Land of the Setting Sun

I remember standing in the living room of my aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere Missouri, when I realized I would be leaving Denver. I could hear my father negotiate what would end up being his contract to work for what used to be the transmission department of General Motors. I was old enough to pick up pieces of the conversation and understand my new home would be Indianapolis, a place I had visited only once when I was six years old. I didn’t remember anything exciting about the city except the flight, my first time in anything bigger than the single engine planes I had grown up with, the Children’s Museum, and a parrot in the lobby of the 38th Street Embassy Suites.

When we pulled up to our new home in the pre-fab sub-division, I was amazed. There was only one block on the house other than ours. A blonde girl around my age rode up on her bike. The sun was setting behind her emerging face and I wondered if we would ever kiss. She told me this town was pretty cool, she guessed, not as good as Denver, she bet, but, still this town was probably safer, and no one really did anything bad, just smoking some pot. She must have thought the older girl next to me was my big sister, but instead, it was my mother’s youngest sister. The comment about pot threw her into a tirade after the girl rode back down to the only other house at the end of the block. My aunt told me that she didn’t think that girl was a good influence and would warn my mother.

The little girl became beautiful, a star cheerleader for a couple years, then grew her hair into dreadlocks, followed Phish’s finale tour, and finally married somewhere in Alabama. I waited a couple more years before getting high, but behind comic books stores with other nerdy kids. Our paths couldn’t have been further from each other.

The first night in the big empty house was awkward. Although I could tell the house was a cut out of every other house that would soon be built in the neighborhood, it was still nicer than any house our family had ever lived in, and nicer than most homes I had ever seen. I slept on the floor of my empty room in a sleeping bag, the smell of plastic and new paint all around, wondering what the new change would bring.

Nearly a decade later, I’m moving back to the West. Indiana has given me a number of great friends, interesting memories, and a new respect for Chicago. I thank everyone who has influenced this time in my life, good or bad. The American Midwest is something I needed to experience to truly understand this country. That being said, I can’t wait to get back to a place that feels more like home. Come visit. I’ll leave a couch open for you.