Meadows and Mountains

1 min
I remember when I moved to Utah.
I had gotten in the moving van, stepping off the road of my childhood home for the last time. Now, I hear the hammering thrum of the vehicle drive away, my breathing becoming more and more jagged as I try not to break into sobs. The road ahead seems barren, as if the whole neighborhood is moving with me.
I remember when I moved to Utah.
The sky above has few clouds, the air feels old and familiar. As I stroke my dog to comfort both of us, I glance in the rearview mirror at the car my mom and sisters are driving in. I look out the window as we pass by my family’s favorite restaurant, and can taste its salted tortilla chips and watery salsa from memory. My heartbeat is slow and constant, as if trying to pause time itself.
My dad asks, “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer.
I remember when I moved to Utah.
I want to go back to my old house and play with my siblings in the game room. I want to see my old friends and high school and go to my old shopping district. I wish I could look across the flat expanse of the landscape and see the Nashville skyline in the distance. I wish I could be there again.
I remember leaving Tennessee’s grassy meadows and humid air.
I remember arriving at Utah's graceful mountains and hilly arêtes.
I remember seeing my new home, my new life, my new everything.
Road. Possibility. Clarity.
I remember when I moved to Utah.

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