sky harbor

i took my eyes off the road ahead of me and looked towards the illuminated lights of the clock on the dashboard of my brother's car.

18 minutes left in the drive

we were driving my sister to the airport after spending a brief seventy two hours together in arizona to celebrate my sibling's birthdays, their birthdays falling on consecutive days (but two days apart) in early august.

my sister and i had flown in on brutal red-eye flights, me coming from california and my sister coming from chicago, to meet my brother in the middle. even in the joy and comfort of the 4,320 minutes we were able to spend together, a small part of me was dreading the moment we would say goodbye, the second we said our hello's.

my brother broke the silence in the car, interrupting the steady white noise of the tires rolling on the concrete.

14 minutes left in the drive

"so where do you guys think you want to live in the future?"

my sister took a moment to think before responding.

"i don't know, i haven't put much thought into it. it'd be cool if we all lived in california again. but i don't really know if it's the most financially responsible choice"

"yeah i agree. but anyway that's a long time from now. why are you thinking about that now?"

"oh, i don't know. like yeah, i know it's in the future but i want to start thinking about it now. you guys are my best friends."

even in the silence that followed, i sensed the shift in the car.

in the dark, i couldn't see, but i could feel my sister's tears, mirrored in my own eyes.

in the quiet, i could feel the weight of the words best friends as they hung in the air.

8 minutes left in the drive

i remember when my brother moved home during quarantine in 2020. the house was so full -- me, my siblings and their significant others, my parents, and our new puppy. i was glad for the comfort and company in those lonely and uncertain months, but i was also dying to return to the freedom and independence of my spacious apartment. as the bathroom counter became more and more cluttered with each toothbrush and toiletry bag, i wondered why he would have chosen to come home in the first place.

so one day, i asked.

"i don't know if when i'll get the opportunity to live with everyone ever again"

4 years has passed since that phase of our lives, and my family is now scattered all over -- california, chicago, arizona, and japan. i am so grateful for that time and that opportunity, and aware of how i took that precious time for granted.

5 minutes left in the drive

i know that we're distinct individuals, living alone in our independence and weaving our own threads : stitching ourselves into our own networks and communities. my families' ability to root and adapt never fails to make me proud, or fill me with love and admiration.

3 minutes left in the drive

but i'm scared that the further apart we stretch, the threads i once believed were indestructible will slowly tear at the seams.

2 minutes left in the drive

i feel like i'm running out of time, i want more minutes

1 minute left in the drive

i don't want to run out. i need more minutes

30 seconds left in the drive

the reality is, i know the fabric of our lives will forever overlap, capable of enduring the wear of time and distance.

10 seconds left in the drive

...and if we can't release the tension on the threads, we'll all just have to get really good at sewing.