So I had a drink. And yes I’m writing this the night before it posts, so don’t think I’m drinking in the morning. I tried to call a friend back home who I texted to ask a question to last week, and he never responded. He also didn’t answer the phone. I’m sure he’s busy, and that’s not a big deal, it’s just part of the California dream. They miss your calls. But they’ll also not call you back. Or text you back. Because they forget, or didn’t see it right away, and decide that you’re probably not that important. Not that you’re not important to them, you’re just not right in front of them. You could be ten minutes away, or a thousand miles, it makes no difference.
In California, I feel ugly. Not that I compare myself to the all the beautiful girls, or that beauty has anything to do with it. It’s like my soul seeps out and they see right through me, and my inner beauty doesn’t seem like enough. It feels like I can’t do enough.
Yesterday when I got off of work I called a friend because I was too lazy to text said friend. Today he called me back. I wasn’t sure why he was calling, and it was simply because he had noticed that I had called him and was just getting to the point where he could call me back. My friends here care enough to call me back. As if I’m important or something.
My friends here try to take what I say to heart. They try to make me feel comfortable. They act as if I’m part of the family, and they care when I’m not around. There is a community that I’ve never experienced before. It’s like I’m heard. Like maybe I’m not ugly. Like maybe I matter.
And this isn’t to belittle my California friends, because they mean the world to me. But sometimes I make them my world, when I could never be their world. This is my world now. Big skies and clouds that light up. Lightning bugs and actual lightning. Humidity that could make me cry, and thunderstorms that make it all worth it. All of the stories that meant the most from my childhood took place here. I’ve come home, somehow.
Here, they’d notice if I disappeared.