It’s a tactile day.

My dad stayed home from work today. He’s sick, but I’m getting the feeling that he wanted to be here on the day before I leave for Peace Corps tomorrow.
I am touching everything. I run my hands along the orange-peel plaster walls in the hallway every time I walk to my dad’s office. I stroked the top of the wing-backed chair in the living room, writing furiously into my memory its deep red, its checked texture. I glided across the wood floor and let my feet take in the cool shine and the random grooves This morning after I put my contacts in I took a moment to palm the wallpaper, the stripes of which have aged to a dull green and seem to have absorbed dust.
I thought just then how I wish I could absorb it all, that every speck of this places would somehow literally become part of me, somehow coalesce with my own flesh. I imagined it; I imagined walking through the house and all of it seeping through my skin. It just doesn’t seem enough to see it. I feel almost that I’m already looking through my home through a window.
I suppose I just keep touching everything to prove to myself that I’m still here, right now. Because I won’t be in a matter of hours. While I’m excited about the new, it is difficult to leave what and who you love.

3 Comments

  1. […] of my entire life, right there in front of my indian Dada and Didi.  Then it was back home for an intense, take-it-all-in two months, and finally a big heaping move to Armenia.  Through the year […]

  2. […] a space, than I have in this tiny house. And in less than seven weeks I am moving out. Reminds me of how I felt leaving my parent’s house in Texas exactly two years ago. The taking-it-in time is here.  The missing is about to […]

  3. […] that I’m still here. I’m having that behind-glass feeling again that makes me want to touch everything before it becomes […]

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