Blogabroad
by Mary Pinckney Waters

I stepped out of the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport last Wednesday to the warmth of the high Southeast sun, a breeze on my unsleeved shoulders and a colossal parking lot full of SUVs. I was home.

I had sat on a train for three hours from Bamberg to Frankfurt, then on a plane for nine hours over the Atlantic Ocean, but it didn’t matter to me. At that moment, I could have ridden in my friend’s yellow 1969 Camaro forever. Germany’s outstanding public transportation system may be godsend for car-less exchange students, but it can’t replace windows-down wind in your face, full-blast, know-all-the-words music and a steering wheel.

I looked out the car window. Cotton fields. Old, paint-peeled Chevy trucks. Misspelled signs at roadside produce stands. Familiarity.

We exited I-20 and drove down Highway 19 until it dropped us off in downtown Aiken, my hometown. I could feel my eyes growing hot and wet as street signs greeted me again after seven months. Thirty minutes later I was in my kitchen, the family parakeet BooBoo on my shoulder, Mom at my side chatting away about the house’s new siding, and a sun-drenched backyard out the window behind me.

I immediately began tackling the to-eat-at list of restaurants I’d brought after working up an appetite for authentic American food over half a year. A few on my list: Outback, Mi Rancho, Bojangles’, Ryan’s, Red Lobster and anywhere with barbeque or home-style Southern cookin’. A minimum two iced-tea refills were required at each checkpoint.

I visited Lauren, my best friend since first grade, and we caught up without a second’s silence. I hung out with college friends, drank light domestic beer on wooden porches and sang along to Tim, Garth, Kenney and Keith. I spent a weekend at Myrtle Beach and woke up (thanks to jetlag) in time to see an amber sunrise with sand between my toes.

Azaleas smelled like I remembered. Thunderstorms sounded like I remembered. Mouths and eyebrows bent like I remembered.

I hugged my grandma. I made fun of my brother. I ate parent-cooked supper. I watched Comedy Central. I ordered a latte from Starbucks … in English. I spent too long in Wal-Mart. I paid with Visa everywhere.

The day before my return flight I sat with my mom in Ryan’s Steakhouse eating rolls with honey butter. She commented on a handful of servers who’d been working there for years. “They’ve known you since you were five years old, Mary. Can you believe we’ve been coming here that long?”

I smile. “Yes, I can.” We ordered coffee and Mom took forever to eat her dessert, as usual, but I didn’t mind at all.

Mary Pinckney Waters welcomes your comments and feedback: marypwaters@yahoo.com

Click on thumbnail for caption and larger image