It's just that you remember your time with the Hons in such a serene and giddy kind of way that you can't really bother stringing together words about it, because they won't really do it justice. Am I perhaps obsessed with them? Sure, but I imagine anybody would be if they stumbled upon a whole group of people that can effortlessly talk to their soul. I don't even know how they do it. It's not like we're talking about intellectual things. So how do you drive off feeling all inspired and hopeful with a twinge of brokenheartedness? Hmm? Can you answer that?
The lot of us met on Topsail Island. It's pretty nearly a halfway point for both parties and I wondered why we've just figured this out. Maybe the adults knew - felt like a revelation to me. Initially I was going to miss this HonUnion, but then Brett got sent up to Baltimore so I figured it was a good time for me abandon my side of the responsibilities too. I hopped in the car with Mom and Dad and we barreled up the road with our M&Ms. The Hons had already been there a few days working anther tans, so everything was all set up and ready when we arrived. It was particularly fun to meet Evan again. We've only hung out with her one other time when she was still only speaking Scottish (aye) and toddling around in a nerve-racking way. This time she was chatty and opinionated and highly mobile. She has lots to say about lots of things, and I had the adorable experience of sharing the bunk bed room with her. More on that in a bit.
The weekend highlights are as expected: junk food, stowries, and Shanghai (for the adults). We lollygagged in the sun, dipped toes in the water, and mostly sat in beach chairs under "The Cabana" which was a legless tent structure you fill with sand. Mom was enthralled by it and told me so everyday. Oh we talked work stuffs and school stuffs and family stuffs. We laughed at the misfortunes of others (YouTube), wrangled dogs, and marveled over Laurie's granola.
I got the most tickled on an evening we ventured out to a restaurant. Mom, Dad, and I rode over with Papa Don behind the wheel. Who knows what we were muttering about when someone noticed an ant in the car, and then another, and another. "This car had ants!" one of my parents shouted. At the same time I found out that Don has tinnitus and I had lots of questions. "How loud is it? Can you tune it out?" Then Mom noticed some chickens outside.
"Look, chickens!"
"There's another ant," Dad exclaimed.
"Bok bok bbboookk," (Those are Mom's chicken noises.)
"Is it both ears or just one?"
"It's hot back here," Dad said.
"Bbbrrrgookk!"
"How much farther? I don't like riding in the ant mobile."
"No, don't turn the air up, its cold."
"Did it come on slowly or did it just start ringing one day?"
"Maybe the chickens would eat these ants."
"Are we almost there?"
I didn't notice anything too odd about the ride until Don got tickled and gave us a play by play of the last few minutes. That's when we really saw ourselves. The ride back was equally great because we had to stop somewhere to get Dad some ointment for a suspicious rash.
It's the little things.
In the evenings, the adults would play Shanghai while I talked at Will and Katie. They are polite listeners. We discussed all manner of topics ranging from espresso machines to childlessness. Mostly, Katie and I talked about all the ways we have noticed sudden aging. The problem with this is that if any of the adults caught us, they's say something dismissive like, "oh you think that's bad..." and the thing is that yes, we do. Because we new at this. And it is all so surprising. We know it will get worse. Let us ease into it.
Katie and I are both reluctant to pack up our skinny jeans and purchase a one-piece bathing suit.
"I'm just not ready for that," Katie said.
"Yeah, that's stage one," I told her, "...the gateway." Meanwhile Will and I discussed subjects of great depths like man-buns and pants from Lands End. Did we kids touch on topics like ethics, religion, business-owning, and our futures? Sure, but the bits you remember are who prefers which celebrity and at what point someone with too much muscle begins to look unintelligent.
During most of all of this Evan was around, chattering, organizing things, working in her workbooks. She'd eat a little, go play on the beach and then have a nap. The perfect day. In the mornings, her alarm clock would chime at 8:00 and the talking would commence. Each day she got out of bed and talked me though her thoughts about what she'd wear that day. She'd pull out each item of clothing, tell me a bit about it, and then put it in its respective pile. "This is my strawberry dress. Lollie gave it to me."
"This is my paw patrol underwear. I don't think I'll wear this today."
"This is my glitter skirt. My mom got it for me." I'd lay in my bunk bed and watch the piles grow larger one by one. When she set out her last item, she'd turn to me, put her arms out to the side and say, "What should I wear today?"
Sometimes she already had something in mind that she wanted to wear, but she'd still patiently listen to my thoughts, hold up the article in question, and then she'd say something classy and polite to shoot it down. "Well that is nice, but I think it's too hot today for that. I was thinking maybe my word shirt?" One morning, she let me pick out everything from underwear to hair clip. Once she was ready she'd come stand next to my head and say, "What are you going to wear today?"
Will and Katie must have told her not to talk to me until she was sure I was awake because I would look at her when her alarm clock would clock off and say "good morning" and then she'd nod her head, confirming that she was sure I was awake, and then start talking as though there had been no lull in the conversation. "You know what I have back home in my room?"
On our last night together, Evan pieced together one of life's biggest concepts and had a tough time reckoning with it. There she was, swinging on the porch swing while Lollie sung to her and I don't know how it went down but she started asking about death with her giant soft eyes and little face all smushed up and concerned, and what are you supposed to say that little precious bundle? Everyone tried to distract her. Uncommitted answers. Vague confirmation.
"Am I going to die?" she finally asked at the dinner table. Eyes-bugged. Food was pushed around plates.
"Little help here, Dad?" Katie said to Will.
"Well," he said looking down at his plate, "Everyone does at some point." (Not a direct quote - this seems like one of those instances where you want to accurately depict the parent's good efforts and intentions - but I was busy mentally retreating from the conversation.) In any case, Evan had an existential meltdown that came and went throughout dinner and required a handoff of sitting in assorted laps learning what it means to be alive.
"Well, it's kind of like a hand in a glove..."
I don't know how they patched it up and if it carried on into their ride home the next day, but I found myself feeling at peace for Evan. She's got the very best people walking her through life.
And of course then there is that awful last day, where you pack up all your crap, have one last bowl of granola, and then get back on the highway. A depressing day to be sure. We hugged our favorite people goodbye, but not before Lollie reserved another beach house for the same time next year. "Y'all would come back, right?"
Since then, I've been trying to lure Lollie to town with my mango-sized persimmons.
She and Don said they were free for Christmas...
I'll leave you with my new favorite photo - I'm having it blown up and framed.
Gives me a big stupid grin every time.
