What it means to return

I was exhausted on arrival. I set my alarm for a one hour nap and laid on the couch to sleep. My mom poked me and said get in the bed. She hates sleeping on couches. I told her to leave me alone. My sister came in and wanted to watch the Boondocks. I sat up briefly and she nestled next to me. For the next hour I slept in her lap.

When I woke, I was writing a paper for my policy class. My (step) dad and sister were cooking dinner, spaghetti; their speciality. I reminded them that I eat meat now.

When I finished I went into the kitchen to fix my plate. I told my dad he could have written my paper for me. He said he wasn’t a very good writer. I explained what the paper was about: applying a behavior model to policy making and the Cuban missile crisis. I start telling him the major points and ask if he’s read the book Thinking Fast and Slow. He hadn’t. (But I bet he will by weeks end). He tells me it reminds him of that book Blink. “Is that Gladwell?” I ask. He wasn’t sure but moments later he confirmed it was.

I later laid on the bed and went through my suitcase handing dresses to my mom. “See if you can wear this…this one you can keep. These you can borrow.” And then I told her all the gossip going on in my life. She listened as if she knows the people. I keep talking until we reach the present.

“I think we need ice cream.” Said the youngest. We headed into the kitchen for slices of mom’s pound cake and strawberry ice cream. Mom with the sly reminder that she’s so flatter that we can’t stop eating the cake she baked for the graduation this weekend. Oops? The tv is on Nightmare on Elm Street. I hate scary movies. My sister explains to me what’s going on. Mom chimes in. They’re completely engrossed.

I’m home.

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