i still hate palm trees

It was cold yesterday, and wet.
I sat at a red light behind a car with Florida plates and the oranges and blossoms made me think of the groves next to my parent's house. How long since I've been there? Christmas? It's warm there right now. The sun is shining.
But that's ok. I'll be fine right here.
I've been feeling guilty over my lack of nostalgia for home. But then, Venice isn't really home, so I should give it up. We are just fine without each other.
But I do wish I could hug my mother. Or watch my dad laugh till he turns purple and quits breathing, like he does at the dinner table when I say something he thinks is hysterical. Or watch my baby brother play football.
I miss our living room. But not my bedroom. I miss Ms. Higgs. But not my school friends.
That's not normal.
The deal is, I'm made of different stuff now. Going back to Venice is a bad dream because everyone thinks I still am who I used to be. Not that I was bad, just young and so very unsure of myself. I have a really hard time being who I want to be in that small, slow, rich town. Nothing challenges me there.
I have a true friend from Venice who moved here a couple of months ago. She sat at my kitchen table with me the other night and we ate together. It's sweet to have her in my life again, but it's also jarring that someone knows my history. I guess because as long as anyone remembers what I used to be, that version is still alive somehow.

I resent Florida. For molding me into someone who could be shattered so easily. There's nothing left of that little beach girl. Give me mountains to climb.