First Love

(inspired by an upcoming Readers Write subject for The SUN Magazine.)
The first few weeks after we broke up I dropped my phone constantly. A gift from him, the act of accidentally letting it slip (hard, smooth case; forgetful mind) from my hands came to represent how I'd accidentally severed the threads of our relationship.
Not my first love, granted, but my first boyfriend, the first who loved me back. The first who loved me back at a time in life when forever was almost possible, but still not quite.
We broke up during a phone call; I overestimated my understanding of him and the strength of our relationship. As we spoke, I could feel things spiraling out of control, but, passive, I did nothing to steer the conversation in any direction. I spilled too many awkward honesties at once using language unfamiliar to me ("I'd like to date other people", "we're going too fast", "but I still want to be your friend") In my rush to be honest, I forgot to be considerate, compassionate, and thoughtful; I forgot to weigh the possible meaning of what I said. There was a fatal flaw in creating girls' minds so different from boys' minds. To him, all of these phrases meant rejection and replacement.
I came to think of that phone call as a sort of clumsy but earnest flailing that ended much differently than I'd intended, but not enough differently for me to take possession of what was slipping past me.
I haven't really regretted breaking up, but I have regretted the circumstances, I feel that I could have done much better with my timing and communication. The past is only the past, though, and maybe someday we can look back on it all as good friends once again, but not, as he says, right now.
It's hard not to sound melancholic, when writing about this, I mean, a metaphor involving a phone given me by my first boyfriend? Cheesy, I'm sure. But I've come back to drafting this narrative in my head many times since that long, gray month.
I continued living. It wasn't like life ever stopped. Over time I managed to stop dropping my phone so frequently. I still have it, and in the ups and down since, I'll drop it increasingly over the course of a week, and struck by the poignance of it- (we'll have spoken in slightly unfriendly terms to one another, or I will feel neglected as a friend)- I will work to master my hands and my feelings once again and do my best not to just throw the whole thing at the wall, smashing it to pieces. 

Family Vacations

(inspired by an upcoming Readers Write subject for The SUN Magazine.)

The closest thing my family has to a family vacation is the annual trip we used to take to Yellowstone, but we stopped going as a family half my lifetime ago, if not more. It became too stressful for my parents to haul all of us kids to Yellowstone in our aging and less than trustworthy suburban.
When I was a kid, we used to stop at my grandfather's house before continuing on to Yellowstone. We'd stay the night and visit for a day or two, eating canned raspberries and pretending we were in wheelchairs, rolling over the carpet on my grandfather's barbells. The stopover cut the grueling drive into two pieces, more easily managed by hyperactive kids. In the years since then, though, my dad tackles the trip in one long drive. It surprised me, the first time; I had no idea Yellowstone was that close. I was a kid and I measured distance in time, and time can seem impossibly long, or lightning fast depending on how bored or excited you are.

My dad still goes to Yellowstone on UEA weekend each year, and he usually brings a couple of kids along. My two middle brothers went with him in 2012, and last October, my eldest brother and I got to go. That  trip cemented Yellowstone as a happy place in my heart, as a sort of home away from home. I had so much to come back to, but I was content and deliriously happy in that wild land. 

For many years Yellowstone was that place I visited as a kid with my family and with family-friends, but that last trip was different. That was the first trip I'd really taken as an adult, semi-independent, not just someone to take care of, and I talked with my father more intimately than I had in years. I mean, it's not like I could drive for my father, but we spoke as equals, and my brother and I had an equal say in where we could go. We didn't really have anywhere in mind, though, it had been so long since we'd last visited, we just went wherever dad wanted to take us.
That last trip made Yellowstone personal to me, an escape that made the world seem full of possibilities. I matured, and although I'm still not grown-up, that trip was a significant milestone in my adult life. From family vacation to coming of age experience, Yellowstone has always been a significant part of my life, threading through the years as far as I can remember.