There Goes My One Life.
After living with Larry for two and a half years, I was a bit terrified to be stepping back into the Moore family. I had no idea what would be required. Was I still a child in their eyes? I felt grown.
But my family had never been happy about my way of life – meaning, the way I drank. Would I be able to drink in London since I was a legal adult in the U.S.? Would I have to follow my parents’ rules? Would I be spending time with them exclusively or could I do whatever I wanted?
Fortunately for all of us, I wasn’t moving into their home. I was traveling to London – a place I’d dreamed about seeing since I knew it existed. I didn’t care about Queen Elizabeth or royalty, or Big Ben or ancient architecture. I cared about The Cure, Rod Stewart, David Bowie and The Rolling Stones. And oh, those accents! I could hardly wait to hear everyone speaking British-English.
I was also very, very excited to see double decker buses.
But I was terrified about hanging out with my family again. I didn’t want to live like I’d been living, but I didn’t want to hear about that from my parents. I didn’t want to see the disappointment in my parents’ eyes, or hear it in their voices.
I rode with Larry to the airport. I did not drink. I wanted to smoke as much as I possibly could in the car. No one in my entire extended family smoked cigarettes, either.
We parked the Camaro and walked inside the airport together, Larry carrying my purple duffel. As we approached my parents, I was super-conscious of his sound: the jangling of the chains that held his wallet, the boots ever-clomping on the floor. He was too loud; he didn’t fit.
I kissed him goodbye quickly, wanting to separate myself from him, anxious to get started on this trip. As my parents, sisters and I turned toward the airport gate, a huge part of me was happy to see Larry walk away.
“There goes my one life,” I mumbled to my mom, nodding toward Larry as he strode away, chains still slapping his thigh. “And here I go to my other one.”
I felt like I’d been torn sharply in half, a paper doll with a dotted line down the middle. And only half of me was headed to London.
My mom glanced up, only partially understanding, just hoping we’d all get to our plane on time. With her free arm, she squeezed my shoulders.
“We’re going to have a good time,” she said.
I did not believe her. I didn’t know what to believe. In a billion years, I couldn’t have imagined what was going to happen to me in England.
I had no idea that England would hit me like a runaway freight train … with an angel as its engineer.
I walked toward the gate just the same.