The More Things Change

by Andrea Scarpino

Marquette, Michigan. Before February, I had never heard of it. Now, I live here, have an apartment and library card, a membership to the food co-op, my name on the mailbox. But at some point every day, I think about Los Angeles, think about the differences between living in a major metropolitan city and a town with 25,000 residents, the differences in attitudes and culture between the upper Midwest and the West Coast.

For one thing, people talk to you here. In the street, at the grocery story, when running by on the bicycle path. They make eye contact, nod, expect you to do the same. The cashiers at the food co-op know my name, ask about the food I’m buying, suggest recipes. Restaurant servers know my name. No matter how hard I’m running or how hard the other person is running, we greet one another as we pass. On your left, all the bicyclists call. Good Morning everyone else says.

There is also no traffic here. Zac’s morning commute is 4 minutes. I never drove less than 45 in LA for my different jobs. Here, I get to the airport 15 minutes before take-off and have no problem making my flight. Of course, in LA I never had a problem getting through security. In Marquette, I’ve had food confiscated, my contact solution tested, and received two lectures on the appropriate sized bag to hold my carryon liquids. Even though the airport isn’t much bigger than my apartment.

My apartment. In LA, we rented a tiny one bedroom. Both of our desks were in the living room/dining room/kitchen/hallway. In Marquette, we have three bedrooms, a mudroom, a closet that Zac turned into his office. One entire room is still empty because we can’t figure out what to do with it. There is space to move around and breathe here. Life doesn’t feel so rushed.

But life also feels more closed-in. We have a handful of restaurants from which to choose, a handful of clothing stores. One movie theater, two bookstores. Limited venues for art exhibitions and performances, limited venues for anything. So far, limited opportunities to find friends.

So I feel a constant tug. Marquette is quieter, moves more slowly than Los Angeles. But sometimes that silence feels like containment. Los Angeles always felt a little too big, a little too unruly, too anonymous. No one cares who you are in LA; there are too many people to care about any one. But in Marquette, everyone wants to have a conversation. We run into other faculty members almost every time we eat out. And that lack of anonymity can feel oppressive.

I never felt quite at home in LA even though I loved living there. I always felt like I didn’t quite have the look of the place, the feel of the place. My jeans were never quite right. In Marquette, at least so far, I feel the same. I’m not quite sure yet how to navigate this new terrain, not quite sure what my place will be. Which I guess makes sense; it always takes some time to fit in. But on the day we arrived in Marquette, the day we unpacked our car, picked up our boxes, bought groceries, our landlord sent us a bouquet of flowers. Welcome to your new home, the card read.

Poet and essayist Andrea Scarpino can be visited at: www.andreascarpino.com

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto