The Journey Home: Home is Where the Heart Is

The Journey Home:

Home Is Where The Heart Is

By Nina North

Dedicated to my great-grandmother Dorothy, who I never had the honor to meet.

Also to Katrina Spenceman, who inspires me,

and my friends, who hold me up.

Maple Leaf Writing Project

Brattleboro, VT

Copyright 2019.

Part One

We board the train and

I look out the window.

We start to move and

the green, green, green grass

is all I can see.

The view changes.

The green, green, green grass

is now brown, brown, brown buildings.

The brown buildings are blurring

and blurring and all

I can see are

eyelids and…

I wake with my head on my shoulder.

The car is empty.

I stand up,

thinking

they might have gone

to dinner.

I hear

the clatter of cutlery

–clink, clink–

and know I'm

near the dining car. I open

the door and

immediately

spot my family

sitting.

I squeeze in

and

look around.

The dining car is

full of people.

Interesting people.

An old man with a

kind twinkle in his eye.

A boy my age

writing in a book.

A young woman who is being

served by a

young man.

They make eye contact and

she blushes. Looks down and

puts in earbuds.

Picks up her phone.

Appears to be talking. I wonder:

Who?

I walk around

behind her and see a

man on the screen with

a crooked, crooked nose. Hm.

I pretend to get

a drink and head

back to the table.

Back to my family.

Oh, my gigantic family.

My overworked mother,

my out-of-touch father,

my bossy older sister,

my other older sisters, the twins,

who never break the rules.

Then me. The middle one.

The one with the

imagination.

And then my little sisters,

the brainy one,

the theatrical one,

and the one that still wears diapers.

My family.

➹➷➹➷➹

I want a friend.

Almost –

almost desperately.

Sometimes

I am lost

in between my sisters.

Sometimes

I need someone to look to,

someone I can put my trust in.

Someone else.

Looking over to the

table across the car,

I see the boy my age.

I finish my food and

approach him.

I say my name and he says his.

We talk.

I tell him about my life.

Sisters,

school,

troubles.

Everything.

He tells about his.

Basketball,

Classes,

Bullies.

We just sit and talk

and talk. It feels

so, so good.

➹➷➹➷➹

We almost never

see my Grandma.

She lives

all the way across

the country.

It's a long trip.

I think:

Maybe if I sleep

the whole day

time will go faster.

I sit down on a

seat in our car and

pull out my book.

I’m sleepy

but I'm

at the end and

I can't quit now.

I read on.

My hands cling

more tightly to the book.

The tension

is rising and

rising

and rising…

➹➷➹➷➹

It's dead night and

I jerk awake.

I don't know what

woke me up and I'm

scared.

I hear someone wake

beside me.

Something's not right.

Something’s off.

I feel a tingle

in my stomach.

It spreads and

intensifies until

I'm trembling.

I stand up

shakily

and feel the others

do the same.

We grab hands and

walk into the hallway

together.

The light is on in my

parents’ compartment.

We listen.

It's too quiet.

It's as if everyone

is taking a moment

to listen

to their own

heartbeats.

I don't like it.

We wait.

For what, I don't know.

Eventually

someone turns the knob.

Creeeeeeak.

We take a step in and

the bright light blinds us.ino

Our eyes close but as we

open them

we leave our lives

as we know them

behind us.

➹➷➹➷➹

My father

leaning over my mother.

Shaking.

We can't see

Mom from our angle but

we all know

–we just know–

that we have found

the source

of our

uneasiness.

There is yelling.

Someone gets a

worker on the train,

who calls an

ambulance.

None of it is happening

in my reality.

It’s surreal.

It seems as if nothing is

actually touching

onto the

surface of my brain.

The train stops.

We get off.

The ambulance is waiting.

My father leaves

with the medics and

we are left with

only a policeman who

offers us a ride.

We get in the car.

I have never felt true fear,

if that it is what I am feeling now,

fear.

It is bubbling,

simmering,

the terror is.

Rushes

through my body,

starts in my stomach,

streaks down,

through my legs,

reaches my toes.

I shiver.

It rises.

Hurtling up

into my chest,

through my shoulders…

my arms, now my fingers…

and it bounces around in my head.

My mind, it's swimming

with the word.

Mom.

Mom.

I need my mom.

A girl shouldn't be

allowed

to live

without a mom.

Take in a breath.

Let out a breath.

I think to myself

as we speed along

the road to the hospital:

Mom will be waking up in

a hospital bed and she

will be surprised to

be there,

because she feels no pain.

This is what I tell myself.

➹➷➹➷➹

Nothing in my life

nothing

has prepared me

for what happens next.

The doctor comes out.

His face is grim.

My stomach hurts.

Half of us are crying.

I don't cry.

He says something.

I don't know what he says.

I don't care.

All I care about is

the faces of my

loved ones.

They all fall

at once.

More of us are crying.

My shirt seems to be

growing tighter

and tighter and

I can't breath and…

Part Two

Everything is

numb. Everything

is a blank wall.

And this

blank wall of grief,

it’s covered in

little pieces of things.

A bit of yelling,

a lot of yelling,

a bit of crying,

no,

a lot of crying.

Not sure,

never sure,

of anything.

I don't know anything.

I don't think anything.

Except.

Except Mom.

I don't speak to anyone.

I feel as if

no one understands.

I am alone in my world.

➹➷➹➷➹

I am in

an ocean.

A deep, unmerciful ocean.

But I’m strapped in.

I'm ready.

The first wave is looming…

and looming…

and it comes down.

Down, down, down

right onto me.

No.

No, no, no.

It is worse

than I ever imagined.

➹➷➹➷➹

We are home.

We’re on our street.

There's the purple house

where the two terriers live,

the red one where

the old lady

lives.

She used to give us chocolate.

Crash.

Another wave.

Back then, when things were…

Crash, crash, crash.

And there's home.

We pull up in the driveway.

It's the same as we left it,

but something has changed.

There is no loving glow.

No warmth in the steps we take,

no reason for taking them at all.

But we do.

We walk up the stone path.

We approach the door.

One of us pulls the handle.

We step inside.

CRASH.

The house is exactly the same.

The bedrooms are just as messy,

though now there would be

no one to remind us to clean them.

The kitchen is just as full of food,

though now there would be

no one to add the

secret

ingredient

to every meal.

Love.

Love, oh, love.

Some of us silently weep,

the tears running slowly down

our faces in

streams without a sound,

while the rest of us are stony faced,

and walk

briskly

to our rooms

without a word and

shut the doors.

Those of us who do the

latter,

we don't come out of those rooms.

Only for the toilet and

sometimes

meals

do we exit our

solitary,

solitary

worlds.

As for the weepers,

they will constantly

need affection.

The older siblings,

those who aren't

locked up inside,

that is,

take up the job of giving

that affection.

We

do the cradling

and the rocking

and the singing

when the children are upset.

We

warm up

frozen dinners and

take money from the jar

on the counter

to go get groceries.

We,

not our father,

do these things.

We,

not our father,

stand up to the duties

and carry on with them,

though inside we are as broken as him.

➹➷➹➷➹

Sometimes I find myself thinking:

Mom isn't gone.

Because none of this

none of it

ever happened.

Mom is always right there,waiting for me

around the next corner. And

when she is there,

no,

when she isn't there

I stop.

I am paralyzed.

I have no feeling.

She is not waiting for me.

.

Part Three

I am lying in bed.

It is a dark night.

The wind

is shrieking

and banging on the windows,

pleading to be let in.

It is one of those nights when

all you want

is to stay in bed.

Under the covers.

Safe.

My eyelids

flutter closed,

but I stay awake.

I listen to the wind.

“Let me in – please!

I'll do anything! Let me in, let me–”

“No, Mister Wind,

I won’t. I won't let anyone in.”

I'm not sure if it comes

out of my mouth.

It seems to hear me.

Suddenly starts dying down,

little

by

little

it fades into the distance.

Thumps one last time,

a pitiful sound.

It makes me feel…

feel…

like there’s a weight

in my stomach

weighing me down and

every breath I take is

a struggle and

sometimes I

just

want to

make

it

all

go…

I jerk awake.

the thought that

I must have

fallen asleep

doesn't reach me,

for I realize what

had woken me up.

I pick up my

phone and

the brightness

hurts my eyes

as if it's the

sun itself.

I open my inbox.

It‘s the boy.

The boy from the train.

I forgot

we exchanged emails.

At the sight of his name

I feel

as if

a tidal wave

comes over me.

When this

tidal wave of realization hits

I understand

that I really do

need a friend now

more than ever.

I don't feel like myself.

I had wanted to cast away

the person I was.

Cast away the person who

lived all those years in happiness.

But deep, deep inside,

I know this can not happen.

I know that if this happens

I'll live the rest of

my life

in grief.

But I also know

I need someone,

someone I really trust,

to help me through

this process.

I think if

we spend time

together

he will become

that someone.

I read the email.

It says he wants

to stay in touch.

I write back.

I tell him

I need him.

I know that he will help me.

He will help me find myself again.

There is not a doubt

in my mind..

Epilogue

I open my eyes and

the sun makes me

close them again.

I listen for a moment.

The birds are tweeting

Good morning! And the

June sky

is bright as

the sun makes its ascent

from the east.

I strip the blankets

off of me and stand up,

stretching.

I look around the room

I share with my little sister

Sadie and find

she's already gone to breakfast.

I look out the window.

I stare at the

lush green trees and

my eyes unfocus,

my mind starting to wander.

“Indigo! Pancakes are ready!”

my dad calls up from

downstairs.

I float

down the stairs and

into the crowded dining room.

Everyone

already smooshed in

at the table.

The platter of pancakes

piled high.

One chair open.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say to him,

sitting down

next to Eden.

The six-year-old smiles

widely at me and

passes the dish.

I take some.

I pass it to Penny,

on my right.

I look across the table.

There's my dad.

My freshly shaven

dad.

He’s changed

so much

in the past months since

Mom died.

At first,

he didn't do things.

He didn't shave.

Didn't change his clothes.

Didn't exercise.

Then, I think

it just kind of

clicked

for him,

the fact that she

isn't

coming

back.

He started to take up more

responsibilities.

Responsibilities a parent

is supposed

to have.

And there he is now.

Looking back at me like that,

full of love and that same

bittersweet sentiment that

comes into his eyes

whenever he knows

you’re thinking about Mom.

It means he is too.

It is a connection

of pure empathy.

I look down at my

pancakes and

dig in.

I finish and

excuse myself

from the table.

And I remember:

Today Seb is coming over!

Today, which has the

sort of feel that all

first-day-of-summer days have,

when it seems as if

we’re waiting

for things to happen.

No camps have started,

no summer jobs have either,

and we all just lounge.

We lounge and

we wait.

And then

there's the knock

on the door.

I jump up.

Scrambling

across the slippery

hardwood floor,

I reach the door.

And…

there he is.

Seb.

Sebastian,

my best friend

in the world.

I remember

when we had

first met,

on that

fateful

train ride.

I had known then

that I would need him.

I had been right.

I depended so much

upon Seb

those first weeks

after the death.

He depended on me too.

He had been on that

train

for one reason:

His parents had been getting

a divorce.

He was going to visit

his aunt

down south

while they

sorted it out.

Our connection was

rooted

in sorrow.

That sorrow is always there,

lurking,

but the memory of my mother

shines.

It shines over me

when the darkness threatens

to take over.

It illuminates.

Because life

is going upward.

Sure,

it'll have slopes

and peaks

and downright cliffs,

but it really is

getting better.

I believe that now.