Midwest

Being in the Midwest last weekend reminded me of all the conflicted feelings I have about that part of the country. On Sunday morning I slipped out of bed and left my husband and baby girl asleep, excited for a short adventure. It was warm for 7am and the sky was streaked with a light pink. Orange glowed in the West before the sunrise. The faint outline of the Sears Tower under the smog. Car keys in hand, I stood in the middle of the hotel parking lot, smelling the familiar chemical odor of Midwestern air. It makes breathing feel heavy somehow. "I'd be happy to drive you there if you want," said a front desk staff person when I asked about the nearest Starbucks. His tone was genuine and kind. I drove myself anyway. Speeding by a cop and then having to catch my breath imagining getting ticketed in my in-law's car; a McDonald's on every corner; deciding not to lock the car in front of Dominick's. Everyone in there was nice. The teenager staffing the in-store Starbucks apologized for the lack of muffins and we chatted. There is more space and time and warmth in the Midwest, but more abuse, too, more ugly development, more smog, more body fat. I pondered this as I drove back to the hotel. That part of the country is where my family comes from, and where my daughter's family comes from, too, although I have removed myself and been removed. At least, I keep trying to remove myself. The old conflicted feelings popped up, and not just for what lies outside. Memories in disbelief of the trailer court where my relatives lived, guns and children, general aimlessness and childish fights between adults. My husband's family is very different, and his aunts and uncles and grandparents accept my baby with a loyal, kept passion that is entirely tender and pleasurable. I am so glad for that. And yet visits there still posit me as an outsider to his parents, and for the first time, I actually felt in the way, like I was blocking the light of my daughter from falling entirely onto his parents. And perhaps I was blocking, since there's a darkness that falls in the other direction, and that is what the Midwest means.