on deciding to travel...

I went to mexico.  Once, randomly.  It was an idea derived from a longing to speak the Spanish language.  From hearing one too many songs about Mexican sunsets.  From graduating college and needing some time to think, outside of the classroom, and, importantly, on my own.  And from my friend Andi, as I napped snug between her and Abbey, in early evening’s shadows, dull slivers coming through redwoods and window panes,

            “I really should go visit my family in Mexico City.” She said, more to herself than anyone else.

Some soft sort of simple music played quietly.  I danced my fingers in Abbey’s hair.  A jug of wine lay half drunk on that dark wooden floor nearby.  A piano chord stroked in the living room.  Four and a half years spent living together beneath those tall trees, falling in love, into life, being, dreaming and learning in time.  Andi sighed.  I opened one eye to look at her.  She dazed straight ahead.

            “I’ll come.” I said, more to myself than anyone else.