We pulled up into the driveway of our home and it seemed like every other time. We hopped out of the car, grabbed our stuff and made our ways to the door. Like always, I was the first one to the unlocked door and walked right on in. I was greeted heartily by Rosie, who I gave a vigorous pet before the rest of the family walked in.
Everything was like we left it except for one detail: Harrison and Dad had managed to do the impossible. They completely cleaned our house out. No eccentric knick-knacks, no random pieces of furniture, no anything that wasn't necessary.
Yeah, that was really weird. To see our home clutter-free was a completely foreign concept to me.
It seems as if life (other than the house-cleaning part) has been standing still. My friends are still my friends, and just as much as ever. Nothing's really changed between us; we can converse as casually as before. Except now we actually have things to talk about.
It really doesn't feel like I'm visiting here. This is my home, the very same house that I've lived in my whole life. Those are my woods, that's the Ingles down the street. Here's my friend that I've known for the past three years. Hey, look, it's the dog that I've grown up with since before I had a cohesive thought process!
And like so many times before, I'm up in the dead of night listening to the ruckus downstairs of family friends still over. Singing and laughing along with the screams and shouts of excitement from those playing video games.
I'm here, sitting not in my room because Harrison moved in there, but in the next room over. It's the same room in the same house. I'm in the same town with the same people.
I still feel like I belong here just as much as ever.
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