This past weekend, I decided to spend a little time at home, back in Thompsontown, PA and away from the college life at Penn State in University Park. My main reason was to attend a picnic held by the Perry-Juniata Penn State Alumni Association so I could receive their $500 scholarship they awarded me (hey, it'll pay for some books, won't it?), but I figured it wouldn't be too bad to just relax back at home for a little while before my final exams.
I spent Friday evening languishing away in my dorm until my mother, an RN at Lewistown Hospital about half an hour away, picked me up after her shift. On the drive back home, little was on my mind. I was sort of like a radio set to an empty station, kind of just receiving static instead of meaningful sound. That evening was the second-to-last night of the carnival in McAlisterville, a town just over the hill from my little village of East Salem (mailing address is Thompsontown). I'd scarcely had a summer in my life where I'd not gone to the McAlisterville carnival, running and gallivanting through the midway and kiddie rides with my youthful and effervescent friends. However, this year had been different from those of my youth. I'd already missed Dutch Days, another local carnival and tradition in a neighboring town. Whether or not it left a hole in the collective experience of my friends, I cannot say. However, for me, the effect was bigger than I let on with most. While I was here at State, I found myself wondering, "Do my friends notice I'm gone? Do they miss me? Am I still important to them?" This is nothing against them, it's just something I find myself wondering at times. To an extent, I figured my friends had managed pretty well without me, yet even so, I wanted to see them again.
Before I even went home, I had Mom drop me off in McAlisterville. As I made my way into the crowded and lively carnival grounds, all packed with the drawling geriatric inhabitants of old Juniata County along with their various generations of offspring, I looked how many would picture a college student. I was wearing black Adidas gym shorts, admittedly a bit too short. Under a thin blue hooded jacket, a blue tank top was emblazoned with the name of my new home: "PENN STATE." Beneath the frumpy and wrinkled cover of a sun-and-water-faded North Face hat (yes, I know, North Face is stereotypically college kid material...), my hair was a little longer than I would have preferred, somewhat resembling a disheveled brown mop. As I walked a walk with, I will concede, a little too much swagger than there should have been, I casually dangled an Arby's large cup of Sprite in my hand. I was probably the image of a freshly-into-college kid, back home for a bit, and all drunk on collegiate pride. Some days I look back at myself and I think, "Good lord, I'm a twerp at times." Eh, these things were comparatively small. Who am I kidding, I'm probably the only one who noticed... I'm too hard on myself.
I began scouting out who I could, letting my eyes wander through the crowds. With each little flick of my eye across the lake of faces, I'd catch underclassmen from high school, the odd volunteer fireman here and there, a few distant relatives, my beloved old chem teacher. This was old Juniata County. Doesn't matter how provincial and backwoods it may be, I love it. I love it so dearly, and it will always be my home. Home. That's a curious thing. How do you know a place is your home? Because when you come back, before you can even realize what's happening, you're practically tackled to the ground by the running embrace by a dear friend from years past. That's what first made my mind click in, "Ah, yes. I've missed this so much." With that first big bear hug, the endorphins in my brain clicked on, and for once in a fair amount of time, I felt some genuine happiness. With a true smile on my face, I asked her how her business venture, a small cafe in the area, was turning out. As she brightly replied as to its success and her friends around her attested to the delicious heaven that is the milkshakes she serves, her new boyfriend stood beside her and put his arm around her. I graduated with him, a nice fellow. I was happy to see them both together, genuinely happy. It brings me joy to see good people from a good place having a good life.
Giving my well-wishes and imparting a goodbye, I turned away and began searching the place for more of my old friends. I didn't have to go far at all to find them. Within but a few minutes, a whole group of them found me. Two that I used to spend a lot of time with began racing to me, trying to beat each other to hug me first. When one hugged me first, the other hugged me over and over again to even it out. I loved this all so much. I missed feeling things such as this. There are few things in the world that bring me more joy than getting a hug from one of my dearest and most trusted friends when we've not seen each other in ages. Friends abounded that night. Memories swarmed my mind, however, they were not the sort of bittersweet and sad memories I may have expected earlier. I instead felt a genuine happiness. There was a happiness that existed in seeing the joy in the face of Juniata County children as they ran and played amongst the carnival as I once had. There was a tranquility that existed in hearing that sort of Juniata County drawl, a special sort of twang, though plagued by grammatical errors, that is only spoken correctly here in ol' J-County. There was a bliss that existed in playing manhunt again on the side-streets of McAlisterville at 11 o'clock at night with your closest friends from your high school years.
This was the happy phase of my time at home. I felt lighter than air, and all was sweet and gleaming. Yet such emotions were not quite meant to last in their entirety in my mind. However, that is for me to write about on another night.
Good night, all.
My sincerest regards,
Brandon
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