to see) and quickly got down to playing Jenga, the drinking game (I had never seen him drink) and watching his cat climb up and down a ladder. At some point, a mutual friend came over and I tried to tackle Adult in the backyard. Twin eventually had to leave, which left the two of us alone.

…

And suddenly, it was 7am and I was being woken up by his cat climbing on me.

What? Gasp! That whore! Once a cheater always a cheater.

I know, right. Stupid biddy.

No, nothing happened. We had a very in-depth conversation, I offered to bare his children, one or both of us cried and I reverted to the logic of a 5 year old at times. It was great fun. Adult drove me home, I snuck in and Papa isn’t the wiser.

A few hours later I was boarding another tiny, toy plane bound for my new home with mixed feelings about a lot of things. Mainly I was thinking about how it felt like nothing had changed, how I hadn’t changed and that my old town would always be my town and part of me. There were a couple of other things rattling around in my head, including a massive headache/hangover, but those things are for another time. Upon returning to my mold-free box, I slept. And I woke up and hung out with some friends. And I ate. And I slept some more.

And now I’m awake, and fed, and headache free, and procrastinating, and avoiding what’s left rattling around in my head, and missing the Minimalist (who doesn’t return until tomorrow).

And now I’m saying g’bye.

*Adult-the only ex that I’m actually friends with.