Winter.

I drove from Charlotte, North Carolina to Roanoke, Virginia on Wednesday night, and as the winter rain came down onto the road and onto my windshield, fogging up the glass and making me shiver in my coat and turn up the heat, I thought about the summer of 2012.

--

Rob had just finished his coursework at UVA and I was almost done with my master's thesis from Hollins, and we packed up our apartment in Charlottesville and went to the lake for the weekend. Then, with nothing really to do, we went down to Charlotte for a few days to visit his parents before making the trek back up, past Roanoke, this time to DC. It was the end of May and it was hot and muggy and the summer rain came down onto the road and onto my windshield, fogging up the glass.

Summer.

Rob went to China that summer and I moved back into my parents' house, hell-bent on finishing my thesis. I remember that airport goodbye so well--Rob's bags, the skirt I was wearing, the flip flops on my feet and the feeling of uncertainty that crept through me as we kissed goodbye. This is it, I thought, the end of our planning so far. I didn't have a job yet and I wasn't even done with my graduate program, but when he came back from China, he'd be done and he'd be with me at the lake until he left and after that point, we'd be apart.

I can't remember the moment I first really knew that Rob and I were always going to be together--it's just something that sort of settled in naturally, creating a pocket of belonging and joy in my life that I never questioned.

So he went to China and I got a job in Roanoke and he came back and then he left for Northern Virginia, and it wasn't ever an issue. After years of being near and living together, being apart and living away was just the new thing that we did so that we didn't have to say goodbye.

--

As I drove north from Charlotte this week and the rain came down, the Cloudy Day Nostalgia that hit me felt different than I had expected it to. It was new. As though that road ahead of me was winding with possibility after possibility and one good thing after another.

A few weekends ago I drove to Farmville, where I studied English as an undergraduate student, and I was hit with so much nostalgia along the way. That drive down 460 East is one that made me who I am today--the curves and stop lights and long straightaways lead to a place where I read hundreds of pages a week, made some of the best friends, finally understood what kind of person I wanted to be, and eventually met Rob at a Halloween party six miles down the road.

Every time I visit, I drive that road and think about fall and winters past, about the semester I read Clarissa, about the amazing friendships I made, about  broken hearts that healed and made me thankful,  about that one overlapping year where Sean and I were at school together; our standing lunch dates where we would eat soup and grilled turkey sandwiches dipped in honey mustard, his visits to my place from his dorm room to do laundry and homework with me, and that overwhelming reminder of the gift that your brother is one of your best friends.

There are so many roads that make me think--the road from Roanoke to Charlottesville and back, the road I drive every morning from my parents' house to downtown Roanoke where I went to high school and now work, the drive from downtown to Hollins where I went to graduate school. All of these roads that signify seasons of my life that have passed, but that I still hold onto with some of the best memories.

When I drive to Northern Virginia to visit Rob, or when we meet somewhere in the middle, I like to picture a day when we wake up every Saturday morning, cozy and settled together in our own permanent home, looking back on those days that we used to travel so much to be together.

Life sometimes puts a lot of miles between where one is and where they'll end up.

I'm getting there.

[Columns in Richmond, November 2011.]

People will be going back to school soon.

On Monday, one of my college roommates posted a couple of things to my Facebook wall, and they made me laugh until tears ran down my face. It reminded me that my old friends are only one of those far away things in my life that makes me miss undergrad so dearly.

Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I think a lot of it has to do with college. The packing and moving and starting over as the leaves begin to change--it does something to me. There's magic in the new notebooks and the old books on the shelf at Barnes & Noble, with treasures of underlining and notes just waiting to be discovered. When Rob and I first started dating, I was taking a Victorian class and we used to sit down together with my used copy of an extraordinarily large Norton Anthology of English Literature and read what the people who owned it before me had written in the margins.

I try every time, but I can never quite put my finger on it.

And so, for the third time on this blog, I quote:

"If only one could come back to this quiet place, where only intellectual achievement counted; if one could work here steadily and obscurely at some close-knit piece of reasoning, undistracted and uncorrupted...then, one might be able to forget the wreck and chaos of the past, or see it, at any rate, in a truer proportion. Because, in a sense, it was not important. The fact that one had loved and sinned and suffered and escaped death was of far less ultimate moment than a single footnote in a dim academic journal establishing the priority of a manuscript or restoring a lost iota subscript. It was the hand-to-hand struggle with the insistent personalities of other people, all pushing for a place in the limelight, that made the accidents of one's own personal adventure bulk so large in the scheme of things." --Dorothy Sayers, Gaudy Night