she's home

She's home, sporting wild and woolly auburn dreadlocks atop her skinny brown bod; dragging an enormous ancient faded-red dufflebag with no wheels because her skateboard fits inside; getting a $92 ticket for wearing no seat belt only seconds after hopping in my car curbside at the crowded airport; unpacking her ancient green and white baby blanket smelling of dog pee and a hundred stale spills; telling tales of her horrific ear infection and flu at finals time; smoking the occasional cigarette, yet willing to talk why and how she's almost-quit..."but don't get your hopes up"; pouring out stories, unprompted, about The Boyfriend from Santa Cruz who is no longer a secret; honestly communicating about her multiple monetary mistakes, and even starting to strategize for next year with us-- as if we were in this together; ranting about college system's imperfections and her own less than stellar results, yet remarkably she has transformed into a college student; leaving her room a wreck, but actually sometimes remembering to clean up her dishes; calling with no lead time for rides home on a weeknight, yet offering to help with chores in exchange; assisting when asked without putting it off endlessly, as she says "I still procrastinate, but the quality of my procrastination has improved"; seeing nothing wrong with buying a youth bus at 18 to save money; forgetting a dental appointment and incurring a $50 fine (out of her first paycheck) but getting back on the horse and re-scheduling it for tomorrow (please god, help her remember this time); fixing my malfunctioning clock; skateboarding for transportation with no helmet; making it to her Art Academy teaching assistant summer job orientation; feeling guilty about all the money we're spending on her one moment and cheerfully talking me into buying her a new bathing suit the next. Still a kid, still hard head, yet we are clearly on the trans-siberian bi-polar maturation train. Oh, no! Oh yes! She's home!