13 YEARS

It’s four in the morning as I sit down on the steps behind COSI, looking across the Scioto River at the Ohio Department building. On nights like this, when I just can’t seem to go to sleep, I take walks to pass the time; down Broad Street from my house on Parsons. Usually I only go as far as Third Street before I head back, but tonight I’ve got a lot on my mind.
I’ve been here in Columbus for almost 13 years, and have lived through a lot in that time: grade school, high school, college, jobs, girlfriends. My sisters have grown up and moved away, and my parents have taken jobs out west. Friends from high school have already gone, while college friends will be leaving soon. I didn’t think there was much left for me in Columbus, so I gladly accepted the invitation to move to Chicago with the rest of the staff. But as the day draws ever nearer, I’m beginning to realize what the past 13 years here have meant. Love them or hate them, I’ll always be thankful for the experiences I’ve had here that have shaped me into the man I’ve come to be.
I’ve made plenty of friends whom I’ll remember fondly in the years to come. Some have inspired some great ideas without even knowing it. Thank you, Eric, for Dupie Man. Some have been there as I made up my mind about substance abuse. Thank you, Matt, for bringing me down from a bad trip. Some have come to me for guidance when they were unsure of what to do. Thank you, Krista, for thinking that my opinions matter. And some have helped me when I couldn’t find my way. Thank you, Derrick, for believing what you do.
I’ve learned a few things about women and relationships. Thank you, Catherine, for that first kiss, and for the honesty to admit that things weren’t working out. Thank you, Tiffany, for looking so damn good on those trips to Wyandot Lake. Thank you, Amanda, for showing me the difference between loving someone and saying you do. And thank you, Tina, for the comforting words, and understanding when no one else did.
I’ve dealt with insecure assholes who need to hurt other people to feel better about themselves. Thank you, Jason, for thickening my skin. I’ve survived low paying jobs and financial instability. Thank you, Classic Pizza, for making minimum wage worth it. I’ve teetered on the brink of academic failure. Thank you, Mr. Felton, for giving me more second chances than I deserved.
I’ll miss the city, too. I’ve only got a few weeks left to enjoy midnight trips to Hounddog’s, or weekend afternoons at Alum Creek. I’ve spent my final autumn crunching through leaves at Franklin Park, my last winter sledding behind Hoover Dam; but every city has places like that. I’m sure I’ll find new locales to frequent. It’s the memories tied to this city that I’m reluctant to leave behind. I won’t be able to drive through the old neighborhood and see the frisbee sailing across the street like it was yesterday. I won’t be able to visit the ruins of my fourth grade tree fort in the woods behind my elementary school. I won’t be able to look up at my dorm room window and remember my first time. But those are the parts of Columbus I’ll be bringing with me.
I head back to Broad Street, crossing the bridge toward my house, knowing that this will be one of my last 4 AM visits to the Scioto River. There’s so much of the past 13 years that I don’t want to let go, but I still find myself wondering what the next 13 will bring. So, while I still have the chance, I’d like to say to Carl and Karen; good for you. To Abby and Kayte; thanks for missing me when I finally am gone, and know that the feeling is mutual. And to the staff; thanks for the invitation to Chicago. I’ll see you there.