The Floor Is Different

When I went home for Thanksgiving I expected things to be different. I thought my friends might treat each other differently; maybe my family would be different too. I thought it would feel different to be in my room at home after sleeping in my dorm room for so long. When I finally arrived home after my plane being cancelled until the next afternoon and a three over layover in Seattle, and almost losing my suitcase is that the only thing that was different was the floor.

The first instance that life in Portland had not changed much happened as I was wandering around in the baggage claim area in PDX. I turned on my cell phone and saw that I had a voicemail: “Hi Alison……It’s Clarieeeece…..Just wondering what you are doing……Where are you? Uhh…call me…yeah.” It was the first time I had heard my friend’s voice since leaving, and everything, right down to the intonation of the message (almost identical to every message she’s ever left on my phone) was the same.

Then my dad called. The traffic on the Sunset was awful so my family wouldn’t be at the airport for a half hour. I asked if we could pick Kellen up from Powell’s on the way back home and as usual, my dad was reluctant, (“We might not have room”) and my mom, in the background said that we should (“Of course we have room, the car seats five”). Also in the background was my brother, “This sucks.” It was sort of comforting to know everything was the same, but also disappointing in a way. What…my leaving didn’t cause drastic change in everyone’s attitudes?

I knew my dad was changing the floor at home, but it looked a lot different than I thought it would. Our house was built in the 1970s, and it was quite obvious. Harvest gold (orange-brown) carpet, fake rock on the fireplace, sunken living room, it had it all. Now almost the whole main floor was light colored hard wood, it was all one level, and most of the fake rocks were gone. I like how it looks, and I’m glad I was gone while it was being changed, but it threw me off a little.

Friday night proved that none of my friends had really changed. Clariece was still sardonic and sarcastic, Isabelle was still attached to Seanie by whatever body part was closest, Ruth was still paranoid, yet endearing, and Kellen remains steady when no one else does. He’s also still allergic to my cats but tries to be friends with them. The Christmas Tree lighting was all right, although it became more of a never-ending quest for coffee and dinner. Then not wanting to go home we wandered the brightly lit streets and through the department stores filled with Black Friday shoppers. Clariece and Ruth failed at a game called “Lets Get Kicked Out of Nordstrom,” and we took the Max back to my house and watched “Pulp Fiction”.

For some reason I thought that some, or maybe, all of these things would be different. After thinking about it, it’s less disappointing, and more a relief that things are basically the same. Even though I love it in Missoula I can hardly wait to get home again.

(Picture is Kellen looking miserable because of Licorice the cat. Licorice looks like he's enjoying making Kellen miserable.)