Walking with Nora

I tell myself it’s only 128 miles away. A 90 minute drive; max of two hours if there is a lot of traffic on the four-lane highway- one hour if it’s an emergency.

I comfort myself, and hopefully him, by sharing little tidbits about the college town as I remember it. Which bars are fun, which are bars are a haven of douchebags, the best grocery stores, bank locations, how to get the best discounts on internet, cable and other money-saving tips that every college kid loves to hear.

I remind myself that he’s almost 21, not a freshman by any means, simply transfering to a new school to follow his heart’s dream which is of course what I want for him.

I occupy myself on the drive down by singing loudly to music, checking out passing license plates, catching up on phoen calls and letting out my road range where applicable. (Side Note: speeding up behind me when I’m already going over the speed limit is unnecessary. Furthermore, no need to swerve back in forth in the lane behind me.)

I am a flurry of activity when we arrive at his new apartment 128 miles away. Unloading, unpacking, moving, hauling, assembling, cleaning, dusting, soaking, de-greasing. (Since when do landlords leave houses messy for the next tenant? Uncool.) My parents are flurries of activities too.  

I sneak hugs in when he lets me and hold back the tears as best I can.

I arrange the presents I got for him on his bed: a stuffed animal that we both had growing up; a Moleskin Journalist’s notepad and of course a letter with some emergency cash. I do this when he’s not looking.

Post Wal-Mart trip (there is only one Target in this town 128 miles away from us, and it’s on the opposite side of town from where he lives), I busy myself with de-greasing the blinds that are right next to the stove cursing the girls who lived there before him for not being very good at domestic diva-ness.

He hugs me from behind, tears streaming down his handsome, grown-up, almost 21-ear old face, thanking me for the gifts in choked tones. I drop my greasy rag from the darn blins and hug him back. Tears pour from my face. I promise him I’m always here for him, no matter where he lives. He promises me he’ll be okay. I promise him that yes, he will be okay. He’ll be more than okay. He tells me he loves me.

We hear our parents coming and quickly divert the tears and our faces.

My dad is the first to leave (we had three separate cars. It takes a lot to move a college kid, you know). He’s never been good, and why should he be?, at his kids moving out of his house.

I am clinging onto the minutes here, in this great apartment, with this great brother, with Darling doing the exact same thing. We’ve done everything there is to do for the time being.

We leave with our lists of things to remember for next time we visit which is thankfully in two weeks, to celebrate his 21st birthday.

I stand on the sidewalk, hugging, wishing him nothing but success as he starts a new career path and new life, remembering all the big sister moments I’m so proud to be a part of, knowing that our relationship has become closer and stronger in the last year, reassuring myself that the miles won’t change that. I’m a ball of snot again (allergies, I’m blaming it on allergies) and force myself to walk to the car. He’s crying again because he’s really a lot like me.  

I call Irish and tell him we must move 128 miles away for the next three years. Being the solid rock that he is, he tells me it’s no problem. He tells me that my brother will be okay. He reminds me of the trip we are taking in two weeks.

Another 128 miles and I’m back home.

My parents and I treat ourselves to Mexican & Margaritas. My brother texts each one of us here and there. We finish a pitcher of margaritas.

My brother called me this morning for help with some college campus stuff. I realize that his experience pursuing a Journalism degree is not going to change our brother/sister relationship. In fact, I think we’ll become best friends as a result. I still miss him like crazy, but it will pass. Plus, it’s only 128 miles away.