The Road Home

           I turn my music up louder to drown out the sports announcer on the radio. This is the case every time. This drive along Interstate 40 is no different from the others my family takes annually at Christmas. My father is driving, badly as usual, making it impossible to sleep. But somehow my mother manages; she’s in the seat beside me sleeping soundly. My sister and I mirror each other. We both have our ear phones in, pillows in our laps, and hum along to our separate music that probably isn’t all that different from the others.

            I stare out the window smiling as I see the trees that have changed colors and look like a perfect scene from a painting and the mountains of my childhood. The ones that symbolize home, the love of my family, the comfort of my hometown, and the beauty of the place I was raised. We take this trip every year on Christmas Eve. The journey to Fort Smith and my grandparent’s house is a familiar one that wraps me in the joy of the season. But what excites me the most is the knowledge that home isn’t far away. This road, I-40, it’s my link to home. No matter where I am it’s always what brings me home to Fort Smith. No matter what stage of life I am, it’s always there to take me back to where I began.

            My grandfather kisses me on the cheek and shuts the back door of the car. My sister slides in beside me, our mountain of snacks, toys, and pillows in between us. My mother climbs in the car, her sullen mood filling the car, drowning us all in it. My dad hugs my grandparents and gets in the driver seat. And suddenly we’re pulling away from my grandparent’s house and the only life I’ve ever known, the moving truck following closely behind us. We drive off and are soon on Interstate 40. The tires moving rhythmically against the asphalt are a reminder of the mass amount of miles still to be traveled. I’m only five but I understand what’s happening. I’ve been told for months as I had to pack my stuffed animals and toys, as my room slowly became just a mattress on the floor surrounded by four blank walls; we were moving.

“Mommy how long until we get there?”

“At least 20 hours” she cries as she speaks. I just nod and sit back not wanting to upset her more. I wonder what this new place called Plant City, Florida will be like. But I’m old enough to realize that all my family won’t be there, my best friend Andrew won’t be there. It won’t be….home.

“Daddy I need to pee!” I just couldn’t wait any longer. The last time we stopped was three hours ago and being only six I can’t normally hold it that long.

“Katie, we have two hours left till we’re home. Can’t you wait?” Home. He said home. A smile crept up on my face. I’d been in this car for far too long. The only thing to look at was the interstate as it passed beneath our car. But we were almost home. It was almost time to see my family again. It had been months since we left, since we’d see our family and friends. The excitement filled the air with tangible electricity. Not only was I going home, but it was Christmas, nothing made me happier. But all the presents could not amount to the gift of finally going back home, after being in Florida for what seemed like an eternity.

            “Tomorrow’s my birthday” I think to myself. Normally those words would excite me, but not this year. I glance out the window into the pale pink sky of the morning. It is only six o clock but we’d been on the road for two hours already. My sister’s asleep next to me, my mother crying silently in the passenger seat, and my father driving.

            I think back to all the joy filled rides we’d had along this stretch of road. This wouldn’t go down in history as one of them. We are driving to my grandmother’s funeral. She’d died early this morning and we’d left almost immediately. I remember my father waking me up out of bed and telling me to pack as my mother cried on the phone to my aunt. From that moment on, this was no longer the day before my ninth birthday; it would be the day that my grandma died. I try to remember her, but I can’t really remember who she was. My only memories of her are going to visit her in the nursing home and having her maybe remember who I am. Her Altizmer’s was too far progressed by the time I was old enough to remember anything. So therefore, I mourn the woman my mother described to me. The strong, stubborn, loving woman I never really knew. I glance out the window to see the trees pass by, I’ve looked at these trees a million times but never before have I been so sad.

“Ok now just keep an eye on the others and you should be fine” my mother’s voice clams me, yet my knuckles still turn white from the pressure I’m using to grip the steering wheel. I’m driving on the interstate for the first time. I’m only fourteen and haven’t even been driving but a few months and driving on the interstate terrifies me.

“Just relax Katie, you’re fine” I nod and keep driving. This is me growing up; I look at the road I have traveled all my life. Normally I got to sleep, watch movies, ECT while my family had to take turns driving. I’m not sure whether or not I like growing up, but I don’t think about it and just focus on driving.

            I look at the long stretch of road in front of me as I drive. Interstate 40, the road is filled with good memories, bad memories, and the same memory just at different points in my life. It’s been awhile since I traveled this road, mainly because I’ve gotten so busy since starting high school. Who really has time anymore? Turning sixteen, being in band, making new friends, being in plays, it’s all caused my calendar to fill up and no weekend was left free to see my family. It pained me to have to miss our family reunion all because I had a band competition. But living five hours away makes it nearly impossible to be at everything. I smile as I see the sign for Fort Smith. We’re almost home. I think about it, Fort Smith isn’t really as important to me as I-40 is. I-40 is the road that has taken me from my home, my entire life, but it’s also the one that has brought me back every single time. It’s a constant in my life, one thing that I can always rely on.