You Can Come Home Again

When most people consider the distance between East and West Coast, they imagine a good four day drive, stopping at rest areas and cheap motels off the interstate. Cheap coffee and bagels in the morning, and hours and hours of driving. I think my sister and brother-in-law were quite happy to conclude that trip in two days.

Ask either of them, and they will call shenanigans on Pennsylvania, their home for the last two years. Hayley and Mitch both drop comments about what a miserable place it was; they called it a prison. They'll tell you the only redeeming quality about Scranton was the fact that The Office takes place there. That's all they having going for them, my brother-in-law said. Then he made it clear that people there didn't have quite so much personality.

Last summer, I flew over to visit. When I got off the plane, I looked out the airport windows at the spread of elms, oaks, and maple trees that littered the countryside, and I thought, wow this is really beautiful. As soon as my sister picked me up and we began driving home, I uncovered what was really going on here. Every few blocks, we would come to a small fenced area, in the center of town, between shopping centers and neighborhoods, full of tombstones. Now I knew why those trees were doing so well.

The next day, we drove into town. My sister had told me stories of the townsfolk, but I kept my enthusiasm, and trusted I could make my own decisions. I can't say it was particularly hard. Most people in the mall stared at me. Everyone wore matching clothes and nobody smiled. I was the outcast in this social enigma. The same thing seemed to happen no matter where I went. I grew up in a Catholic family, attended a Catholic school, so I immediately realized by necklaces, shirts, and aesthetic, that the Pope would fit right in here in Scranton. Scrantonites got one look at me and my sister, and it was a regular stare . We're such hooligans, with our piercings and tattoos. We're hedonists. I was surprised when I walked by a head shop and the owners were chill. They talked about glass and prices and deals. They were new here, just starting out. I asked, where are you from? They said California. Naturally.

A few weeks ago, when my sister came home, she told me she didn't feel like it had ended yet. She was still having nightmares about being there. She says that being here, at least she has real people to talk to. She says, at least West-Coasters keep their dead where they belong.