definitely.

the worst night of my life.

paging mr. corry to gate c19

All worlds are converging by departure.

Last weekend, I spent some time in Arizona for Blake’s 21^st birthday. Of course, we had a great time and the details of the big night will surely follow in some list format or mildly-humorous short piece, written solely to mask passing irritation or the solemnity of the ever-present reminders that yes, I am actually an adult. It’s not normally my style to have sentimentalism seeping from the blog, but I’m going there – probably because I’m on another solo “business trip.” Ah, yes, sending the 23 year old out alone, across the country, to meet with parents who are disbelieving when I tell them not to worry, apprehensive about my suggestion for their student to be a dorm-room minimalist, and uneasy about their student turning out just like me: a college graduate who never came back home.

While in the barrio of  (el) Chandler, I helped my brother load his stuff into a U-Haul, fully knowing that this will probably be the last time he leaves West Ivanhoe Street as a permanent resident. It was time for him to move on- he’s more than responsible enough, he found a good roommate, and changes coming on the homefront almost necessitate such a locale change (So as not to be the asshole who alludes to things and doesn’t elaborate, here we go in short version: my mom is getting remarried to a man named Ascension. We like him, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be a whole separate post explaining the wonder/el wondero and glory/la gloria that will be this wedding ceremony, marriage, and life thereafter… and yes, I know that is not accurate Spanish, but where am I going to find the right words sitting on a plane with a bunch of Midwesterners heading to Columbus, Ohio?). 

Speaking of the flight to Ohio, that’s where the other one has decided to go. Cincinnati to be exact (For those inquiring minds…. it’s because grad school is there. Were you actually trying to think up something else that might drive someone to Cincinnati?). I see those movies where two seven-year-olds are best friends and all of a sudden, one has to move away because of something as meaningless as, you know, a parent’s job or infirmed relative. To the left-behind seven year-old, the only question that makes sense is, “How dare they take my best friend!?” This is followed by a healthy dose of moping and sulking. Sadly, I’m not too different (in maturity or otherwise) from that seven year-old.

Six cities in eight days, and in each, I had to find those screens – which can never keep up with real-time changes – that give me the list of flight departures. The screens don’t show the departures that mean the most- my two best friends leaving from the only places in which I have known them. I suppose it’s one of those “natural progression” things. The kind that they tell you are coming. The kind that will bring our regular threesome to a twosome…. speaking strictly in golf terms. The kind that temporarily move friendships, but don’t change them.

Adios, brothers. bx.