College happened. I travelled a short distance, actually. I lived nearly twenty minutes from Pittsburgh and I am now at Carnegie Mellon. My friends followed their destinies and attended their colleges, such as Virginia Tech and Case Western. They won't have such an easy time coming home as I will.

A month ago, I figured that if I ever got homesick, I could easily hop on a bus and reach my house in a half hour. Home would always be there, just like I left it. That just isn't the case.

I've been away for only three weeks, and already things are different. I drove by my old high school the day before I left for college. It felt different. I didn't have a feeling of excitement in starting a new year. There wasn't the sense of a second home like there is when I would practically live there in the spring. Instead, the school felt old, distant. The familiarity was a feeling of rememberance. It seemed as if I had graduated years ago when it had only been three months.

My most favorite priest ever has also been transferred. Instead of coming home and celebrating mass with a familiar face, a stranger will be at the pulpit. My car will no longer be my car as my 16-year-old sister assumes the wheel. The convertible will only be a memory.

The memories of my friends and I driving around our little school district. My friends won't even be there. Home now feels like a museum. I go to see how all the exhibits, like my house and church, look after all the years.

Now my home is college. Making new friends, life-long friends. I know that I can always go back to my old house, but home is now the four walls of my dorm. My dorm is changing too, but I'm here to change it, to witness the changes, to grow along side.

One of us is waking up to the inconsolable bars of a country song at 7am. The other is still awake, in a bar downtown, holding out a shoulder to a stumbling drunk with a dead could-have-been-lover. One of us is in the shower, the other still stinks like sex in the boys room. One of us has one leash around her neck, and one in her purse. One of us has a broken checkbook, and a broken home, a broken heart, but wings unclipped so long she can fly straight up like a helicopter.

One of us needs brake shoes, and one of us needs new shoes. One of us believes in the system and the health care and an eye for an eye because we've done all we can and it's not getting us anywhere. One of us believes she'll take a walk on the beach this afternoon. One of us is checking her messages and cc'ing the relevant parties. The other is fitful with joy every five minutes, when she checks her pulse and sees that she's a miracle.

One of us is guilty, the other is innocent. One of us will be judged, and the other will be ignored. One of us will go home and pretend and the other will stay out again tonight, all night, and lie for a better truth.

One of us is wishing she were the other.

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