{the.runaway.met.ace.ventura.on.main.street}

as chickawaukie pond passed on my left coming up route 17, the smell of the clam flats in the harbor 3 miles away came through the sun roof of my honda accord and i was home. i never feel at home until the ocean scent washes over me. i am Cinderella; returning from the ball only to find herself transformed into her former self. in my life now, i am Amanda Burse…mother, wife, photographer. here, i am Mandy Young…the goody-two-shoes girl who loved field hockey and writing poetry more than anything; who thought she was the mostly likely to finish college, become a psychologist, have the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and be an active member of the PTA. only in this story, Cinderella is not disappointed, but satisfied and content, and she is wearing flip flops so she is comfortable.

i park on main street in rockland only to find that the main street i left behind 10 years ago has changed just as much as i have. once an economically suffering downtown district, it is now thriving and artsy, with stores that have $190 knit hats that i can’t afford, and tourists who speak a language i don’t understand. i don’t recognize a single store until i get several blocks down. i rush inside…it’s a security blanket feeling…the Second Read Book Shop. old books and new books and loved books and signed Wyeth art books and Maine humor books, and newspapers on scrolls, and coffee. i line up with the locals for a cup. i know they are locals. they are dressed in cotton sun skirts, have messy morning hair, and are discussing the soccer schedule for their kids this season. people ‘from away’ are there, but are ignored deliberately. its my turn to order, and i slip into a coastal accent that feels disingenuous but was real a decade ago when i left. i chuckle because it surprises me…first at the sheer fact that it even feels comfortable…like a pair of LL Bean slippers that you  keep up to camp and wear just once a year for a week, and second because the guy with the funky hat at the counter thinks i am mocking the locals in front of me. clearly…i look like a tourist; camera around my neck, dress pants at 8am and a sailor-ish (as pointed out by my bride an hour later) looking cream shirt with big wooden buttons. only a tourist would wear that, and that makes me laugh louder. people look at me like i am crazy which actually makes me feel more at home in a strange way. i grab my coffee, and one last whift of the hand stitched book bindings, and leave.

i continue to walk…i get to the end, and look across the street with dreamy eyes. the Strand movie theater still towers above me…a building filled with coming-to-age, Sixteen Candles-like memories for not only me, but several people i’m sure. out of all the beautiful new stores and museums and galleries, this one building is my favorite. i watch people pass it…unknowing of all its magic. despite its face lift it is still the same place where i watched my first movie {ET}, had my first kiss, saw ridiculous flicks with my girl friends, and fell head over heals for my first love. in there, i am Mandy Young more than ever. my inside of  head thinking is disrupted when i feel a big hand grab my shoulder. most people would be afraid, and usually, i probably would have been too. i look over to see an old man looking at me. “Deary…you’re gonna get run ova (over) if ya stand ther (there) much longa (longer).” His knotted hand leads me from the middle of the street and to the safety of the brushed brick sidewalk. “Thanks”, i say under my breath. he leaves me at the curb with my thoughts but in the corner of my eye, i see him shaking his head. i know what he is thinking. i can almost hear it. some comment about the people ‘from away’ no doubt.

i am a site sear in my own life…only now, i am less sure of myself than i was 10 years ago when i left. and where a decade ago that would have disappointed my former self, the Amanda Burse in me loves it.