the town in the bottle

For all the times I'm drunk on the idea of New York City and Amsterdam, I long for my small hometown as I reach the bottom of the bottle. I live in a big city now, as Sinatra said, "I [...] wake up in a city that never sleeps." but my parents still live in my hometown, my sister still goes to my high school, and my dreams still take place back home. We took small town football quite literally, playing 6 man football under bright lights. We didn't even have a stadium, it was more of a field, and small bleachers, so most of us were on the sidelines with the team. But don't let that fool you, I can make you want to go back to somewhere you've never been.

You hate it until you miss it. A chilly Friday night with crowds cheering, and you realize, as the warm breeze kisses your skin, you'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world. I'd watch the rolling pastures around us during halftime, wondering how it would feel to sit in that tall grass forever. I'd like to ride down Main at midnight again, go to the square and eat with friends, and smell the scent of home, however weird it might be. I want to return to the small back roads, and watch the sunset as I ride up and down the hills, and open my window at 2 a.m. to watch the moon with my telescope.

Half of us walked away at graduation, never wanting to look back. Some of us just wanted to find ourselves in the world. But my god, my hometown is still made up of the people who cheered at football games and have a soft spot for Texas. My hometown is made up of the village that raised me. They tell me I'm the lucky one, but sometimes, I think I'd give up the high rise apartment for the ranch house overlooking the hills.

I never understood wanting to come back, because I always wanted to get out. I still do, but I want to come back. The truth is, the bright lights become blinding, and the rush becomes dull. The speed makes you dizzy, the wonder becomes scarce and the dream seems farther. I guess I'd like to be like a boomerang, knowing how ever far I go, I'll always return. Sometimes, if you listen closely, and I mean really closely, you'll hear the laughter of people before you. Maybe at the ice cream shop, the local park, or even the Kroger parking lot. If you look closely, you'll see where generations collide and stories unite.

Because you can get halfway around the world and at some point, you'll miss being where everybody knows your name. I think parts of me belong in the far corners of the world, at the tops of mountains, and in small bars in the Irish country side. I do belong in the streets of Amsterdam and in the seas of the mediterainian and the South African cape. But I also belong in the long grass of my High School football fields, I belong to the midnight streets and stars. I belong to my hometown.