I went back to Fayetteville for Mother’s Day. I can never get away from that place. I was stationed there in ’85. Got my young heart broken there. Lost my innocence there. Got my driver’s license there. Did a lot of dirt there. Pledged there. Got my degree there. Practiced serial monogamy there. Made lifelong friends there. Had the time of my life there. But I hate going back.
Aside from the fact that it’s the hottest most humid part of the state, and has all of the all of the depressing trappings of a military town, it was a place I shed emotionally and I thought I would never return, lived like there was no going back. it’s like wanting to flee where you grew up, because at the end of your journey there’s no purpose for staying. but karma would make my in-laws move there after retirement.
Just when I thought I was out, they pull me right back.
And everytime I go there I see old faces in new contexts, jigsaw pieces of my past, reminding me of forgotten days.
you are a writer. this entry is proof, among hundreds of others of course.
i totally agree.
“And everytime I go there I see old faces in new contexts, jigsaw pieces of my past, reminding me of forgotten days.”
isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?
And you know, I would love to be there right now. You never miss you well until the water runs dry. I would rather live in Fayettenam for the rest of my life, than spend one more miserable day here.