Durham, NC

I might have been born & raised in Chicago, but in spite of this, I am a Southern girl. I swear.

I've tried the Midwest, the West Coast, the Northeast, and good ol' Florida (which I love, don't get me wrong!). What I've discovered is that none of those places holds my heart. The South has a subtle charm that I haven't been able to find anwhere else in the US.

North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee and Mississippi amaze me. I get excited just thinking about those beautiful states.

So here's a snippet from one of my favorite places. Writing this made me want to go back. One of these days, I will.

Love, Lisa




Hannah has golden curls. She looks like a fairytale princess. A modern-day Shirley Temple.

I remember when Mary was fresh out of college and unmarried. Jacksonville was blazing hot that year; the city broke every record. I was thrilled to be in Florida, so I didn’t mind. In fact, I wanted it to be as hot as possible. I would’ve been happy with temperatures in the 120s.

I slept over at Mary’s house once that year. It was an old-fashioned home with high ceilings and wood floors. We made salads, took a walk in a nearby park, and talked until both of us fell asleep. It’s a magical memory, the kind that burns brightly in your heart as well as your mind. I wouldn’t trade that year in Jacksonville for anything.

But that was then. This is now. I still haven’t figured out a way to stop time. I wake up a little older each day. A little more weary, too.

Mary scurries through the living room with a pair of polka-dotted pajamas in hand. Her daughter giggles and hides behind furniture. Hannah’s small enough to become invisible if she crouches behind the couch. She can curl up into a tiny ball. She’s a mini contortionist.

I watch this from the kitchen table. Against my will, sorrow fills my tired bones. Funny how the girl who ran so far away from her family now wants one of her own. At nineteen, I was happy to be a carefree wanderer. At twenty-six, I crave the stability of a husband and a designated home. I want the exact thing that’s always terrified me.

Too late, a corner of my brain whispers. You passed up that chance.

It’s true. My life is a series of long-distance flights. I never stay in one city for more than a day or two. I’m always on the go. I soar from Boston to Denver to Jacksonville. Or, in this case, Durham. North Carolina might not be the most exotic state that the airline flies to, but it’s certainly my favorite.

“Hannah, it’s time for bed,” Mary announces as she peeks behind the armchair.

Of course, Hannah is well aware of this. Why else would she be hiding? I can remember pulling similar stunts at her age. I’d camp out in the coat closet, hoping my mother would eventually forget about me. She never did, though. She would chase me down. I went to bed, but I hardly ever fell asleep. Even as a child, I had problems sleeping. I wrestled with too many ideas. My brain refused to shut off at night.

So little has changed…then again, everything’s different. I am half the person I was then. The other half of me is a mystery, a stream of evolving thoughts. I’m simple and complex at the same time. I’m a mess.

“Lisa, I’m sorry this is taking forever,” Mary apologizes. She offers me an apologetic smile. Her light eyes shine from halfway across the room. I can see Hannah in Mary’s eyes; that’s the one feature they have in common. Hannah’s hair is blonder and her skin has freckles. Her eyes, however, are exact replicas of Mary’s. They’re the same brilliant shade of blue.

“Mary, I can take care of bedtime if you and Lisa want to start your movie,” Brian offers. Mary hands him the pajamas and picks up the DVD. It’s the new Nicholas Sparks movie, Dear John.

I chose this movie because I’m fascinated by Nicholas Sparks. His books always start off cheesy, and they all have the same predictable ending. Yet he soars to the top of the bestseller list every time. What’s his secret? I can’t even get a contract from little no-name publishing houses in Jersey, and Nicholas Sparks’ books are flying off the shelves. I’ll never understand it.

Mary pops in the DVD. I make my way to the couch, plopping down next to her. It’s the perfect temperature in the house. No air-conditioning or fans needed. That’s the beauty of Durham in late August, I suppose. It’s much more pleasant than Atlanta.

We skip the previews, because there is no use getting excited about films we’ll never have time to see. For different reasons, Mary and I are far too busy to watch movies. Tonight is a rare exception. I don’t get to visit this corner of North Carolina very often. This is a treat for me.

The movie begins. Mary and I roll our eyes when John makes some lame comment about the clouds. Savannah holds her thumb up to the sky, blotting out the moon. It’s a terrible attempt to be romantic. You’re back to your old tricks, Nicky, I silently tell the best-selling author.

I sink into the couch cushions. Mary’s house is so comfortable. It’s simple and welcoming and…homey. My life is lived in hotel rooms. It’s been a while since I experienced anything this cozy.

The movie gets better after about an hour. I find myself empathizing with John. He’s so far from home. The only person he ever loved broke his heart; she unexpectedly decided that she couldn’t be with him. From thousands of miles away, he was powerless to change her mind.

I can relate to that. Trinidad, January of 2007. That was my exact situation, minus the bombs going off in the background.

Don’t get disheartened, I warn the fictional character on Mary’s television screen. Don’t let this steal your hope. Things will get better, right? They have to. It’s the same thing I tell myself daily. I figure if I say the words often enough, I might actually start to believe them.

Tears form in Mary’s eyes during the last scene of the movie. This isn’t a huge surprise. Mary has a massive heart that bleeds for those around her. She’s always been the nurturing type. Way back in Jacksonville, she took care of me. That year would have been tough without her support.

The memories make my chest ache. I feel tears well up in my eyes, but not because of the DVD.

I can’t go back to Jax, can’t rewind to 2003. Unlike the movie I’m watching, the scenes of my life can’t be replayed. For years, I let that fact gnaw at my soul. I gripped the past tightly, as though that could make it last longer. But yesterday is as elusive as the North Carolina sunshine that adorned my shoulders this morning. I can’t capture it in a jar, can’t bottle it up and carry it with me.

I’ll have to accept the present. Embrace it, perhaps. With a cough and then a half-smile, I turn back to Mary. The “here and now” isn’t really such a bad place to be.