It is hot outside, another early August day, late-teacher-summer day, where my mind wages battle between getting ready for the school year (or at least getting other things done so I don't have to do those things during the school year), and just taking it easy, enjoying the last few days off, getting wrapped up in a book or in a video game or a board game or just chatting away on my language app. In other words, things I can get done from the couch.
If you know me at all, you know which side wins more often....
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Anyway, it's fucking hot outside, not crazy hot, but enough for a heat advisory, what with the smoke coming down from Canada and all. And I was up early this morning. So I couch up, full on, blanket, glass of water. I open my computer--would it kill me to at least check my school email? Work on a syllabus? Check class lists?
I turn on the TV, and it opens to Netflix, Niko's profile. Seinfeld, Season 8, Episode 4, "The Package".
Niko's 900 miles away.
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We dropped him off at the airport this morning. He disappeared past security around 6:00 A.M., heading back into his other world, behind the hedges of Seton Hall University, RA training, phsyics classes, honor programs, and philosophy club, weekends in Manhattan. He's going to a literal Broadway show tomorrow night. The Outsiders.
He enjoyed his summer but he's ready to go back, and that's good. Last year he only came back at Christmas and I suspect it will be the same this year. We told him he's welcome back for a 4-day weekend, we'll pay the airfare, but he's happy out there. And believe me, I'll take that a thousand times over a homesick kid, not sure how to navigate a new world (I was that kid 29 years ago--I loved the University of Iowa, but couldn't always reconcile my Sheldon self with my Iowa City self (although I dare postulate, that there is more cultural distance between Sheldon and Iowa City than Iowa City and Orange, New Jersey)).
Of course we hugged this morning but neither of us cried. I think our eyes moistened a bit last year but we didn't cry then either, although the hug was stronger and longer. Two, three days ago, I was battling a bit more emotionally, not just with Niko, but other stuff, too, and I thought I might bust out bawling this morning. But alas, it was not to be: I don't hold tears back, but I don't force them either, and after we hugged the boy (man?) entered security and his other world, his New world, the one Without Us.
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And here in Iowa City his Netflix screen continues to flicker in the periphery. Me and him and Sonia watched a couple of episodes with him last night, we knew he was leaving, and what else can you really do once the suitcases are all packed and all you have to do is drive to the airport? His mom just got home and wants to call him, but right now I'm content just writing this piece. Content, not the right world. I was driven to write this. It even erased once, halfway through, and yet the words poured out onto the screen as they haven't in a long time. Good sign.
And it's 4:10 in the afternoon, 5:10 in New Jersey, and I'm SO glad he's found a place where he's thriving, and it's still hot outside, and I'm still the same person and so is he, but he's also freaking going to a literal Broadway show tomorrow night, no big deal, just something you do on the weekend when you live in Orange, New Jersey, and I can access his Netflix profile whenever I want, right now as a matter of fact, but every now and then, maybe a couple of days ago I felt this, with him enjoying this Other World so much, is it only a matter of time until Dad is just another Outsider in his World?
