Laurabelle's Blog

Almost exactly seven years ago, when I was sixteen, I left home and my parents for the first time. I was away for a year, and then I came back to Texas for my senior year of high school. That was the last year I spent at home, because then I went to Mount Holyoke, then to Hamburg, then back to Mount Holyoke, then to Seattle, with various stops in Texas and England in between.

In those seven years, I always felt that even though I didn’t live with my parents any more, Texas was still my home. Most of my books and many of my other belongings are still in this house, and my old room is still decorated with the posters and doodads from my teenage years. If anyone asks where I’m from, I say Texas or Dallas.

It was strange, last January, when I returned to Seattle after several weeks in Texas and felt myself fitting back into life there as into a well-fitting shoe that had grown cold in my absence but soon warmed up again. I was torn between my two homes, the one that made me and the one that I made myself.

Two months ago I brought Jeff here to visit, and it felt natural to have him here. Now I’ve come back for a brief weekend, to see my cousin Allison married, and I can’t wait to get back to Seattle. It’s been a good weekend, with family, renewing and strengthening ties. I especially enjoyed spending time with my brother, with whom I’ve never been able to talk very well.

All the same, Seattle seems to be home now. Jeff has something to do with it, but it’s also that my life is up there, and I’ve not got much to do here but sift through memories, read, talk, knit, and wait until it’s time to go home again.