Rootstown

Rootstown Township. Outside of Ravenna. Which is outside of Akron. Which is nearish to Cleveland.

Just a spot on the map. A place you need some reference points to understand. Well, I guess that's every place. How can you understand the island without the reference of the water? And then the larger land that's not the water nor the island?

I am this speck, this dot. Rootstown is how I understand family. Long driveways. Wild berries out back. Tire swings. Basements that smell like laundry and rainy days spent playing inside. Towns with one flashing stop light and two stop signs. Chicken sandwiches with Miracle Whip and Classic Coke. Purple bedrooms. Sheets with dogs and ducks. Gun cases. Frogger and slot machines. Haircuts on the back porch. Lightning strikes, bee stings between toes, ants on Popsicles, exploding bottle rockets and if it weren't for bad luck I'd have none at all.

It's the only tire swing I've ever had because it's the only place I've been with giant trees. And grass. And wood plies. And stairs to fall down.

I cried and cried when they sold that house. It was huge and they were getting divorced. I begged them to keep it- begged them like it was the only thing keeping they rest of us together.

I still make my aunt drive me by there when I go back East. Fitch High. Friendlies. Youngstown. Kent. I've got the sun in my hair and all over my cheeks. I've got 'Every Time You Go Away' in my head and the feeling of belonging under my bare feet.