"Home Alone "
I was back in Tucson for yet another wedding, this time for Albert and Cindy. They finally tied the knot after six years of dating and at least fours years of harassment by both sets of parents. Albert is one of my best friends from high school - I've known him as long as I've known anyone.
The wedding was a big, Hispanic, Catholic wedding, complete with dozens of hyper-active kids, self-conscious teens, gushing aunts, drunk brides maids and a full mariachi band. We laughed, we drank, we filled Albert and Cindy's temporary home with toilet paper and balloons (they were living in a trailer for a month until their new house was finished) and left some risqué gifts on their bed.
By the way, shopping for such things was actually a new experience for me. The overly friendly saleswoman at the "boutique" guided me around the store and explained the merits and utility of each product in an almost comically professional manner. It was like a training course in erotica. Definitely not for the timid. She kept asking had I tried this, used that, tasted this, "Here, try the powdered honey", etc. etc. I learned more about lubricants than I had ever hoped to. "No, sorry, not yet, nope, heard about it, uh-uh." Apparently, I've led a boring sex life - like I needed validation of that. It was almost therapy.
Regardless, Albert is now a married man.
This made me the ONLY single person left from my circle of high school and college friends. In the last five years I have been invited to at least twelve weddings, attended eight, worn a tux at four.
And then there was one. I swear, sometimes I feel like an endangered species. The EPA has roped off my house as a protected habitat, and I think I saw Boyd Matsen following my car with a National Geographic film crew. And I can't for the life of me figure out how I got this damn yellow tag in my ear.
Being the lone bachelor has also made me that obvious target for all the marriage happy couples in the room. "Jimbo, when are you going to find someone? Jimbo, when are you going to settle down? Jimbo, why aren't you dating anyone? Jimbo, I have to introduce you to Lucy at the office - I think you will like her. She has a great personality."
I assume these transitions are to be expected. Someone has to be first, someone has to be last. Yet, I hardly notice these changes when outside of Tucson. Perhaps you don't really know where you have been unless you know where you started.
Tucson was my hometown. I spent the majority of my youth there - all the awkward, painful, hopeful, hormone-fueled teenage years. Going back to Tucson now is very peculiar. Hell, it seems I only return now for weddings or funerals. But when I am there, I am never more keenly aware of the passage of time. Passing my grandparent's home and visiting my grandmother's grave. Driving past my old high school with my best friend Dave who now works there as a teacher. Seeing places that have remained the same and places that are new. Remembering where my friends and I were fifteen years ago. When in my old church with those old friends, we again stood together in the same room where we stood as obnoxious teens with big hair and tight jeans - only this time with husbands and wives and children and independent lives. It's surreal, way beyond nostalgia.
Usually I rush through life so focused on where I am or where I am going that I never reflect on my history. Returning home forces that observation. I see who I was and how I have changed. Tucson is a vista to my life. A lookout from which I can see clearly the past even if the future remains ever cloudy.
And with that comes a strange attraction to my hometown. A temptation to stick with what is familiar and safe. But it's an uncomfortable familiarity for me, like an angry ex-lover that refuses to let go. It's comfortable, but it never feels quite right. So it's always with relief that I leave Tucson. I feel like I am starting out on my life again. After the wedding I was happy to be going home.
Even if I was going home alone.
