As I enjoy the drive to the airport- windows down, dark hair flying in the autumn breeze, classical music blasting- it occurs to me that I am probably weird.
No, not probably. Undoubtedly.
I stop humming along to Beethoven's 5th for a split second, then shrug it off just as fast and go back to seizing the moment.
I am weird. So what? Everyone is weird.
My mom turns down the music as we pull into a parking spot. "Okay. I guess it's time for you to go."
I hop out of the car, grab my bags, and smile at her. "Yeah."
"Well... ANY time you just want to come home-"
"-I'll call you. Okay? I'll be fine." I know she's been nervous about this trip of mine, and for good reason. But I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I want.
She smiles slowly. "I know, Izzy, but-"
"Mom, don't worry. I'll be staying with Grandpa Owen, after all."
"That's what I'm worried about," she mutters, and I laugh.
"I'll send you a TON of pictures."
"You'd better." She gives me a quick hug. "Now go on, before you miss your flight!"
I nod, then run for the airport. It's finally happening. All my life, I've lived in a desert town, and I know that I need something new. New landscapes, new people, new material for my photos...
Well, maybe it's a bit ambitious. I only just graduated high school, and now I'm traveling to the other side of the country to pursue my dreams.
That is how a lot of stories start though, and they usually end well. I smile to myself, snap a quick picture of the bright building in front of me, then head for my new life.