It is often the four of us sitting in the living room. I'm the token girl. A role not unfamiliar. A role which I assumed in optometry school living with my boyfriend and his three male roommies in Oregon. It was an education in all things male, and perverse words I didn't know (but certainly need to know) like "tea-bagging".
There is a comfort sitting around the small living room, all seats filled, debates swirling around without any particular direction. Sometimes the TV is on, sometimes not.
Last night Ed was eating pizza, James, Chinese take out, and the two of us, Ahi tuna & broccoli. It seems that Justin and I are the most obvious hippies, but James and Ed fall into the similar lines of thought at times and the words that stream out of their mouths are interesting as their varied occupations.
James is a mechanic. Ed is a former special ed teacher, turned kite board instructor. Justin does graphic design. And I am of course, a gypsy. Or sometimes medical professional, sometimes writer, sometimes activist, still finding my way.
Bailey spends the entire day looking like he's been shot. It's just the way he sleeps. He's the thirteen year old Australian Heeler. And there's two cats, one half-dead black&white (Oreo) and one pure ebony (Midnight) who has hissing confused with purring.
I could not have conjured this place up in my imagination.
Moreso, Buxton is on the Outer Banks, which is situated forty miles off the coast of North Carolina. I am on an island in the Sea. In the South.
And so what I have learned is you never know what you need. Or what you're going to get. But you need to be open minded to what's presented to you. And accept it as a gift.
We're in Buxton, at the elbow of the sandbar of the outer banks
The Outer Banks in relation to the state of NC