Finding Your Home Sweet Home....

Going Home Again
            Going home again, I think that as I turn onto my street on a Friday afternoon at about two o’clock. We made really good time from school, but no one is going to be home yet; mom works till five and dad has been working late so I’m not even sure what time he’ll be home. My sister is working late, so she won’t be home till midnight. I walk into my empty house, well not really that empty. My dog is very excited to see me and although the cats don’t show it as well, I know they’re excited too. I throw my months of laundry into the laundry room, my backpack onto the kitchen table and sit down on my couch.
            In this moment I feel strange. I’ve sat here a thousand times before for hundreds of different reasons. I’ve been in this room with all my friends, with all my family, and alone, like now. Being alone this time I think how strange it can feel. The room doesn’t look any different and when I look out the window the backyard is still the same. Coming home again I feel a very strong connection with my past because that’s really what I left here, my present is three hours away. I feel like I’m in high school again. In fact when I’m home I act like I’m in high school. I go to the same places with the same people and do the same things. Yet still everything is different.
            Everything is different. I’ve grown and changed. In the last four years I’ve experienced success and disappointment, excitement and pain. I’ve loved and cried. I watched my friend break up with her boyfriend, I watched my friends fight and scream at each other. I’ve helped my roommate learn to write a thesis statement. I played a part in a historic election. I saw a Korean kid and a Saudi Arabian kid fight in broken English. I drove my friend to get the morning-after pill. I’ve bought condoms with my friends. I’ve drank to the point of black out. I’ve worshiped the porcelain God. I’ve cut my hair, colored my hair, and ruined my bangs. I’ve fixed the toilet. I’ve packed and unpacked my stuff. I’ve been driven to the emergency room. I voted for the first time. I went to countless birthday parties. I said good-by to my roommate when she studied abroad. I’ve been very embarrassed and really confident. It really is an endless string of thoughts. Capturing the experiences individually is hard.  
            Coming home again though, sitting in this spot, looking at this room; this room where I received my first kiss, waited for my prom date, waited to go to graduation, opened my birthday presents, napped. It almost seems like the last four years never even happened. They did, and I’m changed forever because of them.
            For now though, I know I’ll get texted about my roommates boyfriend being a jerk and an e-mail about our energy bill, but I’m home. Where, even though I’ve changed, my parent’s comfortable couch has not.
                                                                                    -Jessica Shank

Photo By: Katie Nolan


Going Home
The board rests against the porch railings,
waiting for its return to the west,
anticipating the ice-slickened glaze of snow,
the spray of powder over frost-crisped evergreens,
and the brisk burn of winter air.
I remember that trip to Telluride,
and that board’s first real ride.
Twenty-five hours spent on a bus,
filled with the promise of freedom.
Flour-freckled hills rose to towering treed peaks.
Five days would stretch out
on a canvas too large to paint.
Log cabins, brick fireplaces and hot cocoa
in the bitter Colorado evenings.
In the mornings, we glided over
mile-thick fluffs of white, and breathed
in fresh mountain air.
My mind found peace along the slopes.
My soul found its home amongst the pines.

                                       -Sarah Wenman

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