This emotion is a month overdue
This is what we have in common: a restaurant in a Ukranian suburb west of Chicago, where everything looks like a movie script about guys who look like Wayne Knight and Viggo Mortensen speaking about “the family business” in hushed tones.
“Has it hit you yet?” one of my cohorts ask.
Has what hit me?
“Baby, you are leaving a country where you spent the past four years growing up! You’ve changed, your people changed! Don’t you feel something?”
What am I supposed to feel?
“Sadness about leaving, maybe, excitement for what’s ahead.”
Um. I don’t have time to feel because I am too busy thinking about getting to O’Hare in time, and I am too busy thinking about how overly salty my cod is. How everything is overly salty in America.
She sighs. “Maybe it’ll hit you on the plane.”
On the plane I drink two beers and a screwdriver.
