Going back (Part 2)
I was 19 when my family and I decided to take a road trip down to Puebla, Mexico. It was a three-day trip simply to get down to Texas. Being that McAllen was on our way, my mom insisted we pass by our old house as she wanted to see what became of it. It was an exciting thought, I pictured myself recognizing everything, the schools, the streets, the restaurants, but none of that happened. As we passed by the downtown area of McAllen I found myself questioning if I had ever even lived there. The town was quiet and not many people were walking about on the street–not like New York.
Was this the city I often mourned? Was this everything I missed when I thought of a different life? Surely, it couldn’t be. I remember a colorful town filled with restaurants and shiny stores. This was not the town I knew, or maybe it was and I was too young to remember it.
We booked a motel for that night. I couldn’t sleep; the AC’s clinking only aided in keeping me awake rather than cool. I left the room to take some air in, our motel stood overlooking the highway–there weren’t many cars coming and going–but that was normal for a small town. The night was very quiet and peaceful, I don’t want this, it’s too... There’s just something missing. I want to go back home (by home I was referring to New York.)
I was missing the cacophony of the subways and taxis, I wanted to see relentless street vendors, I wanted to hear of the indecency of people who went out at night to live another life–I wanted to go back home. The life I wanted back for so long no longer existed and it was at that moment that I noticed, with a heavy heart, that it wasn’t the place that had changed but me. The quiet warm nights were replaced by the ruthless cold nights of a city that never sleeps.
We saw our old house the next day. The lime tree my mom had planted that one summer in front of the house was now big and for some reason the house seemed smaller, or maybe it was that I was bigger. It was sad to see someone else live in the place you once called home.
It felt heartbreaking to want to feel tenderness, for a place or for the life I left there, instead, all I could think of was all the “what ifs…?” What if I stayed? What type of person would I be? What would have my life been like if we had never moved? With that we drove away, ready to continue our trip.
