Walked down the path to the bus that I walked every day when I lived at my parents. Went by the thankfully closed “all-you-can-inhale” buffet restaurant I regrettably wasted 10 months at when I was 20. Swung on the swings I used to play with my dear, missing friend Marianne. Saw the place where my heart was squished by Melanie Fetterly after watching her kiss my then best friend Andy. Basked in the good, truly warm friendliness of a Prairie city and remembered that people can still care.
Walked by old hangouts with the sounds of past laughter and good times still in my head. Ate a soul-revitalizing “Sun Burger” from one of my favorite restaurants. Passed by the place my mom used to buy me shoes when I was a wee tyke, and remembered the old man there that used to frighten me so much I used to bawl my eyes when it came to shoe-buying time. Looking around for faces I remember…
I’m getting used to being here, but it’s still so… unusual. I’ve come home, but it’s nothing like I expected it would be. History reverberates loudly from every corner, and everything looks so familiar - and yet it somehow seems so, well, new.
