...The story of a girl in London, England


6.21.2010

Day 45: Coming Home.

We walked to the ATM, the five of us girls, at four in the morning. Surprisingly, it was light out. And the streets were quietly beginning to come alive.

Walking down High Street Kensington on the morning of our departure was like gaining closure at the end of a short, but happy relationship- one that wasn't meant to last, one that would nevertheless leave an impression on my heart. I had left Jill sleeping on the couch, turned in my keys, drug my luggage down the stairs, and thrown out the garbage. Going to the ATM was the last thing on my list of things to do before flying home. I needed about twenty pounds to pay our cab driver and get a bite to eat. And then my English Pounds would be exhausted, and it would be time to handle dollars and cents once again.

We didn't have to wait long for a taxi to respond to our raised arms and mountainous luggage. Our cab driver was happy and helpful, and he somehow managed to get the five of us girls, along with all our backpacks and suitcases, into his relatively tiny taxi cab. We were excited, but tired. And as we drove the forty minutes to the Stansted Airport, I could feel my mind growing foggy with exhaustion, despite the adrenaline.

We made it into the airport and through security with relative ease. By now I was a pro. And as we sat waiting at our gate, I grew anxious. I was ready to get on a plane back to the good old US of A.

It was a long flight. I slept. I read a mystery I'd taken from the shelves of the flat- (a sort of communal library, where books were left and taken at will). I listened to music. I watched Avatar and When in Rome.

And then, after the strange exhilaration of hours above the ocean, New York City came into view.

As the wheels touched the ground, I could FEEL how close I was to home. There was a tractor at the side of the runway, and I realized that I hadn't seen one of those big, yellow pieces of machinery for six weeks. It was something absolutely, absurdly... American.

We stepped into the airport, and it felt like America. It smelled like America. It sounded like America.

If I tried to explain how America feels, or smells, or sounds... I couldn't do it. There is something... inexplicable. Something in the air. Something that makes you feel at home.

I was so excited I nearly kissed the ground. The security gaurds laughed at my jumping up and down, my grin from ear to ear, my raving about how much I loved America.But during that short transfer from one plane to the next, I had gulped down American air, and it was intoxicating.

The flight from NY to SLC seemed longer still... infuriatingly so. I couldn't wait. I couldn't sit still. (Which is difficult when the red light in the shape of a seat belt above your head continually reminds you to stay where you are).

But finally, thankfully, our wheels touched the ground. I looked through the thick little window to my left, and gave a great sigh of relief.

I was home.

As I walked, exhausted, woozy, from the terminal, I saw familiar faces a few yards away: Mom and Dexter and Zander looking past my new hairdo for a girl they hadn't seen for six longs weeks. They didn't recognize the girl walking toward them with the shortened fringe, black leather jacket, and red, baggy eyes.

I was nearly on top of them, when my mother exclaimed, "You got bangs!"... it was a well kept secret, and well worth the look on her face.

I was enveloped in arms, attacked by little brother's hugs and kisses, "hello's", and "welcome home's"...

I was changed, somehow. But I was still me. And though I felt a little funny away from my eccentric, European existence, it felt good to know that I belonged.

We pulled my suitcase off the belt at the baggage claim, and lugged everything out to the car. After almost 24 hours of travel and time change, I needed a break, and some sustenance. So we stopped to get a couple burgers along the way.

I spent the whole time telling stories, and reeling at the things that had become so foreign in such a short amount of time: french fries instead of chips, a bathroom instead of the toilet, and free refills!...

As we piled back into the car for the last part of the journey home, I stared at the sky as it started to rain. London had followed me home, it seemed. I was incredulous, and exhausted... appreciative and altogether too emotional when I looked at the spot where the sun had disappeared a few moments before...

There, so familiar, so lovely, so kind, was the hint of a Lavender Sky.

1 comment:

  1. shamae i know i've told you this a million times... but you are an beautiful writer. what a blessing you are in my life, the time we spend in London was priceless and how lucky am i that our paths crossed for a few short seconds. i hope you are doing well and sometime we'll catch up like the good ol' days :)

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