I wrote this piece for a college essay prompt, but I started to realize that I was feeling pretty sentimental about Cary and all this college stuff in general, so I wanted to put this out there:
My hometown and I are
dear old friends.
We
fight, sometimes. We don’t always get along. There are times when we don’t
speak. When I hole up in my room and I read or I watch a movie and try to
forget that the world outside exists. But it eventually passes, and I miss the
familiarity of my favorite restaurants and bookstores.
My
hometown isn’t all that small, but I know every road like I know the back of my
palm, down to each little pothole and street sign. I know where to go out to eat, and
what I like to order there. I can calculate the distance between myself and
nearest movie theater in a heartbeat. As a kid, I built castles in these woods
and won colored ribbons in these swimming pools. I’m comfortable here. I’ve
read books and written poetry and fallen in love within this suburban backdrop. Sometimes, I don’t want to leave, simply because I don’t know where
I’ll end up.
There
isn’t any cinematic cliff overlooking the city where I live, or a pier
overlooking the ocean, or any other stargazing hotspot. In fact, not all that
much is very unique about this place. But we have always tolerated each other’s
shortcomings. My hometown has expanded as I’ve gotten older; we’ve grown up
together. Although there are times when
all I want to do is get out, I have to give this town credit for providing me
with a setting in which an incalculable number of beautiful, different things
happened to me. The late night shifts at Harris Teeter. The swim meets that
never ended. The two a.m. Waffle House breakfast. The midnight movie premieres.
The long drives that took us all the way across town in the name of Cook-Out
milkshakes. The snowfalls that stranded us in our homes for days, with only the
company of tomato soup, films, and each other. The rainy high school football
games I braved for yearbook photos and a free tie dye tee shirt. The people I
came to know and love and trust because of all of this.
I
love my hometown. I’m excited to leave, but I guess that’s just the way that it
is. Eventually, you grow up. You have to move on. You don’t have much of a
choice. Some friends stay with us forever, or at least for a while. But I can’t
be seventeen forever, reflecting on all that this small town has offered to me.
I’m going to have to move onto something new. Make friends with new places;
fall in love with a different city or town. The comfort that I have always been
able to find in my hometown has facilitated an optimism inside of me that will
never burn out. My hometown and I are old friends. That will always be true.
But if I leave and I don’t come back, my hometown will understand, and so will
I.
