Sunday, February 22, 2009

These things are true.

I know it would be easy to return to Atlanta. I would slide back into the South without a hiccup, my friends would welcome me home, my job would rehire me, my old bartenders would pour me drinks for free as if I never left. I know this.

I know I would wake up every morning, yawning and stretching and it would smell like sunshine. Even when it rains, Georgia smells like sunshine. My cat would try to trip me on my way to the coffee pot and he would sit patiently outside the bathroom while I shower and then drip dry as I brush my teeth. I would make idle conversation with my roommate in the kitchen about the day's plans, the latest Atlanta gossip, maybe we would agree to meet for a drink after work or plan to make dinner and watch bad television in our pajamas.

I know I would drive to work, even though I could walk, and if it were New York I would walk; thirty blocks isn't so far. I would sit at my desk and listen to the hushed conversations of my coworkers. I would take lunch outside under the white billowy Bradford pears and swat at flies as they try to feast on my peanut butter sandwich and my browning skin.

And on the weekends, I would wake up and go to brunch with whoever was awake to join me. I would sip on cup after cup of coffee with cream, no sugar and eat runny eggs and cheesy grits. In the afternoon, if the weather was nice, I would go to one of my favorite bars with the large sunny patio and drink beer and laugh and work on crossword puzzles or my latest craft project till the sun began to set.




I would be home, and it would be as if the last year was simply a dream that fades to a distant memory with the rising sun.