A return

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest ... shapes it, renders it, loves it. - Joan Didion 

Two weeks ago I flew back to Spartanburg for the Hub City Writers Project's 20th anniversary celebration, an event I wouldn't have missed for the world. It was a family reunion, a warm Hub City embrace that I could soak in and bring back with me. A reminder of my second home, of the place that built me.

I started in Saluda, North Carolina. I met Erica on the Green River, where she was paddling. Her friends followed and said I should get in, and, believe me, if I hadn't been pregnant or it hadn't been late evening, I would have gladly strapped in. She has jumped into this wild life on rivers, learning a language of water and rocks that I envy. But I chose my escape as long hikes on challenging trails because all I needed were my legs and map; she has the advantage of living five minutes from the river, of playing every afternoon, of diving in with her whole self. She is wild, and it is right.

We took a quick hike at twilight to a group of boulders on the river, a place with a name I can't remember. It was a tease, my only taste of the mountains for the trip, but I savored the sound of water, the presence of my friend in the old growth, the familiar comfort of nature.

The next morning I had time only for a quick drive to Lake Lure for an extra dose of the Blue Ridge before heading down to meet Helen for lunch. The curve on 26 that opens up into the Piedmont felt so familiar, yet it was like the first time I remember seeing it from the Uhaul five years ago when I moved. Welcome home, it said. Because though my heart is in Hutchinson, my soul lives in the Blue Ridge, perched on an outcrop with the world rolling out before me. This range is where I came alive, and this range is where a core piece of me will always live.

Helen and I had a lovely but brief lunch on the porch at Middlewood, catching up before she left for Charleston and I stayed over in her home. Then Erin and I spent the afternoon at Starbucks, falling into our office wife familiarity and making me long for more of this real talk in real life. The next day it would be the same with Corinne, who I met for breakfast at Betsy and John's with Emily, and later walked downtown with, talking about writing and life and dreams like we used to. For a break before the events, Betsy, Corinne, and I walked John's trail from their house along Lawsons Fork Creek to some shoals and sat with our feet in the narrow rush of water for a while, a feeling I wanted to bottle up because of the people and the place and the sound and the day. And the next day, Sara, who when did this beautiful double take when she saw me because she didn't know I was standing right next to Corinne and that I was waiting patiently to hug her, too. And Eric and Patrick, even though I only got brief hugs and not talks. It was this beautiful series of reconnections with friends like there had been no separation--of time or distance. It was both refreshing and emotionally exhausting, an overwhelm of love and laughter and wonder at these people who helped shape me and who, to this day, give me peace knowing they're out there.

The events themselves provided more reconnections with Hub City and HUB-BUB friends. I loved watching their eyes dart between my own and my stomach, distracted until I said "I'm pregnant" and they could say "oh!" and tell me congratulations. I loved the sweet readings, the reenactment of the "napkin" scene in Morgan Square Coffee with Betsy, John, and Gary, the familiar Bookshop and ambience of Main, the Cakehead girls and beignets, the easy sense of community at the street party, the long vowels that still swim in my ear, the honest disbelief or frustration when I said I didn't want to know the sex of my baby, the truth of the "Betsy Teter as Spartanburg's mob boss" skit at The Latest Thing in Spartanburg with Tim Giles, the chance to share how Spartanburg changed my life and influences much of what I now do and hope to do in Hutchinson, the familiarity and innovative spirit of HUB-BUB, the Denny's building rising above all else, and the ease of getting lost on dark, winding roads at midnight.

Though I lost one of my favorite Nikes to an animal who snatched it from the porch where it was drying and one of Helen's cats peed on my pants on the floor of my guest room, I loved waking up to the solitude of Middlewood, to the fat squirrels at the feeder and the rhododendron lining the start of the trail. The whole weekend went too quickly, but I don't think I could have emotionally stayed much longer. By Sunday morning at the brunch when former writers-in-residence gave their tributes to Betsy--which she was not expecting--I began weeping, caught up in the truth of it all. I wish I could reprint everything they said, but it was a refrain of how Betsy taught us love, determination, and commitment to place, how she believed in us when we didn't know if we believed in ourselves, how she has built this series of writers (plus me) how to relate to and participate in our communities all over the country. It was true, over and over, and all I could say when it was done, through tears, was "You know I feel all of that too" to Betsy as I hugged her.

And then that was it. And now I don't know when I'll be back because next time I'll have a little one. But one day that little one is going with me to meet all of these people and places that his/her mother carries with her every day. One day the little one will walk to the haha with Helen, plop down with a book and a cupcake in the back corner of the shop, pull Erin's cats' tails, run in the backyard with Will, stare in awe at John and Betsy's wall of books, splash in Glendale Shoals, and step to the edge of the summit of Looking Glass and Black Balsam Knob and Sam Knob and Tennent Mountain and stretch out his/her arms to the sky to feel the power of unfiltered life, of unlimited possibility.

The Green River

with Erica on the Green River

Gary, Betsy, and John recreating the beginning of HCWP

The Lit Crawl champagne toast at The Sandwich Factory

with Corinne

with Emily and Corinne

with Gary

on Main Street watching improv at the street party

Betsy Teter (Tim Giles) as Mob Boss, The Latest Thing in Spartanburg

Talking about the influence of Betsy and Spartanburg on my work in Hutch

Betsy, a true hero for writers and community builders like me

Emily, Patrick, Eric, and Corinne giving their "Heavens to Betsy"

with Sara and Corinne

with Corinne, Brad, and Will (who gave me the necklace and told me Happy Mother's Day on my first Mother's Day)

On leaving and arriving

I've kept myself at home over the last week and a half, busily unpacking every box, cleaning every room, alphabetizing every shelf. In part because Phillip and I are homebodies and we like to relax together watching River Monsters (woah, guys) on Netflix--that is, whenever he can get me to relax and slow down, as it seems I have lost all sense of what it means to relax over the last decade. But also because we didn't need anything outside of the house except to see our families and introduce Scooter to the neighborhood. I stayed home, and perhaps (besides the unpacking) it felt too much like a vacation because it wasn't until I ventured out on my own on Saturday that it hit me: I'm not in Spartanburg anymore.

I was driving down Plum, an old, familiar street, to the 30th St. Dillon's we always went to growing up, when I saw a man in khakis, glasses, and a ball cap walking on the sidewalk. Phillip Stone! my mind told me, and I lifted my hand to wave. But my excitement over a friend's face was quickly replaced by the sudden let-down that it couldn't possibly be Phillip Stone because he doesn't live here, because I don't still live where he lives.

Just a block later I pulled into the Dillon's parking lot and glanced into a passing car to see a curly-haired man--Nick Isaksson! my gut said. But, no, Nick Isaksson drives a red sports car, not a blue one, and he lives in the town I no longer do.

By this time my heart had sunk. By this time the mourning for Spartanburg had set in. By this time I realized those faces I looked forward to seeing on the street and at HUB-BUB and on mountain trails wouldn't be the faces I saw anymore. I was back to before faces, faces of a life long ago, faces I wanted to see ... eventually, but not instead of Spartanburg faces. So I didn't even feel like going into the store anymore, sick with the feeling of loss, but I needed a Plus card and I needed groceries for dinner. And because the universe didn't think I'd felt it acutely enough yet, a tall man with short hair and a thick, raggly red beard walked out as I walked in. Jonathon Knight! I wanted to yell, and walk up to him with a high-five. But, alas, I knew it was not and could not be Jonathon Knight.

Thus began my panic attack in the customer service line at Dillon's as I waited ten minutes to get a discount card.

I didn't think it would be like this, but I also didn't know what to expect upon moving back to my hometown, the one I left eight years ago swearing I would never return to. But I also never expected to find Phillip again, to fall in love, to know that he would be the one thing that could bring me back, and to have him be the thing that brought me back. And into his (our) adorable home. With a dog and a cat. With a whole heck of a lot of books. And with a heart heavy for a Southern town that had so embraced me as their own.

I intended to write a love letter to Spartanburg before I left, but, as with nearly every letter I tried to sit down and write, I couldn't actually convince myself that I was leaving. Like, for good. Yes, I had given up my amazing job (ouch), was packing my sweet abode in Duncan Park (ugh), and was, night by night, sharing final drinks and conversations with the closest friends I've, well, ever made (sob). But it didn't feel real, permanent, about to actually happen. It didn't feel real on the morning we left, as I said final goodbyes to Erin, Erica, and Sara. It didn't feel real as we guided the 16ft truck with the car attached through the neighborhoods and out of town. It didn't feel real when we pulled up in front of the house in Hutch and Scooter leaped from the truck and chased two cats up trees in his first five minutes as a resident. Nope, it wasn't real until that first Saturday afternoon, here nearly a week, when I realized what and who was gone. The lush, tall trees are gone, too; the sky is full above.

But here's what I do have: the most amazing boyfriend who feeds my mind and deepens my soul and fills my heart, the start of a teaching career at the college where I began, the closeness of my brother and parents and grandparents who have always supported me, and the opportunity to bring back all I learned from that incredible little city in South Carolina to see how I can impact this hometown of mine. Because, Spartanburg, I wouldn't be back here if you hadn't taught me about the necessity to love and build my own community, to take risks and be myself, to live openly and adventurously, to jump in where I'm needed, and to understand how we are all connected by the desire to listen and be heard. I'll say it again: Spartanburg changed my life. And now I'm here to run with it in my brand new blue shoes.

But I might be waving at strangers for a while.

Erin and I at the 2013 Expecting Goodness Short Film Festival on March 23. Fancy!

Sara and I at an RJ Rockers Taste & Tour. Love love love.

Erica, Sara, and I before we saw Ira Glass at the Peace Center in Greenville.

Amanda, Nick, Michelle, and I on Party Rock of Rumbling Bald Mt. above Lake Lure, NC. Amazing.

Sara and I--prom dates!--at the HUB-BUB Second Chance Prom.

Darryl and I--second prom date!--at the HUB-BUB prom.

Ladies! at the HUB-BUB prom.

We drink beer in the rain! With Alex, Lee, Sarah, Jonathon, Amanda, and Erica (behind the camera) at the Best Firkin Beer Festival in Asheville.

Happy in the rain, still! At the super beer festival.

Love these ladies lots--and the beer.

Erin, aka Office Wife, and I after the Josh Rouse concert in Asheville. Super special.

Scooter and I saying goodbye to the Cottonwood Trail and the Lawson's Fork.

Erin, Betsy, and I on my last day. Truly, the end of an era. All I could do was smile because I love and respect these women so much.

A sweet farewell from former Spartanburg mayor Bill Barnet, who never ceased to tell me he loved me.

Dear, sweet Madelaine and I during my last few minutes (literally) as a Hub City employee.

One final Taste & Tour with Erin. Drunk on a cup.

What I consider my first home. Lakeside Drive, you're forever in my heart.

A life in a truck. Mostly all in, mostly all by myself.

Scooter from his small floorspace in the Budget truck. He never complained. Not once.

My first glimpse of Hutchinson as we arrived home, just before dark.

Decked out

Erin and I worked 12 hour days at the Hub City Bookshop on Friday and Saturday to sell you books, to talk about books, to decorate around books and with books. It was fun and exhausting. This is the result.

You're okay

I was alone in the bookstore today--Erin offsite, Betsy off--and working the counter all afternoon.

A guy comes in, asks for the "new Spartanburg book." Judging from his appearance, I rightly guess he is looking for The Underground Guide to Spartanburg.  He stands at the counter flipping through it, then asks me if there are any places in town to see good music.

I tell him The Showroom, though there aren't any shows planned for the time being, and Blue Boulevard, and the Nu-Way, and Delaney's when it reopens from the fire, and Main Street Pub, and there are other farther out that I haven't been to.

He says he's new to Spartanburg, that he hates it, that he just moved here from Washington D.C. Personal security, he says. He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of him guarding Mitt Romney, calls him a prick, then flips to a still of him guarding Rick Santorum from FoxNews, calls him a prick, too, and puts his phone away.

He says he was in the Naval reserves but quit after a few months and got recruited by this personal security firm. He got sent to Spartanburg as punishment--he didn't say for what--to guard a woman whose name I don't recognize.

He asks where to meet girls in Spartanburg. I have no idea, I tell him, I hadn't thought about it. All the girls he's met so far are too Southern, he says, and too country. He says he doesn't want a nerdy girl, he doesn't want a smart, dull girl. He wants a "sexy, intelligent girl," and says he doesn't know how else to describe what he's looking for. I tell him I know what he means. He glances at me and says, "You're okay, but where do I go to meet sexy, intelligent girls?" I don't know, I repeat, all I know are art exhibits, readings, and essentially anything happening at HUB-BUB. I tell him about the art openings tonight, about Ron Rash in a couple of weeks. Those are the only events I can think of that might have sexy, intelligent girls.

He tells me he's a liberal and that he hates Spartanburg because it's so conservative. I tell him he's found the forward-thinking center of the city in the bookstore and Coffee Bar and that he should hang out here and talk to people, that he shouldn't hate Spartanburg because he doesn't understand all that's happening here.

I tell him I moved here from the most liberal city in Kansas and that I love it here, that there's too much going on for me to do it all, that I rarely go to Greenville.

He asks me if I'm in school. No, I say, I went to school in Kansas and moved here for the job. He cocks his head and says, "You moved out here to work in a bookstore?" No, I say, I'm the assistant director.

He asks me how old I am. 27, I say. No, he says, I thought you were 21. No, I said, I've been through school. He tells me he's 21. I tell him he's younger than my little brother. 

He asks me where I like to eat. I tell him Cribb's and Lime Leaf and Monsoon and Miyako downtown. He asks me if I want to get lunch sometime. I tell him he's younger than my brother.

His neck is thick, splotched with red. His hair is nearly a flat-top. He wears a button-up striped blue shirt and sunglasses. He is younger than my brother, but I drop the pen when I begin to fill out a special order for him. He is younger than my brother, but it takes another customer at the counter for him to leave. He is younger than my brother, yet I do not know how to say "I am a woman."

Rewards

What have I been doing for the last few weeks?

Planning the EXPECTING GOODNESS SHORT FILM FESTIVAL, reacting to an incredible response that WE DIDN'T KNOW was possible when it began, and, after the big festival last night, feeling so pleased with THE GOODNESS all-around. One of the most rewarding, coolest nights ever!

Also, marketing THE PATRON SAINT OF DREAMS and creating its BOOK TRAILER, and editing MIDDLEWOOD JOURNAL (blog into book).

Also, making more videos, this silly one about LIFE IN THE SPARKLE CITY.

The Bearded Men (my friends)

The latest in a string of video projects over the last week...

My new hobby: making videos!