When I first moved to San Diego, I was lost under its endless sky.

It was the end of what was already a very long week when my sister called. I'd been house-sitting for my friend and taking care of her dogs in her filthy condo across town. Now usually, even if you don't so much care what people think, you clean up a little before you have someone over-- especially if that someone is doing you a favor. She'd left a full garbage bag on the kitchen floor along with scattered papers, the vegetable crisper and a used litter box. The counters will cluttered with empty food containers, used paper towels, glassware, make-up containers, pet snacks, candles and two fish tanks all of which spilled over onto the stovetop, slimed with food. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes. The bed was unmade, the laundry left out on the couch, the bathroom dingy. Dirty underwear lay strewn about the floor. The place smelled like cat piss and dogs. It was almost like the was thumbing her nose and politeness and convention deliberately.

I was headed back there for my last, reluctant overnight stay from Saturday to Sunday, when my phone rang. It was two am. I was tired and wanted my regular life back. My sister was sobbing so much I could barely understand her. Words trickled out between burbling and tears, "don't want to die," ... "can't take care of myself" ... "fired from Grad school." ... "Need you to come up." We talked for close to an hour. I was already exhausted. It had been enough of a trying week at work, followed by some difficult conversations with the woman I'd been dating, who turned out to be an alcoholic with a penchant for poor decisions and drunk driving. I was looking forward to spending Sunday night largely alone. I agreed to fly up to Oregon. She's my sister, what else could I do?

I've always liked airports. They are the in-between places. I like to sit in the terminal, reading all the departing flights on the big board and imagine myself getting on one of them and not coming back. This habit started when I first moved out west, but wasn't quite ready to accept it for what it is. I didn't like my job. I didn't like strip malls and driving everywhere I wanted to go. It was a string of one bad relationship after another. I wasn't making good decisions. I got over it, but the love of airports stuck with me-- places where you are forced to unplug. Where you no longer have to be accountable for lateness or stupidity, because the ineptitude is casually handled for you by the airlines themselves.

For a time, I was able to convince myself that this was such a trip. Though I no longer wish to flee my home in San Diego, I have been feeling like I needed a vacation and, hey, this was a free day off, after all. I read my friend's book on the first leg of the flight and didn't really mind when I found the second leg had been overbooked. I had a story, and time to kill. The women here in Portland were more fun to look at then in San Diego, there clothes were darker, makeup too-- if they wore any. They looked more down to earth. People watching was good.

It wasn't until much later that it hit me. I had made my flight to Eugene and my sister picked me up at the airport. It was pleasant enough at first. Things started to go south when I realized once my work phone had fallen out of my bag on the plane. I made calls and scrambled to find it, but my sister demanded my attention. We had lists of chores to go through and she needed me to prioritize them for her, but of course, she was going to argue with me about the importance of each one, every step of the way. A ten minute task would take nearly two hours. By the time we were ready to leave for dinner, it was clear. I was here, basically, to do my sister's bidding, under the auspices of her fragile mental condition, I would need to take care of her, but she wasn't going to make it easy. I would have to do it exactly her way, and any arguments would result in, at best, threats to burst into tears. This wasn't going to be any fun at all. I hoped I wouldn't kill her.

***

I left to buy paint for her spare bedroom and check in at the airport about my phone (they said it would be there at eight, but it was not) just before eight, having wasted most of the productive hours of the day with her lists. As soon as I was away from her, I felt a little better. I love my sister, and in the best of times we get along great, but she could be incredibly emotionally draining, and I was already pretty low by the time I'd left. It was nice to be somewhere green though. I was unused to a horizon broken my trees. It used to make me feel protected and safe. I'm not sure what it made me feel this time around, not uneasy, but definitely like an interloper in a strange land. Funny how things change.