Familiar

After we had dinner with Vaughn and Tracey on Saturday (before they went to a Thunder game), we called some friends who just moved into a house a few blocks away near our old duplex in Jefferson Park. I'd been driving passed their house for a few months watching the progress of the renovation because I knew they were going to buy it. I couldn't wait to see the inside, and they graciously agreed to let us come by.

Before we could, we needed to drop something off at home. Jake ran in while I sat in front of Dot in the car (still to be named) with the girls. We were talking and listening to music. When he came out of the house, and started making his way toward us, my heart skipped a beat.

Somewhere along the way, in the midst of these years we've accumulated between us, his face has become more familiar to me than anything in the world. I look at him and in some ways feel like I'm looking at myself. It's more than the texture of the green afghan that covered me every night of my youth that my fingers will never forget. More than the grassy hills and black earth on the way to Eagar. More than the smell of the desert after rain or red clay clenched in my palm and oozing through my fingers...

Seeing him is being home.

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