Saturday, September 12, 2009

Memoirs of a Zoobie

Dear Provo,

You were always magical to me. From the first time I drove north to visit friends for the weekend, I could feel it. Something in the way the light comes off the mountains, reflecting off streets crowded stop sign to stop sign with precariously paralleled vehicles. It can only be described as...hope. And mystery. And anticipation. The feeling of promise and adventures and opportunity and the great unknown, all lurking in the crevices between the hundreds of tightly packed apartment complexes. When I finally stopped dragging my feet and decided to try my hand at life in your city limits, I came with full force. I came with my expectations and my dreams, partly situated in large green storage bins and partly rolling about on the floorboards of my silver Honda. And fulfilling your potential, you gave me exactly what I wanted, and then some. You gave me a new life and a new fire and new ideas and new perspectives. And then, like I suppose most enchanted things do, you simply became REAL. When the glitter faded with the fiery Autumn leaves, you were just real. Just life. I imagine it's akin to the moment when a child finds out who REALLY stuffs his Christmas stocking, or when little girls in princess dresses realizes it's all just pretend. The good news is, like any yellow brick road and its man behind the curtain, the disappointment doesn't last forever. Real life has a funny way of holding just as many treasures as the North Pole or the Emerald City. Disillusioned children still go on to enjoy the holidays, after all. For me, I did not like it when I lost my hope in you, city of Provolone. I'm not easily disenchanted, so I always feel a little jaded whenever reality checks in. But truth be told, somewhere there toward the end, real life didn't seem so bad. Yes, you with all your flaws and reality checks became something I would learn to miss. And in the end, it was truthfully painful to leave you.

But I have to say...thank you. For showing me that I no longer need my kite strings or balloons to make me feel brave.

I came back to see you recently, after you sent me out into the "real world." For a while there, I thought I wanted you back, but then I're just you. Just life. So, again...thank you. Because I found, just briefly as I was watched the breeze playing in the Oak leaves...that feeling again. That same old magic, wafting through the branches and hiding just around the corner. And I realized, we are better off as long-distance friends, you and I. Keeping our mysteries and our intrigues to ourselves suits us, in the end. But just the same, you will still always be special to me. Magical, you might say.

Love, Katie

"All the things that break you are all the things that make you strong." -C. Underwood


Abigail said...

I DO like it! In fact, it almost made me cry...but well, you understand that :)

Lars said...

Oh Katie, that was beautiful! You are such an amazing writer, I'm so flipping impressed!!!! Holy cow! And yes, I am a wee bit teary-eyed at the moment.....I miss you lots Katie. But I loff you even more :) And I'm sad that you won't be coming back, but don't worry! I'll be coming down to see you sometime soon, I hope!!!

The Ballard Family said...

Really, though, must you make everyone cry? :)
Those who love Provo (ahem) cry at the thought of all of its enchanted beauty...and those who don't can still relate, I'm sure. Provo for some, New York City for others, for some their first apartment away from parents, and for others the food at Oregano's once the hour and a half wait is over (though I seriously doubt it)...
This is definitely a favorite post. I'm glad you're writing again. Can't wait for the next.
Maybe something about bellydance class? :)

KP said...

you are a freakin' amazing writer!! love u. lets play. i cant believe we are in the same state and still have not seen eachother.