How To Say Goodbye

Wake up in the middle of the night to a loud wailing, think it must be wind but notice the shutters aren't banging.  Fall asleep, wake early, before everyone else, and drink yesterday's cold espresso before lacing up your running shoes and running all the way up the biggest hill, the one you never made it up all those other times, because this is your first and last chance.  Reach the top, feel your fists clenching.  Take your second to last shower and wonder when's the next time you'll count things like showers.  Visit the city and notice the visitor in you is gone.  Notice how the sun feels in your hair, your spine.  Buy stockings because the old one's holes have stretched too far.  Come home and hear someone mention the earthquake last night and inwardly say "oh."  Say "oh" about a lot of things.  About how mental landscapes change.  About how every place you've ever been has been breathtaking, when you think about it.  About how a stranger will fade and reappear with her soft hair and steely elbows in your lap, with her every habit etched in you, while a friend becomes a stranger.  Remember other goodbyes.  The one where you said "thank you" and he said "you too."  The one with the hug that almost never broke.  Wish you spoke that language she made up, that gibberish which means just as much as any other.  Give her all the drawings you did and watch as she clutches them to her chest, shows her father.  Don't think too much.  Smile a lot.  Surprise yourself by packing your bags fast, easy.  You have less than you came with.  This feels light.  This is what you want.  To throw out the unraveling sweater, to have a few more tall tales and one more tongue.  Notice that the word "country" means little to you anymore.  Notice how your hair has grown.  Wonder what else has.  Decide whose cheek you'll kiss and whose hand you'll shake.  You don't know how many touches there have been but these are the last.  But then realize that you can't plan for this, as she bounces away from your open arms with a silly grin, too shy for the last touch after all.  Remember how you were afraid, once, when people spoke to you in English.  Inhale and discover that the smell of charcoal smoke or blooming wisteria will bring you home no matter where you are in the world.  You have roots.  Nothing is a dream anymore; everything just is, and so you are learning to just be.  Take lots of breaths and walk through the gates.  You are learning how to hold, how to let go.