Leaving

I got on the bus with the other people I barely knew, but was about to get to know very well, and just looked back briefly at my parents once as the bus pulled out. I turned and stared forward and imagined how they saw me just then. Their son looking forward, having already moved on, forgotten them; not even waving goodbye. In my defense I had prepared for that moment the whole summer. I was finally on my own and I’d never been more scared and alive. It was thrilling, all the possibility that lay before me. I guess I’m just bad at goodbyes. There’s just something about them that makes me uncomfortable, especially when I know it really means “See you later.” For my parents it was four months later. So why fuss over a “see you later”?

I just missed the chance to say an actual “Goodbye.”

I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that a friend was leaving. Doing so would only lead to me thinking about my own departure. And it did just that. The idea of leaving always makes me feel odd, I always imagine the tears shed and the long goodbyes but from all my travels that’s never the way it works out. I just had my first thought of leaving and returning to America and I felt as if my chest was being stretched out. It wasn’t my heart, it was slightly below there. I felt chained here, but was being dragged home. I have become too attached to China to want to go back. I tried to think of the people that would greet me at the airport and how happy they’d be to see me, but that thought was overshadowed by the fact that I will have to say goodbye and leave the people here that I’m beginning to care about. I look back at all the times we’ve had and how many more we’re going to have and how leaving renders the whole experience negatively, in shades of black and grey. And then I think a bit more and I realize leaving makes each experience sweeter, full of color, because we only have so little time together. And had I known how little time there was, I would’ve treasured the moments more. It doesn’t really seem like it’s been almost 3 months here in Beijing, but it has. I still feel like I just got off the plane. My views have changed slightly, my proficiency in Chinese has skyrocketed and I’ve had many once in a lifetime experiences. If the rest of the year keeps going along at this pace I’ll be home before I realize it’s been nine months.

I came to school that morning and the sky was dark grey, there were clouds hanging unnaturally everywhere, the trees leaves had all disappeared over night, and there was smoke rising from the top of the school. I walked into school that morning and said to Chris, “Something bad is going to happen today.” Unfortunately I was right. Before then I didn’t acknowledge that she was leaving. I thought we could keep being friends for the remaining time she had left in the city, but she just up and left unexpectedly. Chris, Gavin and I got a text from Bridget. “I’ll miss you.” That was our goodbye. A text as the plane was taking off for America. Clichéd, right? Where’s the originality? If only life were actually like a movie, we’d have the long goodbyes, or a sequel where she comes back to China and realizes this is where her heart is, or maybe a montage with She Doesn’t Get It or possibly the Benny Hill music playing in the background. Instead I’m left with the image of her running into the fishbowl, grabbing her bag and dashing out the door, hair flitting the goodbye she forgot to give. Four hours later she was gone. This wasn’t a “see you later.” It was goodbye. There’s a void here in my friends now that I don’t quite look forward to filling, but if she’s happier home, then who am I to complain. I feel at home here. Which will make it all the harder leaving this place.

And I never did acknowledge the fact that she was leaving. I wish I wasn’t so bad at saying goodbyes. Since I didn’t have the guts to say it directly to Bridget, I guess this will have to do.

Goodbye.