welcome home

My first night back in New York, I did my best to adjust to the time change, by getting back home around 2:10 am. Letting myself in, I was only mildly surprised when my key didn't work in the lower lock -- it's persnickety. 2 am is pretty early for my family most nights, so I knocked softly, waiting for my father to let me in. I progressed through various stages, starting with not wanting my mother to be unnecessarily woken up, and eventually reaching the point where I was continuously ringing the doorbell and calling the home phone, occasionally leaving a message like "Hi, this is your son Janak. I'm locked out, and I'm standing outside the door." Around 2:30 am, I gave up. I was pretty sure I could go bother my friend Jomy, with whom I'd been hanging out before, but he lives in Chinatown, and I'd already splurged on a taxi one-way. So I decided to sleep in the hallway. I figured that either I would be unable to sleep, and then would continue ringing, which would have to eventually work, since no force on earth can keep my mother from using the bathroom 5 times a night, or I would be able to sleep, in which case, no problem. Remember, it was 8:30 am after an all-nighter by Lyon standards. I woke up half an hour later with no feeling in my right arm, and rolled over onto my left. After another 20 minutes, I had two numb arms and sat up to sleep on my knees. Around 5 am, the elevator door opening woke me up, and I started to my feet, fumbling for my keys as if I had just arrived. The woman coming out of the elevator knew me, but she was puzzled by the situation. Fortunately, another burst of ringing and calling roused my father, and I was finally admitted to the house. My mother told me later, "whenever Shantha is out late, I can't sleep very well because I worry about her. Not with you." Given that anyone who knows us would have infinitely more confidence in Shantha handling herself in any difficult situation, this can only speak to my mother loving Shantha more. So it goes.