By Angelica Recierdo, News Staff
There’s a sandwich characteristic to New Jersey called the pork roll egg and cheese and that is what I ate on the last day. On the last day, I let my rumbling stomach lead me on a short walk from my house through a bike trail and skate park to Wilson’s Deli, where $1.99 bought me the last time I would taste this divine creation. The sentiment made it more savory than any of the previous sandwiches. The toasted roll crunched with finality in my mouth and warm cheese blanketed my tongue. I ate it with friends who were also leaving, because eating it with friends who were staying would be a completely different feeling. For them and the hair stylists, construction workers and PTA parents of Middletown, it was simply routine.
A planned departure makes you re-visit your favorite places with new eyes. You drive a little slower on the winding bridge to the beaches, lowering your window to let your arm flap in the breeze like a flag against a pole. There’s a pride that settles in your core that makes you dust off your New Jersey license plate before the drive to Massachusetts. You find yourself at an empty beach sitting on a bed of rocks with water lapping at your toes. The waves stir old memories so that they reach out to embrace you from your sand throne. Your pockets fill up quickly with seashells and glass weighing as an anchor to your hometown. In the shower later, salt and sand leave little mountain trails in the bathtub, leading down the drain perhaps to meet you in Boston.
The hardest part that I didn’t think would be the hardest part was saying goodbye to my siblings. My sister and I fell asleep together on the couch that last night in a position where we would let the other’s feet touch our faces. It was our way of affirming a bond. I laugh when looking back at the fights we had over which clothes I was allowed to bring. But that meant nothing compared to her giving up her favorite blouse for me. My brother and sister waved farewell to me from the porch both acting like something got in their eye. There’s always this unspoken pride that you don’t want to lose and dissolve into a puddle when saying goodbye. You want them to see you leaving strong and not scared and 18. So you smile like it’s picture day so that when they’re scared and 18 they don’t back out of their plans. Write on their graduation cards that there’s a whole world outside of Middletown. Write that from now on, Middletown is reserved for winter break.
A lump resided in my throat through all of the different interstate highways. It grew at 84, 87, 90 and then 93 . I wrote down a list of old versus new to acquaint myself with the area. It wasn’t the New Jersey Turnpike anymore, it was the Massachusetts Turnpike. It wasn’t the Hudson River, it was the Charles. The “Cape” was Cod now and not May. It was a replacement of nostalgia for cartography. Back at the beginning it all seemed larger than life, hesitant and lost at a turnstile in a T station. Now the different colored lines intertwine in you like arterial pathways from the heart. Exit 117 was your compass and now it’s the Prudential Center.
I’m fascinated by what sparks memories of home for others. It could be something as cultural as being able to detect a Welsh accent, bonding over the New York Knicks or wearing a sari. It could also be something personal such as the smell of your mother’s perfume or the park where you had your first kiss. And I’m adamant that “home” is overlooked until we leave. We pack it, subconsciously, until one day it’s strewn in front of our eyes in the most mundane ways like in the manifestation of a sandwich.
-Angelica Recierdo can be reached at [email protected].
