happy place

On Saturday morning, I woke up drained and exhausted, from conversations filled with words no one meant to say. I woke up late, in a condo whose fee someone else had paid, and I packed up someone else's car, and I drove. I drove through beautiful, barren hills, for hours. I tried not to think, and I barely managed to slam on the brakes in time to avoid hitting the deer that paused, alert, in the middle of my lane.

When I got to Ye Little Town in the Middle of Nowhere, Northwest, I found my way to the B.'s house by sense of direction and visual memory, but no one was home. I hiked up through the orchard and stood on a hill in the sunshine, and then walked back down to read and write on the patio.

I felt as completely alone as ever I've been. I felt empty, rinsed by tears. It wasn't a bad feeling, save to our happy-skippy-jumpy culture. It was peaceful there, looking out over the valley at the setting sun, and I felt peace.

I plotted what to do if the B.'s and S. didn't come back. The camper was open, I noticed, and I could go into town for water. I would be fine.

Then suddenly they were all back, in a rush, filling the house with affection and tired kids. We sat in the new kitchen and ate and laughed and problem-solved about how to add to the sleeping arrangements. I beamed uncontrollably at everyone, delighted to see them, delighted to be in YLT, delighted.