Homecoming

Throw on your favorite pair of well-worn jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. This is what you always wear to school. Oblivious to your responsibilities, you notice the time: 8:15 am. First period's over, no point in walking a treacherous three blocks down the road to school now.

You'd rather head an extra two miles in the opposite direction; actually, make that an extra twenty-one miles. The city seems to be calling your name.

"Unintentionally" find yourself standing on the sunlit platform waiting for the next westbound train. Pace up and back, being careful not to cross the bumpy yellow line - or make eye contact with the homeless man grunting in the corner of the waiting shelter. You know he wants your money, but you want your money too. No money, no ticket. No ticket, no trip.

The eight car long train roars into the station, momentarily throwing you back onto your heels. You take the railroad's warning about the gap between the platform and the train into consideration, and take a ballerina-like over the gap through the open train doors. Your anticipation grows. As you roam up and down the aisle of the brightly-lit train car searching for the perfect seat your arm extends to a ninety degree angle. You run your index finger along the side of each and every turquoise and navy blue seat as you move along, your few belongings in tow.

The conductor shouts, "All tickets please. Hold all tickets." It is at this moment you realize why you really didn't go to school today - how would an animal activist like you be able to participate in your biology class' frog dissection lab? You're glad you spent those six dollars and twenty-five cents on the one-way train ticket. It is around noon, and you sympathize for those innocent little frogs that are losing their lives.

Catching your breath after climbing the mountain of steps, you finally reach daylight. You slowly turn your head to look up toward the sky to read the rectangular street sign overhead. 7th Avenue. Your heart starts to dance. You wait in the gutter to cross the street, letting the yellow cabs stagger in and out of the bustling traffic no more than six inches from your toes. You have always been a true New Yorker in spirit. The glittering lights excite but don't overwhelm you, while the smell of garbage-drenched streets mixed with freshly roasted nuts stimulates your senses. You glance down and regret the fact that you're wearing black-and-white canvas sneakers, blue denim jeans, and a run-of-the-mill white t-shirt - the most simple of outfits. Nevertheless, you continue to walk at a steady pace, heading south along 7th Avenue. The street seems to run on for an eternity.

You've finally arrived at your destination, miles from where you first began. By now you have come to realize that you were never cut out for the obnoxious, materialistic pitfalls of suburbia. And for the first time, you begin to walk to the beat of your own drum.

You've found yourself. Welcome home.