Lyttle Vegas
Life is stressful. There are always problems. Work doesn't pay me enough. My peers and teachers think I'm crazy. Funny, but crazy. My friends don't understand me. My family doesn't bother to try. My house is a wreck. There is always drama. Every day I hope I can make it through without a meltdown. Sometimes I make it. Sometimes I don't.
So I went away for a weekend. Actually just overnight, but it felt like it was a world away. A ride in the car to a new place; to Lyttle Vegas. I get out of the car and smell the trees, and feel the wind in my face. And my favorite person is there, quiet and smiling. And there are kids, but not really kids. High schoolers. High schoolers with their rebellious ideas that are still devoid of the bitterness that will invade their bodies later. They still laugh and mean it, and it is infectious. They start food fights in the cafeteria, and no one comes to tackle them and carry them off to detention.
They get to live like I forgot how to. They have energy and they giggle and gossip and go to great lengths to annoy one another. Little do they know that it will be second nature before too long. They don't worry about consequences and they are excited about moving into the adult world. They have no idea what a ghetto setup it really is; with no heat, no food on the table, no cozy bed, and no neighborhood watch.
So I sit with them and they laugh, they put their head on my shoulder, they ask me if I'll come back. And before too long, I am laughing, we are hugging, and I really do want to come back. I feel like I fit in with them better than people my own age. Is there something wrong with me, or the people my age? When I'm with them, we don't laugh or giggle or gossip. We snicker and backbite and bitch. Puppies playing became dog eat dog. But I like the kids better. And so does my favorite person. We look at each other every now and then and I know he feels the same as I do. These high school kids are awesome. They are more fun and more interesting than anyone I know on campus. But we eventually have to go, even though the kids are begging us to stay.
There is a house; a weekend cottage where you can't see anyone else. It's beautiful, with its wood floors and wood stove and art everywhere. And a huge porch and an original Stickley. The architect in me got wet just looking at it; and I was so awed I couldn't even sit in it. Just stare like a star struck groupie. We drank a birthday bottle of bubbly and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Morning brought me outside to the porch, where I could lay in the sun like every other cat did that day. It was quiet, with breakfast and a mocha latte and sleepiness that contentedness brings with it. Another car ride back home and a nap and it's over.
Back to my old life.
It's like I never left.
But it's ok.
Maybe I shouldn't have gone, maybe there are things I shouldn't have said or shouldn't have done.
This is what I say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
No fallout allowed.
So I went away for a weekend. Actually just overnight, but it felt like it was a world away. A ride in the car to a new place; to Lyttle Vegas. I get out of the car and smell the trees, and feel the wind in my face. And my favorite person is there, quiet and smiling. And there are kids, but not really kids. High schoolers. High schoolers with their rebellious ideas that are still devoid of the bitterness that will invade their bodies later. They still laugh and mean it, and it is infectious. They start food fights in the cafeteria, and no one comes to tackle them and carry them off to detention.
They get to live like I forgot how to. They have energy and they giggle and gossip and go to great lengths to annoy one another. Little do they know that it will be second nature before too long. They don't worry about consequences and they are excited about moving into the adult world. They have no idea what a ghetto setup it really is; with no heat, no food on the table, no cozy bed, and no neighborhood watch.
So I sit with them and they laugh, they put their head on my shoulder, they ask me if I'll come back. And before too long, I am laughing, we are hugging, and I really do want to come back. I feel like I fit in with them better than people my own age. Is there something wrong with me, or the people my age? When I'm with them, we don't laugh or giggle or gossip. We snicker and backbite and bitch. Puppies playing became dog eat dog. But I like the kids better. And so does my favorite person. We look at each other every now and then and I know he feels the same as I do. These high school kids are awesome. They are more fun and more interesting than anyone I know on campus. But we eventually have to go, even though the kids are begging us to stay.
There is a house; a weekend cottage where you can't see anyone else. It's beautiful, with its wood floors and wood stove and art everywhere. And a huge porch and an original Stickley. The architect in me got wet just looking at it; and I was so awed I couldn't even sit in it. Just stare like a star struck groupie. We drank a birthday bottle of bubbly and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Morning brought me outside to the porch, where I could lay in the sun like every other cat did that day. It was quiet, with breakfast and a mocha latte and sleepiness that contentedness brings with it. Another car ride back home and a nap and it's over.
Back to my old life.
It's like I never left.
But it's ok.
Maybe I shouldn't have gone, maybe there are things I shouldn't have said or shouldn't have done.
This is what I say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
No fallout allowed.
posted by Ocean | 11:08 PM
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