The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

What is home?

What is home?

The next morning, Patrick and I both packed our remaining bags and got onto a taxi bound for Tweed-New Haven Airport. "I can't wait to go back to Chicago," Patrick told me as he shoved a duffel bag into the back of the taxi. "As much as I love Old Haven, Chicago will always be my city."

"I think I like Old Haven a little bit better than Las Vegas," I said.

"Why do you say that?" Patrick asked while we both climbed into the back of the taxi and fastened our seat belts.

"The people here are far better," I said.

"That's so nice of you to say," Patrick said, smiling. It was the truth, because telling a lie in this situation would make no sense. There were more people that I liked in Old Haven than in Las Vegas, although I did miss my mother.

The taxi driver took us to the airport, but when we got there, Patrick and I had to go our separate ways. The airport wasn't particularly large, especially when compared with the airport in Las Vegas, but I still found it quite easy to get disoriented. As I made my way through registration and security, I was surrounded by people, but I felt as if I was alone. At Kale, I always had a few friends around me, but here, I didn't know anyone. The isolation was terrifying, since there was no distraction to mask what was real.

Before long, I was on my way home, but could I call Las Vegas home anymore? I had spent over four months in Old Haven, and in some ways, Kale University felt more like home than Las Vegas ever had, even after eighteen years of living there. I wasn't a permanent resident, and I had no particular attachment to the city, so there was no reason for me to think of Las Vegas as my home.

I spent the plane ride to Las Vegas staring out the window, wondering how much longer was left in the plane ride, what the clouds did all day to entertain themselves, and whether my mom was at the airport yet. As usual, there was a crying toddler sitting directly behind me who seemed to enjoy kicking the back of my seat. Why do we derive amusement from others' suffering, even as children? The world could be so cruel sometimes, and that was just one example.

After nearly five hours in an airplane with an obnoxious toddler and a brainless in-flight movie, I got off of the plane and was greeted by the slot machines that were ubiquitous in my hometown. I had never paid much attention to them as a child, but after spending several months in a place where gambling was illegal, I had to make note of them.

I proceeded to baggage claim as I was bombarded with ads for all of the things that I could do during my stay in Las Vegas. I felt like a tourist in my hometown - it was as if I was an East Coast college kid going to Las Vegas for a quick vacation instead of a boy raised in the Vegas lights coming home to visit his family. Then again, perhaps I was both at the same time.

I found my mother waiting for me next to the baggage claim. "Ryan!" she shouted. I rushed over to her and gave her a hug, and she held me tightly as she said, "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Mom," I said.

"It's great to see you again," Mom asked. "How has everything been going at Kale University? I already saw your grades, and I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks," I said. "Can you please let me get my suitcase."

Mom laughed and said, "Of course."

I grabbed my suitcase from the baggage claim, and then Mom drove me back to her apartment. On the way there, she asked me all kinds of questions about Kale, and I tried my best to answer them. "Tell me about the clubs that you're in," Mom said. "Did you join all of the ones that you told me you were going to?"