BWI

I was sitting across from someone at the vertical diner eating meatless buffalo chicken bits when I realized that I hadn't told very many people the story of meeting my Aunt and Uncle in Columbia.
I was excited and full of anxiety, two emotions I've found dwell in me almost always as a pair. My uncle had a gruff, commanding tone and my aunt a stern southern drawl that nearly scared me out of letting them buy my Amtrack tickets to BWI.
The ride took nearly all day, but was beautiful as I slumped in my seat, escaping the city. The wait at the station had been cramped, frantic, and dirty and I was ready to be on with it.
My aunt and uncle were there waiting, telling me I was the spitting image of my mother. I relaxed a little. Going to new people's houses had always freaked me out a little.
They led me to their beautiful home, with a promise my cousin would be home later. Upstairs, dark wood floors and steps, a room was ready for me, sporting identical duvets my mother had bought for my brothers in the heat of summer, except sporting a different color. I was immediately at home.
My aunt catered to my every need, and told me the next night there would be a barbeque in my honor, and catered to my food tastes by making quesadillas with beans and sour cream. I gave my cousin the first hug I ever gave him. This felt momentous.
The next day, my aunt's uncle and his son came in and we drank beer after beer as the sun set and we chatted on the patio facing a forest, teased by the smell of the grill. As I downplayed getting into my summer program, the look on my aunt's face grew stern. "You come from a family of sgreat people. It's in your blood." Tears sprung in my eyes, at the thought of so much wasted time. I couldn't believe I was here and I loved them so much, it made me miss home for the first time in the two months since I had left Utah. My aunt and uncle goaded my cousin into pulling out a guitar and play for us. Finally, he strummed some chords and taught us Molly Malone. For the first time I was no longer self concious of my voice and singing with them, and we shared the perfect moment.
We sat around stuffing ourselves silly (my Uncle had grilled me fake hotdogs and fake burgers, and I wanted to puke from the fullness of it all). Never had I been in so much pain from eating, and I lulled myself to sleep that night groaning and burying myself in the newfound comfort of my new (to me at least) family.
The we went to the National Aquarium and saw DC, and then collapsed at home. My aunt called me into her room, off to the side on a couch next to a large circular mirror. She pulled out several packages. Of the most note, she handed me a diamond ring, which had belonged to my Great Grandmother, her namesake and mine. Tears blossoming in her eyes, I couldn't help but cry. She told me a Sara should have it. I put it on my finger, watching it glitter in the sunlight. I would do this several times in the coming months. Among the other gifts were Opal earrings (October girls should have them), diamond earrings from Germany, and a small kitty wallet and coin purse, the last gift from her mother.
Astounded by her generosity, I knew she felt the same about me as I felt about them. I loved them almost on sight, and hoped I would never lose them. She refused to walk me to the station, hoping not to cry, and I shed a tear as the train pulled away, fully aware of the truth. I would see them again, I knew it.