Zorba the Hutt (zorbathut) wrote,
Zorba the Hutt

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(mid-conversation injection here, in case the "good" throws you.)

mom: good. Are you ok with coming here on June 10?
me: *nod*
me: maybe next year I'll figure out how to stay away from Seattle during the entire summer ;)
mom: hmm. good luck!
mom: seriously, do you really want to stay away?
me: no, it's just that I have no strong reason to come back either . . . and I've got relatives that I haven't seen over here, and friends that I've never visited at home, and lots of places I haven't been and things I haven't done. overall . . . *shrug* maybe just a bit melancholy tonight, but there's nothing major tying me to coming back to Seattle.

and there really isn't, now that I think about it. I mean . . . there's friends. But I talk to them on the 'net, and, I mean, some would say "it's not the same!" And of course it isn't. But it's enough, and we won't lose track of each other, and I *will* be back occasionally. It's just . . .

what is there in Seattle?

Friends, except I don't really need to go back for that. Mom, except she talks to me on the 'net also. Dad too. Cats. It'd be nice to see the cats, but . . . Dick's Drivethrough. Best burgers I've had. Those little nooks and crannies - the place on 3rd and Columbia where I talked with Michaela, for example. Taking the 7 home from downtown at midnight. And the smell of the big reservoir outside Seattle Central Community College at midnight, and knowing that whatever's going on, right here right now it's just me. (And usually a Dick's Deluxe or two.)

Vena, if I ever get around to calling her, and she has the faintest idea who I am. I think I've still got her number around. (dig dig) yeah, there it is, taking up 20 bytes in one of my scratch files.

Memories, a few friends . . .

Yeah, there's stuff calling to me. But there's stuff on the other coast calling to me also. Washington DC. New York. Sheesh, most of the coast.

Seattle . . . I've been there, I've done that. I looked my whole life and found maybe a few dozen people I could call friends. And if there are lots more . . . they'd be found by now. It's a surprisingly effective canvas, I think. There's Legacies, and maybe a few dozen people who go to that, right? And a few other events of that magnitude. And we know each other. It's not a question of "are you going to?" it's a question of "I'll see you at". Geez, we haven't gotten another member of the gang for a year or more. The last person to become an honorary member of the Old Guard was probably much longer than that. (Two years? More?) The core of the group formed, yeesh. In 9th grade for me. Lessee. Call it . . . 14th grade I'm in now, effectively, so, what, 5 years? 5 years, and half (more?) of the old guard was there at the formation. And if one of us had found someone new, they'd be invited, of course. (Though I never did get Louisa there, but . . .)

And in that entire city, there was that one person . . . and that's over. And if it took me that long to find that one there . . . perhaps I oughta be looking somewhere else.

And there's so much somewhere else to look.

(To the east!)

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