Under a remarkably brilliant blue sky, I drove from Raleigh
to Pinehurst, in an off-white Fiat that I had just rented from a young and
uncomfortably happy Enterprise employee.
I was on my way to visit my parents who were enjoying an early spring at
their condo in North Carolina. I
felt slightly nervous and a little sad as I was about to spend three days with
them at a very conservative golf resort for the first time openly as a
transgender woman, and teary-eyed, as I recalled one of my first visits to the
Tar Heel State in 1992, with my then girl friend, future partner, and now
ex.
While I was apprehensive about the visit, I desperately needed some of my mom’s nurturing optimism and my dad’s predictability. It hadn’t occurred to me when planning this trip that what I really needed was to get away. Not just get away from my job and commitments, but also to get away from the sadness I was feeling. My ex partner and I had separated nearly four years ago, and were divorced in two years later after being married for seventeen, yet we continued to live together until last month. So after twenty-two years, we were no longer roommates.
While I was apprehensive about the visit, I desperately needed some of my mom’s nurturing optimism and my dad’s predictability. It hadn’t occurred to me when planning this trip that what I really needed was to get away. Not just get away from my job and commitments, but also to get away from the sadness I was feeling. My ex partner and I had separated nearly four years ago, and were divorced in two years later after being married for seventeen, yet we continued to live together until last month. So after twenty-two years, we were no longer roommates.
