marmite breath slept here

The Evening Star by Larry McMurtry

We live like gypsies, me and my little family.  We move around every few years, never sure where we'll be from one place to the next, and we always feel a little bit heartbroken about it, even amongst the excitement of seeing a new city for the first time.

I hate goodbyes.  They're the worst part about this romany lifestyle.  I should be used to it though.  I've been saying goodbye for as long as I can remember.  And because I'm enjoying a gorgeous evening on the patio, and also because I'm completely incapable of savouring happiness without letting it be tinged with just a hint of sadness, I thought I'd compile my memories and just sort of wallow in them for a minute.  Not so much wallow as just let myself be briefly burned by them. 

I am thirteen years old.  My dad is leaving England to go and get settled in America.  We'll join him in six months.  It's so early in the morning that it's still dark, and he'll need to be picked up soon.  I don't know what we'll do without him and I worry about my Mum.  I know she's capable of stepping up and doing what needs to be done, but in my heart, I'm scared.  Six months seems like such a long time.  After I say goodbye to him, I wonder how a person can be expected to go to school and function like normal.  I discover that I am stronger than I thought.  I realize that I am being relied upon.  I am aware that this must be how it feels to be a grown up and have real worries. 

I am fourteen years old and standing at a bus stop on Aikman Avenue.  My best friends are with me, all of us with tear-streaked faces.  There's been a lot of melodrama leading up to this moment.  Declarations of forever friendship and promises to write every day-they were the activities that preceded this day.  Some of those declarations were true, some of those girls are still in my life, some of them moved on.  I am crying so hard that I feel like my head might fall off.  I hug these girls and prepare to get on the bus.  I hate my parents for doing this to me.  I hate myself for not being more open to adventure.  I get on the bus.

I'm fourteen. I am on a plane on the tarmac at Gatwick Airport and I am about to leave England.  I am bereft.  I am excited.  I am a million emotions in a pubescent body, (and God, in hindsight, I feel sorry for the poor man who sat next to me while I processed all those feelings on the flight.)  I have just said goodbye to aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents and I wonder how it's all going to play out.  Are they crying too?  Are they in the terminal wondering what will become of us?  More importantly, will there be peanuts to go with the tomato juice?  

I am twenty three.  I am going to be living far away from my parents and sisters for the first time.  Rhonda lives directly across the street and I won't have her that close anymore.  Dad won't be coming to my house on his lunch break every day.  Mum won't be able to come over in the evenings and push Hadleigh on her little tree-swing.   I have just watched Aaron load up the moving van and we're going to drive 1,064 miles to our new house, and I'm going to try not to cry the entire way there.  Aaron makes the mistake of asking me, "What's WRONG with you?" while I'm sobbing into my seatbelt.  He is rewarded with a look that says, "Are you bleeping KIDDING ME??"  I am thinking to myself, "I want my Mum, I want my Mum."

I am twenty-four.  Aaron's off for six months with the ship.  I'm getting my first taste of what it means to be a military wife.  I drive him to the base and say goodbye.  I feel like I'm going to throw up.  How am I going to manage?  I'll have Carly staying with me for a little while, but when she leaves, I'll be alone.  Alone!  I can't be alone!  I've only just moved away from Mum and Dad for the first time.  I hardly know anybody here in Florida!  Hadleigh and I go to the beach and watch as the ship goes by.  We wave madly, even though Aaron is below deck and has no idea that we're there.  I've got to be strong for Hadleigh.  I look forward to the homecoming.  I vow to lose ten pounds in six months.

I am twenty-five and leaving San Francisco.  I've been visiting Carly and Jonivan, and I'm going back to Arkansas.  I know that I probably won't see my sister again for a few years.  We're about to move to Italy for a three year stint and this time the distance is too far to drive.  I say goodbye and sit on the plane with Hadleigh and again, I cry.  I dread the separation already.  I'm not just crying because I couldn't fit all my IKEA purchases in my suitcase.........I'm going to miss my sister.

I'm twenty-eight and I am leaving Italy.  I am all twisted up on the inside.  Naples has made me reckless and unafraid.  I've driven in Naples traffic and lived to tell the tale.  I've been up Mount Vesuvius and felt this amazing rush of adrenaline.  I've seen and done things that I've always dreamed about, and yet I've spent time here feeling so frustrated and claustrophobic.  I've cursed the traffic and cursed the volcano and now I'm leaving it.  No more driving down the Tangenziale watching the sun set over the Bay.  No more eating bread and olive oil with Elena while we watch movies.  NO MORE GELATO!   Yes, I'll be closer to my parents again, but I won't be able to pop to Rome whenever I want to, or go to Positano, Capri, or Sorrento whenever we feel like a day there.  The military life is starting to grate. 

I'm twenty-nine and I'm holding my Grandad's hand.  I'm feeling utter disbelief.  He's dying.  Despite the weeks of knowing that it was going to happen, I'm just wretched with the shock.  Goodbye isn't something I ever thought I'd say to him.  He's listening to me. I know he can hear me.  I whisper that he can let go now.  I'll think about you every day for the rest of my life, I tell him.  I still can't say Goodbye.  It seems too formal, too false.  When a few days later I have to say goodbye to my Grandma as I leave, I settle for "Bye, Gran", and a "See you in a few months" instead of the alternative.

I am thirty.  Mum hugs me as we stand in the driveway.  I am blinking back tears.  Why?  Because I've come up against a problem I can't fix.  I can't just "organize" cancer away.  I can't erase miles of distance either.  I don't want to leave her.  I know she's not alone, and that I'll see her again soon, but I am so sad.  I make myself wave happily as the van backs down towards the street.  I fix a smile to my face and shout, "See ya, Mum" and I take my kids, and we go home.

Home.  Aaron is waiting.  No goodbyes between us.  Home is here.