My brother and I met up at our old house，like homing pigeons.We walked down the street for some coffee and I filled him in on my trip.He convinced me to stay my last night at his new place in San Bruno，just outside the city.I’ll gladly pay $98a night just for the privilege of not inconveniencing anyone，but he actually seemed to want me.
“I love having guests，”he insisted.So I went.
It‘s surprising how late in life you still get that “I can’t believe I‘m a grown-up feeling，”like when your big brother，the guy who used to force you to watch “Gomer Pyle”reruns，owns his own place.It was small and sparse and he had just moved in but it was his.The refrigerator had nothing but mustard，a few cheese slices and fourteen cans of Diet 7-Up.
We picked up some Taco Bell，rented a movie，popped some popcorn and I fell asleep on his couch.
Insomniacs rarely fall asleep on people’s couches，I assure you.I don‘t know why I slept so well after agonizing all weekend over the question of home，if I had one anymore，where it was.I only know that curled up under an old sleeping bag，the sound of some second-rate guy movie playing in the background，my brother in a chair next to me，I felt safe and comfortable and maybe that’s part of what home is.
But it‘s not the whole story.As much as I’d like to buy the cliches about home being where the heart is，or as Robert Frost put it，“The place where when you have to go there，they have to take you in，”a part of me thinks the truth is somewhere between the loftiness of all those platitudes and the concreteness of that wooden door on 26th street.
I‘ll probably be casing that joint from time to time for the rest of my life.I’ll sit outside，like a child watching someone take away a favorite toy，and silently scream，“MINE！”
人们都说你是再也回不了你的家了。
其实你是可以的。这样的话，你会发现自己将会住进寒酸的汽车旅馆里面，开着租来的廉价福特康拓车，在你童年的家门口久久地徘徊，就像黑色电影里的私家侦探一样，你总想窥探那些占了你“巢穴”的到底是些什么样的人。
这样的故事让你觉得似曾相识——孩子长大了，父母们便要把老家卖掉，搬到气候更宜人的地方去，住公寓或更小的房子。而我们这些已经长大成人的孩子，将所有童年时期的破烂玩意儿打包收拾好，包括已经尘封了的芭蕾舞鞋、高中时期的课本和已经卷好的歌手亚当-恩特的海报，可当我们收拾好之后，才惊奇地发现家不见了！
我对自己说，我并不是个多愁善感的人。我们老家，26街3922号卖掉之前我并没有要去多看一眼的冲动，甚至没有亲自回老家打捞车库里的那些纪念品，而是让父母帮我打包后从旧金山寄了过来。收到那包裹的时候感觉就像出狱一样——这是你的手表，这是你在这穿过的，这里还有些现金……你可以从这包东西看到自己的过去。
搬家一年后，出于对家乡的想念，我回了趟旧金山。当时因为房租太高，朋友们都搬到市郊去住了。我无处可投，便向当地一家汽车旅馆订了个房，租了辆车开了去。
第二天我便到处去走访那些老街坊。我旧地重游了街道拐角的那家迷你便利店，当年妈妈经常打发我到去那里买牛奶，还有那熟悉的消防局和洗衣店……
我坐在车里，直直地盯着老家看。此时的我，哭得像个傻瓜一样，我从来没有想过自己会哭得那么凶。此刻的老屋，里里外外都被重新粉刷了一遍，车库门上的涂鸦作品也被抹去，窗上还挂起了新窗帘。
我走到门前，轻轻地触摸了门把手，就像轻抚从战场归来的爱人的脸一样。门上那块颜色黯淡的漆，正是我们以前贴平安符的地方呀！我在砖面粗糙的门廊上坐下，双脚悬荡着，一种前所未有的无根感涌上心头。
是啊！有很多时候你是回不了家的。那天晚上我和前男友的碰面，使我终于明白了这一点。
“见到你真是太好了，”他见面就说，然后紧紧地拥抱了我，“可我有事，我只有一个小时的时间。”他接着说。
他把我当什么了？听起来像是一小时快速配眼镜一样！
可想而知的是，他的新女友并不怎么欢迎我的突如其来。我们随便喝了点东西，然后他就把我送回了旅馆。我凑了点零钱，找个自动贩卖机买了些汉堡包，晚餐就这么打发了。晚上将就着在旅馆里看了电影台播放的《三人探戈》。
“你应该看一部由《老友记》那帮演员演的一部片子，”电话那边哥哥同情地劝我说，“你现在看的那部太悲伤了。”
