Same. Here.

I've been staying at 1928 for the past few nights while my parents have been out of town. It's always nice to stay at home, however small the stint. There's safety here. Security in knowing the Rs are next door; that Dr. Steve is home, just in case, and that Sentinel Chauncey is on patrol in the event that anyone ferocious need be taken care of. To look through the window on the landing just before bed and see the light on in the kitchen across the way, or to pause before going up the stairs and see a Stevens standing at the command station by the phone in the dimness of the night, sketching out a To Do list or writing a note to a sibling to be tacked up on the white kitchen cabinet. There is such safety in the known; the expected. It fills the senses with contentment, and creates a sanctuary of sameness.

Tonight as I gathered the trash and bundled it up for it's frozen foray out into the wintry night, feet treading the same path of grass between our house and the R's, all felt routine. Duty done, I retraced my path and I found myself locked out at 10:45 on a Saturday night. Wanting to flee the freezing cold, I went back along the path to the R's to get the spare key. Steve greeted me at the door, and sifted through the basket of keys, a ritual all too routine. There is one problem (as if being locked out isn't problem enough) our keys look exactly the same. I took a few look-a-likes in hand. I sensed their sameness and hoped one was the replica of the key resting inside.

Moments later, I was on the phone with little brother (Rich The Rescuer we shall call him) who wouldn't be home for another half hour. I often stand in that spot at the R's, that nook where the phone rests, and look up at the very window I peek out of at my parent's, wondering if they ever do the same. That night, while twisting the phone cord out of habit, I turned to see the light on at the top of the landing in the empty house I was locked out of. I decided to sit for a bit, then took the R's car over to the YBH to retrieve a few things. (I was locked out there, too).
I arrived home just as Liv was pulling in the driveway. I greeted her at the halfway point, directly adjacent to the paths between our two houses. We chatted for a bit and then she pulled in right next to where I had just parked the other car for the night. Strange the adage The more things change, the more they stay the same. How driving that car made me feel like I was babysitting at R's again, that is until O drove up, all beautiful in the driver's seat.

Change spins all around the sphere of sameness; this world of looking through windows and retreiving spare keys. In all this growing up and parting ways, most moments I feel the same. I don't feel grown up. I don't feel like a babysitter, either. Rather I feel I'm at the path inbetween. Grown Up isn't the known. It's not the expected. There isn't a sense of sameness like repeating steps to your favorite spot in the tree house or tying the knot on your gypsie dress up skirt the same way you always do. There isn't a window to look through or a light to switch on. There aren't tracks in the snow between houses. It's you and only you. Man vs. The World. And truthfully, I'm a bit scared of forging the rest of the trail. Of taking that step and shutting the door of The Same. Just in case, I'll be sure I have a spare key.