I Have Issues

My son is home.

And I am over that moon that people talk about. Because now I can call him and he will come galloping down the stairs and I can hug him and smell his hair for just that tiny moment before he pushes me off and asks me what's for dinner.

For some ungodly reason, some temporary lapse of common sense, some lie I told myself that I wanted to let him grow up, I allowed him to pack a bag and get on a big plane that took him 13,000 miles away from the reach of my hands.

I mean, what was I thinking? He even flew over the GD North Pole to get there. To China. On a foreign exchange trip. So ...unreachable.

I was a basket case the whole time that he was gone. I sort of wandered through the days, trying to trick myself into believing that I wasn't feeling the oppression of his absence.

The sane side of me, the one that lies, patted me on the shoulder and said, What a life changing experience this will be! The less sane, protective, never wanting to let go, yeah, I'll have to work on that side of me, felt all of her edges dissolving. It felt like I was under the sea, for two weeks, fake smiling at everyone, as I held my breath and trudged along on the sandy bottom floor, peering back at everyone through the murky water. Terrified that something bad might happen. In which case, I would just stay under.

But he is back.

At the airport, I remember I finally breathed a full breath. Way in and way out. My husband was trying to appear cool and calm, like he just couldn't wait to grab his son, pull him close, and never let him go, anywhere, ever again. Yeah. We have issues. But that's a story for another time.

He climbed the stairs to the observation deck and sauntered over to me, where I stood with my palms splayed on the huge glass window, peering into the endlessly black sky. He had just come from the cool blue digitized Arrivals/ Departures screen.

"He's on time. The plane should be landing in about two minutes."

I felt my fists clenching and my knees knocking. And then we watched two tiny lights, far off to the east, get bigger and bigger, as the massive plane screamed through the air toward us, and then landed with a surprising delicacy. I wanted to kiss that pilot for getting him back home to me.

I started to cry and breathe, and we hugged. Tighter than we have for a long time.

And then we raced down the stairs to the gate.

I had made a big sign saying, Welcome Home From China, in huge royal red letters. I had even gone online and figured out how to write, Friendship, in Chinese. I had scribed the odd Chinese characters, on the poster, in wide strokes of black, with an unsteady hand. My Chinese calligraphy must have been accurate enough, as an elderly Chinese man at the airport squinted, to read my sign, and then smiled and bowed, with a quick up and down movement of his head.

My husband swore that he wouldn't be seen next to me, holding and waving that silly sign. As the tired but giggling students arrived in clumps at the top of the escalator, and descended too slowly towards all of us parents, I had to tiptoe to hold up my end of the sign, as he madly boinked it up and down, his excitement apparently negating his wish to appear circumspect.

I tried to suppress it, but I couldn't. I ran the last ten yards between us, as my son approached me with a weary smile, his hair falling in his eyes. He looked older. And when I hugged him so hard thinking I just might never let go, I noticed he smelled different, too.

Spicy, maybe. Like someplace so far away.

In the car on the way home, his voice was hoarse, as he struggled to name his joy, to find mere words to tell us about all that he had seen. The Temple of Heaven. The Great Wall. The Terra Cotta Warriors.  Tiananmen Square. The Summer Palace. The people of China.

He said that his host family, and the people that he had encountered all over China, were so gracious and friendly. And quiet. And respectful.

"And somehow," he said, "the people seem sort of melancholy. But not in a bad way." He tried to explain the sense that he had gotten of those raven haired people, living in that crowded, dirty, green, ancient, misted, magical land.               .

I could feel it, there in the darkness, as we drove home. That spicy smelling country had captured a piece of his heart.

"I want to go back, someday. I will go back. It was so beautiful. Sublime, really. I can't think of a better word."

I felt my breath catch.

"But I am so glad to be home," he continued. "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed."

I breathed. As we unpacked the car and lugged all of the suitcases and gear back into the house, he immediately went to the bathroom. "And I can't wait to use my OWN toilet!" Why do we all feel that way when we return from a trip?

I laughed. And as I stood outside the bathroom door, I called in to him.

"Doll? You might want to go ahead and take a shower, while you're in there. Towels are in the cabinet, like always. Might help you to relax after that long flight."

"Oh...okay. Maybe you're right," he said. I could hear the spritz and sizzle of the shower being turned on and the clink of the shower rings as he pulled the curtain open, then closed.

I felt guilty for suggesting the shower. I just wanted to wash away that smell. That spicy, exotic smell. At least for awhile.

Yeah, I know. I have issues.