Go West, Young Lady
Alex recently took a trip into the past, and has a story to tell.
I was home for a bit recently. I’ve had some time off since I left my amazing team at Northeastern at the end of February in pursuit of broader horizons. Between the transition to a new job, going through the ebbs and flows of relationships, and just generally trying to decide what I want and need, I had decided I needed to spend some time in the places that make sense to me. Sometimes you have to go home to return to yourself.
Mid-week, my master plan was to hop a commuter rail train out of Boston, get to Salem, steal my dad’s Jeep, and drive to Amherst. I thought a solo trip to my alma mater would have my answers. I’d get to see my baby brother, who is now a freshman at UMass (and my counterbalance), and revisit some old stomping grounds, meet with my professors, and remember who I was back then.
When I got to Salem station — a train depot that’s been there since the dawn of time, I think — my dad was no where to be seen, so I walked home. It’s about a ten minute walk from train car to my front door, weaving through downtown Salem.
It’s is a quirky little city about 20 minutes north of Boston, where the roads were designed by cows 200 years ago and were never really adjusted for modern human life. The streets are narrow and meandering. Side streets lead off the main drag to the local butcher, the post office, the townie coffee shop — just as it’s always been. It’s the delight and the plight of the city: every reason to stay, and no need to leave.
Maybe that’s why so many don’t.
My parents, for example, grew up in a neighboring town with all the same qualities, except the levels of posh were cranked to 11. They moved to Salem, bought an old fixer upper on a one-way street, and called it home. My dad is still there, almost 25 years later.
I walked in the door, said “hello” to my dog, Edward, and then joined my dad at the kitchen table. It’s been our family meeting spot for as long as I can remember. Together, he and I ran through the agenda for the day, and the list of things I had to deliver to my brother.
I told him I was excited to have a day to myself; just me and the highway. I needed Amherst to level set.
I was right — kind of.
Driving around campus, I was stunned. There are so many new buildings, so many additions to old buildings. The kids who are there now are existing in a much different UMass than the one I knew.
And yet, I still had visions from a lifetime ago.
Around every turn, down every alley, I found a little piece of myself. I passed buildings where I attended my first lectures, and remembered how my mind engaged and grew there. I rolled by my old dorm, a place that’s become like a character in itself for so many of my UMass memories. I slowed down as I drove by a spot on a hill where I spent so many nights by myself as a sophomore after finding out my parents were separating. I passed bus stops where I sang my heart out while waiting for the Valley’s public transit after nights out with best friends. I had a visceral reaction as I rode by the bars I used to frequent, and remembered the drinks I would order once inside. I stopped in front of the apartment building where I finally kissed that boy, for the first and last time.
Finally, I found myself in front of my brother’s dorm. A new construction on the south side of campus that’s build for the “smart kids.” I texted him to let him know I’d arrived and before long, this bearded, man child was lumbering towards me. I’d know that face anywhere, but he stunned me a little with how grown, how confident, how sure he seemed here.
We took a tour around his dorm — his room with the standard bunks and desks; all the floor mates hanging out in the force triple down the hall, with the door wide open playing pop hits; the random girl he may or may not have had a thing with that of course happened to be at the elevator as we arrived.
It’s amazing how some settings just recreate the same movie over and over. It’s only the characters that change.
I took him to go get dinner. That’s my role now. Not the college student who gets taken to dinner, but the doting relative who does the taking. It’s kind of nice to be on the other side of it. We talked about his day, his classes, girls, his roommate. He’s pledging a frat — something that terrifies me, but makes him happy. He asked about my work, my friends, my heart — all the things he knows I care the most about.
After dinner, I dropped him back off at his dorm. He was going to go “hang with friends,” and I was in for a two hour ride back to the North Shore in the dark.
I took one last loop around campus, took a deep breath, and hit the back roads out of town. A normal person — one who had never gone to UMass, or spent many nights just aimlessly driving those roads — would never head for the Daniel Shays Highway after dusk. But, I’m not a normal person, so I filled my tank and took off down those recklessly windy roads.
As I was driving, I kept thinking about a line from Rob Harvilla’s profile on Tom Petty after he passed away. He was talking about how most people probably know about 25 of Petty’s songs by heart. He said “Know by heart is a very different notion from have them memorized.”
That’s the thing about places that raised you. You know them by heart. They’re in you, and even if you wanted to, you can’t outrun them. It’s that old adage “wherever you go, there you are,” I guess.
My life has been kind of crazy lately. I quit my job, and started a new one. Friendships and relationships are constantly evolving. 20 Pickman has a new resident. Brother is in college. Sheafe Street is probably seeing it’s last hurrahs. Change is everywhere. Maybe that’s why I needed home — Salem and Amherst. The setting changes — that’s okay. But, my cast of characters, and the themes of love and care and showing up? None of that’s going anywhere.
I got back home to Salem on Wednesday night, and was greeted by my dad at the kitchen table.
“How’s the Zoo? How’s the boy?”
Good. The same. And totally different. Just like they’re supposed to be.
