The hardest goodbye: Los Angeles.
As I lay in bed trying to do breathing exercises, I cannot help but roll my eyes. Another sleepless night in quarantine, I know it is not good for me, but I cannot help but glance over at the clock. 4:37 AM. Awesome. Yet another toss and turn kind of night. I hear Dad sneaking out the door, probably going off on a run. It will be good for him to blow off some steam. I shift my focus back onto myself trying to calm myself down. I roll my eyes again because I had been so good today (or yesterday): exercising to get energy out, no screens before bed, even eating comforting and filling food for dinner as if I was trying to lull myself into sleep. Well, it didn’t fuck work.
As I roll onto my back, I let out a big sigh and try a new position with my limbs. This one is less of a pretzel and more of a starfish. I imagine myself lying in the sun, soaking up warm beachy air. Inhaling and exhaling. Counting breaths. Oh, what the hell. As I stumble out of bed, I trip over items in my cluttered room that should have been put away earlier; cards, tennis shoes, a hat, my backpack, and my stationary. Maybe that’s why I cannot sleep. Time is ticking. The new school year is starting, and so are the goodbyes. I truly believe humans never say goodbye, just see you later. Later can mean many different things, but goodbye is never final. These see you laters are always draining, it is more like a final goodbye tour before embarking on a new semester. I sit on the edge of my bed and run my hands through my knotted hair. The clean smell of shampoo from the shower I had taken earlier wafts through the room. The scent calms me down enough to steady my breathing. Quickly, I turn on the lights. I instantly regret it. Blinking for a few seconds I get used to the new brightness in the room. I start to pick up things around the room. First, the cords go back to the desk. Shoes in the closet. Hat on the hook. Backpack by the desk waiting for its next journey. I land back on the stationary. Looking at it now, I realize it is not special. It is from the car wash actually, when I had to pick some up to write some thank you notes. Now, it is used for goodbye notes. Also, a birthday card for mom that I will give to dad, when I miss her birthday at school.
Time check: 5:01 AM. Damn time moves slow. I take a moment and listen to the quiet. New sounds start to catch my attention. I hear the wind softly shaking the leaves, the dog taking her post at the front of the house waiting for Dad to come home, and car engines zoom by the house. An idea pops in my head, it is too early for a run, if I motivate, I might be able to catch the sunrise by the beach. A symbol of a new day. I pray that it is sunny today. I will be going back east to the snow soon; I need to soak up as much warmth and sunshine as possible. The mess I had just cleaned up is re-created in my tornado of getting ready. Once I am clothed, teeth brushed, and a note is written for the next family member who wakes up; I grab my car keys coffee and head out.
The morning dew latches onto my shoes as I walk across the lawn to my car. My car welcomes me with the click of the doors unlocking. As I roll down my windows, I start to appreciate the little things around me. The sweeping views of PCH when there is no traffic, the soft hum of my car, and the gentle breeze circulating through the windows and sunroof. I take a deep inhale and smile. Finally, relaxed breathing. The combination of the fresh air and gentle music soothes my soul. My mind wanders to other things as I am driving. A sudden swell of gratitude for my city wells up in me. I did not realize how much I took California for granted before moving. The small amount of space between the beach and the mountains are incredible. Within moments I have been pulled away from this thought because I am witnessing peaks of light fighting to get through the clouds and start to shine down on the calm water. An explosion of color fills the sky and I pull over to a parking lot to enjoy the private show that nature is putting on for me.
I sit thinking about my day to come. Monotonous packing, last meals, and lots of quality time with the dog. I store these thoughts away and focus on the present. As I pull out my phone to snap and send a photo to Mom and Dad of the sunrise, it seems someone has beaten me to it. The picture is of Dad and his buddies on the trail. Their big sweaty smiles show how much they have enjoyed their early morning run. The text beneath says he is heading home soon, maybe I can catch him when he is cooking breakfast and ask for him to fry up one more egg. With one last wistful glance of the beach and a small see you later to the Pacific Ocean, I start reversing out of my spot. I pause to turn on some music for one of my last car rides alone. Satisfied with the first song that comes up on my “soft country tunes” playlist, Lee Brice’s Boy, I slam down on the gas pedal and head home. I take the scenic route home and when I am finally reaching my driveway, I have to stifle a yawn. Maybe the lack of sleep is catching up with me. I shrug the thought away as I see two figures heading for my car. My parent's faces pop into view, both of their smiles are too big for comfort, and I can see their sadness hiding in the corner of their eyes. Only a few more days left with me home until Thanksgiving. We have been a little bubble for five months it is hard to imagine leaving, but they know why I need to leave. Dad runs up to open the car door, the stench of sweat is so potent, and to make matters worse he leans in for a hug. Luckily, my reaction time is so quick and I duck away from him and tumble into Mom’s arms. She also meets me with a fresh cup of coffee and a smile.
It is bittersweet leaving, but I know I will be back for more family time and early morning rides.
