Going Home

 


Thinking about the past because Ferrerman brought it up on his blog, although, I rarely wonder about the kids I grew up with because the majority of them are Magas. It's one reason I left Facebook. I usually have to voice my opinion whether someone wants it or not, so I argued with these fools for awhile. What really got me to leave is the silence from those I thought would back me up. Damn traitors. 

But, I digress...

I still wonder about the boy next door. Cute boys in the hood were slim pickings so naturally when I was at a slumber party and Holly asked, "Now everybody say all at once, who's your crush," and we all blurted out, "Andy!" it really wasn't much of a surprise. We never really had a chance with Andy anyway. He was about six years older than us and was rarely around. He liked to ride his motorcycle in the city to listen to live music. The only time I saw him around was when he mowed his parents lawn or sat around as his older brother and cousins sang, 'Watermelon man,' in their garage. Sometimes, on summer nights I would sit on my front porch steps and watch as Andy and his dad played chess in their kitchen. Andy was tall, dark, and not exactly handsome, but he was cute and was always smiling as he waved to passersby.

Naturally I dreamed up scenarios of me and Andy. It wasn't sexual because I knew nothing about sex. I dreamed he would take me downtown where we could dance to the Shangri-las and then we'd ride home, me hugging him closely as the warm wind carried us on. The closest I got to sitting behind him was when Andy drove us to Dairy Queen - all six of us. I was smooshed in the backseat while everyone clamored for his attention. He was completely oblivious and just came for the ice cream. 

Long after I left home and learned about sex the very wrong way, I still heard about what the neighborhood kids were up to. Far too many died from cancer, something I still wonder about in our very small community. Marriages, divorces, kids... Nothing unusual except I wondered about Andy. He was living with his sister and never married. Okay, maybe he was just one of those guys that expected a woman to take care of him. I was curious about their family because they weren't like mine. When Dad came home from work Mom greeted him at the door where they kissed. This was eye opening to me. I never saw my parents kiss. They did things together as a family - movies, sports, vacations... and she waited on her boys, whatever they wanted, she provided. And they were happy. Is it any wonder I wanted to be a part of that?

So, I pondered over Andy. Maybe he was gay! Maybe that's why he never married and still lived with his sister. After leaving FB, I only heard sporadic news about the hood. Tommy died from cancer. Another one! Terry went full MAGA. And Andy was now living with another sister because big sister had done her bit and now wanted a life of her own with her husband. Andy was becoming too difficult too care for now.

Wait. What? 

It appears Andy was a little challenged, mentally. Living on his own apparently wasn't an option. I was gobsmacked by this revelation. All this time I saw him as the leader of the pack, the lone cowboy who strode off wearing his leathers as he drove off into the night and all along he was dependent on the people around him. My Andy. Our Andy. It was heartbreaking to me because I didn't know him at all. He was a real person I placed my own hopes, dreams and assumptions upon. 

Thomas Wolfe said you can never go home again. Yet, sometimes, that's exactly where I want to be- sitting on the front steps, watching Andy and his Dad play chess, and dream.


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