Ah, fall is in the air and it’s finally time to go home for Thanksgiving break. You only pack the essentials: 100 pairs of leggings, jeans, your six rotating sweatshirts and that sweater that sits in the back of your closet (you’ve never worn it before). Maybe even throw in that going-out top, just in case. Yet, you leave behind the textbooks that have weighed you down all semester to make room for every last toiletry you can find. Backpack, suitcase and car keys in hand and you’re finally ready. Time to drive home.
You tuck your water bottle in nicely in the passenger seat. You plug your phone in with your playlist on and maps open. Your car starts and rumbles to life, defrosting the interior and where you will reside for the next few hours.
As you start your drive, you pass by your old dorm. Oh the memories it brings of the hustle and bustle of leaving for break. And suddenly, you are thankful that your mom is not hurrying you out of the dorm to tuck your stuff into the back of her rusty minivan. The one that has broken down several times on the side of the road. Memories…
Starting off your drive, you start to notice how beautiful Pennsylvania actually is, at least once you leave State College. The trees are almost bare; the last of burnt orange leaves linger from branch to branch. Fall is leaving and winter is coming with crisp frost lining blades of grass. The roads are already salted, prepared for the first snow. The sky is a bright shade of blue with clouds just barely outlining. Birds in their feathery coats fly past, cardinals, blue jays and sparrows. They are heading home for winter, too. You turn down the music and let Pennsylvania sink into your veins. Whether you’re from Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, New York, New Jersey, Virginia or even California, some part of central Pennsylvania will always stick with you, and hopefully, it is this.
You turn back on your music and decide this drive needs something rawer. Noah Kahan and Zach Bryan will make do. One singer from the north, one from the south, to meet you in the middle here, in the mountains, on your drive home. After an easy two hours, you decide to stop at a Wawa or Sheetz (depending on where you are from) to take a bathroom break and grab a snack.
Here, you will face the toughest question: sweet or salty? Maybe buying both is the best choice. You decide on a bag of Dot’s Pretzels and a pack of fruit snacks (yum). You head back to your car and hit the road once again, snack in hand.
At this point, the drive has felt long. Maybe you haven’t even left Pennsylvania yet, if you’re an out-of-state-er. Restless, you try to put on a podcast. After approximately two minutes, you decide your attention span can’t take it, and instead you call your mom. At this point, maybe you are missing her minivan. After 15 minutes, she has to run, and once again it’s just you and the mountains.
Your car climbs the hilly roads in the last hour of your ride. The sun is starting to go down as the sky fills with streaks of pink. Large highways turn into two lane roads, grass poking out from the sides of the pavement. Recognizable buildings start cropping into view, their shiny exterior reflecting the image of your car back to you. Here you are, almost home. You feel the rush, and maybe anxiety, that home gives you.
You have entered your town. You pass by your high school. Those red bricks give you nostalgia of long school days past, with lockers and gym class and lunch rooms. Thank God we have made it past that. You drive past old soccer fields, swimming pools and baseball diamonds where lessons were learned and passions flourished. It stings your heart a little, just knowing that you can never return to little league.
You drive down your road, the sky just now getting fully dark, and the street lights turn on. It’s the same road you used to ride bikes on with the neighbors or where you were dropped off by the school bus. Or maybe it’s a new road, one that you don’t recognize the way you recognize your childhood cul-de-sac. But still, you’ve driven this road before. This means the end of your drive: you made it.
You pull into the driveway, maybe mom and dad are sitting on the porch or maybe siblings look through windows on the inside. You pull out your suitcase, close your car doors and walk up the walkway. You open the big door. Scents of home-cooked meals or Domino’s Pizza or dog hair hit you, and finally, you are home.
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