A Texas Tall Tale (not so tall)

                                                                            Once upon a time in Texas

The sun was red for a brief moment as we landed in Dallas; it then disappeared – devoured by the endless expanse of the horizon. It was only then when my tears dried up, and i shuffled off the airplane to complete the last leg of yet another sad journey home – to spend the whole journey wondering if Tucson is less of a home and more of a refueling station for me anymore.

        i had just spent three amazing days in Austin with my friends Vicki and George. i had just spent three days in Austin with my amazing friends. It is the people that make the days amazing; i need to make that clear.

        The red sun in Dallas made me suddenly exhausted, and i realized that being that sad would exhaust anyone really.

        Vicki and George have been to me more than friends and more than family; they have been teachers and parents and confidants and partners in crime and caretakers and i could not love them more. i really don’t think i could.

        We went to Derby two nights in a row, which was fun. We went to the park that ran along the silent river and had a wine-picnic and played with random puppies that brought more joy us than i expected. We sat in the sun room in the evening listening to music, and it was in the silent moments between the three of us where i realized how so much of “me” came to be.

        Vicki is only ten years older than i, and George is fourteen, but those years between us gave them the ability to see what i could be and how to help me. Strangely, it isn’t so much a parental relationship as it is me being able to trust them. And love them. And listen to them when they believe in me (which is the hardest thing to do.)

        It is lame and pansy to not be able to tell people how much you love them. It is not easy to explain that you, with all your hypergraphia and love of writing, cannot construct a single sentence other than “i love you” to really tell them.

        And i didn’t want to leave.  i couldn’t even say goodbye to Vicki or look at her on the last day as she walked up the driveway to her office; my throat was too constricted holding back tears. And i didn’t want to leave. i wanted to run out of the airport, suit case in tow, and run back in to George’s amazing hugs and pack myself back into the car and return to the one house where i finally let myself feel okay. And i didn’t want to leave; i didn’t want to come back to the Johnless Tucson. i didn’t want to come back with no Diego. i didn’t want to wake up this morning and know that Vicki wouldn’t be awake too- making coffee with five kitties at her feet. It felt wrong, and all the way home i wish i had the courage to stay even just one more day, but my heart was already tight in my chest, and had i had one more night in their house, i would have never survived that plane ride home.

        So, what Dallas’ red sun meant to me was not just the sun setting on another day, but it setting on that time which was so important to me and so amazing to me that it hurt to see the sun go down. i felt like i was burning out too- being devoured by the endless expanse of my inner horizon. That horizon where i go when i am too sad to shine on my own days.