Day 25- June 13, 2006 Home

Despite being stretched out across the entire row, I can't sleep on the plane. I keep thinking that maybe if I was running away from something concrete instead of theoretical, maybe it would have pushed me more. Maybe I wouldn't have come back. It is a silly thought, I know- safe after-the-fact bravery that will never be tested.

The flight is quick, and I would have never thought that five hours would seem like short travel time before spending three days on a train. When we land, part of me wants to stay in the air, and part of me does. I don't know if I've changed in the way I expected to, if I've changed at all, and I'm sure it's the sort of thing that will take years to come into focus in hindsight.

My sister is waiting for me at the door when we get back. I expect her to wrap her arms around my waist- as high as she can reach- but I have to coax the hug out of her, and it makes me wonder if I seem like a stranger. I tell her she's gotten bigger, and I'm not sure if it is true or if I have been gone for long enough to details to fade in my memory.

I spend the day catching up- family, friends. I'm exhausted but it is impossible to fall asleep. I blame it on my body still being on West Coast time, but I know that it is more than that. When I fall asleep, it will be the next day and the trip will officially be over. My bed had seemed more enticing on the planeride over. Now it looks small and lonely and my room has a smell I've never noticed before. It feels messy and unlived, boxes stacked along the floor, and I can't remember if this is the way I left it or if it has taken on a life of its own in the time I've been gone.

I curl up facing the wall, but can't get comfortable. I realize I am no longer used to sleeping alone, and the feeling of dependency scares me in a way that makes my eyes tear up with weakness. I press my back against the wall and it's cold, but I remind myself that I can warm it up with my body heat, and this makes me feel powerful enough to fall asleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night and don't know where I am. I sit up, blinking into the darkness until it hits me: I'm home.