It is my first night on the Cape.  Past midnight, but I was not tired.  Even the bite of caffeine from the large iced latte had dwindled down to the last twitch of my finger.  As I drove on past River Street and onto Pleasant, I turned down Michael Franti to listen instead to the river.  I reached across to roll down the passenger window of my ’97 Toyota to allow for maximum breathability.  I wanted to smell that untainted scent.  The cleanliness reopened a dusty memory box hidden behind my responsibilities.  The moon was high and the wind had blown away all clouds.  I couldn’t even finish my one hundred foot drive to my front yard.  With a squeak in the brakes I pulled the car over.  I put my hands behind my head, arched my sore back and took one deep breath. 

I have been looking for freedom.  I have been craving that seventies freedom.  I want the kind which my Father speaks of; about surviving off of 10 dollars a week, Living in a hollowed out redwood tree, and being yourself and not society.  These things intrigue me.    It is not a free world anymore.  We cannot move to California find a pair of palm trees and thread our hammock.  We have rules.  It is almost as if I need a splash of water across my face or a little knock on the head to realize these activities are no longer first aide approved.  I wish I could leave home, live on the road, and trust people.  I wish I could meet someone and believe that their offers were wholesome and without manipulation.  I live for the day when we can once again trust everyone with long hair. 

We usually complain more than we give thanks, as if in a lopsided prayer.  Driving in my car that night, I grumbled.  I was back to a place where I did not fit in; a summer of cocktail parties, Vineyard Vines, golf and rich kids.  Yeah maybe I come home with a glowing tan and sun kissed hair, but making friends on Cape Cod is harder than one may imagine. 

Pulling into my driveway I dug for three blankets beneath heaps of tank tops and bathing suits.  I wrapped the Dartmouth fleece over my shoulders and gave a slight shutter as I climbed out of the heated car.   I closed my eyes as I wandered through the front yard to the sea wall.  I could not believe it.  I could not believe that I was here, finally, all alone.  There is something magical about this house, maybe it has something to do with the ghost of the attic, Mary.  How fortunate I am, I thought.  How fortunate I am to live here, to spend my summers here.  I heard the water lapping against the sea wall.  I felt the goose bumps as dropped the blanket and dove into the water.