ZING!

Nathan hated coming to this part of town, but it was getting easier each time. He had even stopped really thinking about it, it had become so much a part of his routine. It was just something he did, he told himself, like buying a milkshake or a snack. Just a place to buy things. After school, every Friday, he'd take the long route home, stopping by Buck's place.

One thing Nathan never got used to was the smell of Buck's place. An overwhelming wall of smell greeted him whenever he entered, an earthy, almost dirty smell. On a warm spring day like today it was especially pungent. Nathan knew that Buck didn't hear him come in. He was racing around the kitchen, moving plates and stacking cups next to the sink.

"Oh hey," said Buck when he noticed Nathan. "Didn't hear you, Little Brother." Buck spoke with some sort of accent, probably from somewhere in Africa. He had a tattoo on his right hand of a mermaid and on his left hand was a star. And he called everybody brother- Little Brother if they were shorter than he was, Big Brother if they were taller. Nathan never asked him where he was from, mainly because he never wanted to stay too long. Buck looked quickly around the kitchen and then back at Nathan. He explained, "Just had some energy, you know? I have to do something, you know?"

Nathan nodded. Yeah, he knew. "Look," he said, "I didn't want to bother you or anything. Just thought I'd pick up what we talked about last week. I gotta get home soon, anyway," he added nervously.

A broad, stained-tooth grin spread across Buck's face. "Yeah," he laughed, "yeah, Little Brother, I know what you are talking about." Despite his hefty frame, Buck darted across the room and pulled a small box out of one of the drawers. He pulled out a small plastic bag and tossed it to Nathan. Nathan peeled open the bag and took in a deep whiff. It was strong, all right. High end.

"Ethiopian, right?"

Buck laughed. "Yeah, that's the Ethiopian stuff. Cost a little more, but it's worth it, you know? Just a little bit and ZING!- you gonna be all set."

Nathan nodded and handed Buck the money. Buck counted it quickly in his fingers and said, "You have a good time, Little Brother. Come back next week and maybe I will still have some, you know?"

Nathan nodded and headed home. As soon as he left that neighborhood he was feeling better, planning for the weekend. Maybe have a few friends over tomorrow, give this new stuff a try.

Nathan noticed the silence as soon as he entered the house. Normally Samantha was playing something loud and obnoxious in her room and his dad was watching TV. Today, nothing. Nathan told himself he was being paranoid and went up to his room.

His dad was sitting on his bed when he came in. It was all there on his bed- his own small box, plastic baggies... everything. The two looked at each other for a long time. His dad finally broke the silence. "What the hell is this, Nathan?"

"Dad ... it's not really a big deal. It's nothing."

"Nothing?! Look at this stuff- a grinder, a perc, whole beans! Do you know how much trouble you could get into for having any of this?" Nathan just looked down at the ground. "How much of this do you do, huh?"

"Just a couple of cups, that's all. In the afternoon ... sometimes we just want a little buzz, that's all. No big deal."

"'No big deal'? 'A little buzz'? Jesus, Nathan, next you'll be telling me about your 'lattes' and 'cappuccinos'!" Nathan looked away. "My God," his dad said, "is this where all of your mother's milk and sugar has been disappearing to?"
**********

All of this because I was at Starbuck's the other day and the girl behind the counter recommended the "Ethiopan stuff."

"I had a little bit of that the other day," she said, "and ZING!- that was it." It just sounded too much like I was buying some illicite substance!

Autumn Falls to Winter

The leaves have left,
The pageant is over.

The distant sun shines no more
But glows, amber like wine.

The air’s chill is ever-present,
It walks beside and all through.

Autumn has fallen,
And winter, victorious,
Tiptoes in on soft white specks.

No Place Like Home

I've spent most of my life in Illinois. There was a brief time- almost two years- during which my family and I lived in Georgia and then Tennessee, but we were soon back in Illinois. Actually, saying we were back in Illinois hardly does it justice. We moved back to the same town in which I was raised, just three blocks from the house we lived in before. After only a couple of years, I was able to enter the seventh grade with all of my friends from elementary school without missing a beat. If I believed in fate I'd say that it was evidence of the universe righting itself. Fate or no, I'm very glad things worked out the way they did.

The house we moved into was undeniably "home" for the next few years. From seventh grade until the end of high school there were birthday parties, cast parties from high school plays, arguments, laughter, first kisses, redecorations, and the multitude of events and non-events that make up a home. At one point an addition was built and I was allotted my own bedroom. The room was mine to do with as I pleased and I thought of it as my own mini-apartment, my first major experiment in autonomy. Even so, it was still inextricably part of that house, and therefore I considered as much home as the kitchen or the living room. The bedroom was no more mine than any of the other rooms.

After high school I moved to California. I came back after a year and home was still there, waiting. Some things had to be moved around a bit to accommodate me, but accommodate me they did and I was back. There were still get-togethers and some friends came over from time to time, but more often that not I went out to their houses. Home was no longer the center of activity, just the place to which I returned.

A few months later a friend of mine and I got an apartment. This place certainly wasn't home; it was more of a clubhouse that we got to stay in every night! We moved all of our things in and marveled at our independence. Everything was novel. Watching TV, cooking food, even cleaning- it was all different in our own place. Neither of us had had an extremely restrictive environment growing up, but it was still exciting to do all of these things on our own. And home, of course, was only a few blocks way. I visited frequently.

Life really started moving after that. There was Spain, of course- twice. Home wasn't even a thought anymore; life was all about everywhere else. My friend from the apartment moved on as well as he bought a house last year, just before I went back to Spain. When I returned from that adventure I arranged to rent a room from him. I'm still living there for now, until the next move or adventure or whatever it is one calls these great changes.

One of the greatest changes, however, occurred without my ever being aware of it. I still go to the house I grew up in every once in a while. Usually I chat a bit with my dad or my sister and then I leave. Tonight I arrived a half hour early and waited in that empty house for my dad to get home. No matter what I did, no matter what room I wandered into, I couldn't get comfortable. It was like reaching for a light switch instinctively and finding it always on the opposite wall; everything was a reminder that this house was not home any longer, at least not in the way it had been before. I thought about this for only a moment and decided- correctly, I believe- that most people probably feel that way at some point in their lives. It even felt satisfying, in a way. It was as if that experiment I started so long ago, moving furniture around in that added-on bedroom, was finally showing some results. At 23, after living with family in another state and essentially alone in another country, I'm finally starting to feel like I might actually be able to make it in the world. Not bad.

But then something else happened tonight. I walked into my bedroom tonight- the one rented from my friend- and suddenly realized that it isn't home, either. There are a few of my things here and there, but the walls surrounding them aren't mine. There will always be somebody on the other side of the door, somebody who does own the house and probably calls it home. But it's not my home: I'm a tenant, a transient.

The fact that this is not my home doesn't trouble me. I like my transience, and I'm always excited about where it will lead. But the question occurred to me: will any place ever feel like home again?