Anywhere With You

“Every summer, like the roses, childhood returns.” –Marty R. 

I’m not a fan of bug guts.

But I’d endured the 104°F New Mexico heat for too long. My sister Raeya and I went to work outside, attempting to empty the inflatable pool.

Simple, right? Empty the pool, wipe away the rest of the bug guts and stray leaves, refill the pool with clear, icy water and voila! instant relief from the desert heat.

For what probably was half an hour (but felt like more) Raeya and I stood on the edges of the pool, forcing the water to drain out. I’m 100% sure there was an easier way to do this, but we couldn’t overturn the pool on our own.

Finally, I raced barefoot across the spongy green grass, then uncoiled the hose and dragged it over to the (mercifully) empty pool.

My best memories have been under the sun, with my sisters. We grew up in the gray desert of Lima, Peru. We spent our summers in my Grandma’s outdoor pool. Swimming isn’t my thing. But being in or near the water is. When I swim, I do it mermaid style. I dive to the bottom of the pool, then push my way forward, eyes open under the water.

After staying long enough in the water for our fingers to wrinkle, my cousins, sisters, and I would lay out our Disney-print towels on the hot concrete, then sprawl there next to each other. The sunlight dried the water droplets that clung to our hair and skin.

Sprawling in the inflatable pool with Raeya reminded me of those long summer days, when my only concern was which book to read next.

Last night, after our time in the pool, I was writing in the living room when I heard my Dad shout, “Come look at this New Mexico sunset!” I leaned over to look out the window, and could see the streaks of gray and blue fading into the horizon. Outside, the rest of my family stood together, staring as daylight faded from the sky.

When I was 6, my family  lived in Costa Rica for a year. I remember little things, like the mango tree in our backyard, the giant ants carrying leaves across the sidewalk, and the constant rattle of raindrops against my window.

But mostly, I remember the sunsets.

Every night, when the sun slipped out of the sky, my Dad would yell “Sunset time!” and we four girls would drop our toys, and race outside to join him and my mom.

We’d stand, side by side, staring as vibrant colors streaked across the horizon. Every sunset (whether in Peru, Costa Rica, or New Mexico) is an iridescent goodbye to another day spent.

I woke up this morning and heard my Dad say, “Come look at the hot air balloons!” I pulled myself out of bed, tugged a blanket around my shoulders, and followed him to the backyard.

A red hot air balloon floated across the early Sunday morning sky.

One day, I’m going to be up there, with the sun above me and the wind racing around me as I look down on a still sleeping world.

But for now, I’m laying in the sun, with my sisters beside me. I’m writing late at night, my fingers typing as fast as my thoughts are coming. I’m playing card games with my family.

My heart is at home when I’m with them.

The funny thing (weird really) is that as I finished typing this post, a song came over my headphones called Anywhere With You Is Home by Kurt Hugo Schneider. I’d heard it before, but how fitting:

“Oh, and I’ll go wherever the wind blows

Just as long as you are by my side

And I’ll be wherever this road leads

Just as long as you are here tonight

  Anywhere with you is home” 

—K.H.S.

It’s true that anywhere with you is home. . .  

      because my heart is at home when I’m with you.