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By Allison | January 30, 2010
I’m in the middle of writing a ‘Thank You’ letter to my cousin out in East Amherst when it happened; I had a vision. The first real one about being home after this Belize experience. It felt so real, like I know it is going to happen as soon as I get back to Western New York.
Driving in my car, hopping on the 198 and rolling down the windows and turning up the radio, jamming out and lighting up a cigarette to begin my twenty plus minute ride out to the burbs. Leaving the bubble of Canisius College behind for an afternoon, and evening, a night.. The part I always remember, the part I always take note of is passing through the toll booths, slowing down, taking the ticket, smiling at whoever is working in an attempt to brighten their monotonous job in that tiny little glass box, and slowly picking speed back up and merging from like 8 lanes down to two, trying to beat out giant trucks and slow little four door sedans, all while trying to place that ticket stub in the visor or in the cup holder where the change I’ll be using to pay the toll is hidden. By the time I stop rustling around in the car and look up and focus on the highway I’m near the airport and the landing strip, where on days when I’m lucky a plane will be coming in for landing just hundreds of feet above my car that’s careening down the highway. The whole while I’m thinking about getting out to their house. Having some good food and seeing those crazy and adorable kids and listening to my cousin talk some crazy ideas about her husband, her friend, the mailman, some lady from the kids school, anyone really, gosh it’s hysterical – I can’t get enough of it.
I always kind of loved and loathed going out there. Like the whole time I’m driving out there I’m just loving life, loving the drive, meditating while driving through the concrete jungle that is suburbia: Flashing lights, loud cars, construction, ignorance, consumerism, little ants going to and fro. And look at me, I’m one of them, but I feel so very different, maybe because I’m painfully aware of this microscopic existence and the lengths I have to drive through just to go and see my family members. There’s got to be a better route than Transit Rd. Then I think “God, am I even going to be able to drive and maneuver through such chaos once I get home?”
And then my daydream ends. I’m in my library at my desk, thousands of miles from home, yet I felt like I was just there.. I miss Buffalo.
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