Going Home

I awake from a dreamless sleep, calm and aware of the night before and the day that lies ahead. A series of awkward sounds follow as I shift from one side of the bed to the other, the plastic mattress rustling, springs bouncing; from the wall where I etched Sylvia Plath’s Tulips to the side with the full view of my dorm.

The past eight months are piled up into boxes and garbage bags. Today I am going to see my parents.

With that thought, the sense of calm quickly dissipates from my mind. I get out of bed to organize the boxes, in the order of the heaviest to be carried first. Not quite in a blind panic but already stressing over the idea of seeing them again for the first time in four months.

I put the boxes and bags on top for maximum efficiency, all pick-ups and carries, no conversation.

In a quick succession of maneuvers, I get around my cramped room.

I sit down in front of my laptop and try to get it up to staid computer porn. I give up and decide to take my pills instead, five hours before I usually take them. I want the drowsy anti-depressants to be in full effect before the parental units are in full force.

Too nervous to shower, I dress in my usual paint splattered jeans and hoodie sweater. I put my hood up to smother the spiky bed hair and go outside for a cigarette. It fails to soothe the coming confrontation and I’m back in front of the computer screen.

The e-mail two weeks ago said they’d arrive by noon. It was a reply to my informing them that I had lost my cell-phone again and to call my residence number. The residence number lacks a long distance plan and as my cell-phone went, so went my only contact to the world outside my backwater campus town.

I have another cigarette as I use my credit card on a wrecked payphone.

“Oh, we’re a little late. Probably around three. We’ll call you before we arrive.”

I return to my room and take out the last beer hiding in my fridge. I drink it quick as I feel the pills dissolve like bubbles in the bottle, ice-cream headaches be damned. I click online on my MSN messenger, a message quickly pops up. I finish the bottle hoping for more and curse myself for only leaving only one emergency beer.

T minus Four Hours until the showdown.

The message is from May, wanting desperately to meet up. I tell her to meet me outside at the smoking area, she arrives sooner than usual.

I walk down the same torturous path I’ve followed all year, out the door to the hallway full of cheap cardboard cutouts with copy and pasted information on dealing with stress, relationships, alcohol, and all the other university cliches. Then down two flights of stairs to the door which never closes properly, I spot her out the window.

She’s in her usual disheveled state, heavy on eye liner and mascara with this long wavy auburn hair which contrasts to her ghostly pallor. May exudes this easygoing prettiness most girls have to pay over a hundred thousand in plastic surgery for.

We sit on the bench, side-by-side staring at the bark stripped crooked trees in front of us. As usual, she bums a smoke and a lighter from me. We exchange the usual small talk, me being done exams with the focus on moving out and her with an exam still to go.

“So... I’m going to see my parents in four hours.” I say with an exhalation of smoke, it comes out in a thick cloud. Hovers before dissipating into the air.
“You going home?”
“Yeah, can’t believe the year’s done already.”
She nods.
“I’m not quite standing the idea of going home. But then again, what the fuck am I going to do here?”

It’s the mention of family that unravels us, my hands start to quiver just as I push some bad joke to cover how terrified I am at seeing my mom again. But May collapses completely, her green eyes start to bleed with red lines coursing throughout the white surrounding her pupils.

The sight of her tears only draws out overused bromides and gentle pats on the back. And what the hell could I really say? What the hell was this all really about? What is it about family that draws such intensity and confusion? Like an onion, holding so many layers. One rich in taste, the other a stench drawing tears.

A silence starts to distance us, I offer a trip to the local bar. Might as well get drunk as quickly as possible. She gives no hesitation.

We enter Mike’s Place and stand in line for our pitcher, she eyes someone behind us and quickly spins her head around.
“Oh fuck, my French prof is sitting right behind us.” May whispers.
“So?”
“French is my last exam, it’s tomorrow and here I am at the local bar.”
I give out a chuckle and tell her to find a seat and I’ll meet her there.

I notice how quickly my hands grow steady when holding the two glasses and pitcher. I sit down and eye the table across from the counter.
“So which one is he?” I inquire with a smile.
“His back is turned to us but he’s the one with the ponytail.”
“A prof with a pony-tail?”
Lines start to form all around May’s soft face as she spies him from our table. She turns to face me trying to process what I’ve just said.
“Well isn’t it weird? I don’t know, I guess back in my day Profs had greying hair around the sides with a streak of bald in the middle.” I shoot her my patently absurd glance as May likes to tease me on our one year difference in ages.

She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for it. I pour the beer and we start drinking it fast. Saving the sipping for when we’re tipsy.

We sit around as I set about my pose, trying my best to entertain her. But the momentary dam breaks lose and with the quick refills of beer, I only seem to fuel her frustration over the situation.

“I just don’t know if I can handle it.” She confesses with equal parts anger and fear.
“I know, it seems scary but you’ve already volunteered for it. That in itself says something. I have no fucking clue what but... you know what I mean.”
“It’s so fucking unfair, how the whole family has just abandoned her and now everything rests on me. It’s always been fucking me, the one to go to school, to get a career, and bring some kind of stability in money-wise. It’s always me.”
“I know, I know.” I murmur in equal parts softness and lacking in what else to say.

We finish the pitcher with one refill each. I run down my list of bad jokes:
“So this guy’s walking by a pool, when he sees this other guy in the middle of it yelling ‘I can’t swim! I can’t swim!’ The guy beside the pool then says, ‘Well I can’t play the guitar but you don’t see me yelling about it.’”
May gives me a courtesy chuckle. I smile having at least accomplished that.
“Okay, okay, I have better ones I swear.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Alright, a female paraplegic is on a beach when a man walks by–“
“People just walk by a lot, don’t they?”
“Hey now, just let me finish. So the girl goes, ‘I’ve never been fucked before. Will you fuck me?’ And the guy lifts her up and holds her to his chest... then chucks her as far as he can into the ocean and says, ‘well you’re fucked now!”
Smile, nothing else.
“Alright, last ditch. This is my Holy Mary: what did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”
“What?”
“Where the fuck’s my tractor!”
Laughter, I finally break her loose.
“Where’d you hear that one?”
“I don’t know. From somewhere, why?”
“My sister always used to tell me that joke. Except it was hell not fuck.”
“Well now that makes all the difference in the world.”
“Sure.”
We empty our glasses.

“I think this calls for ending another five minutes of our lives. A smoke, I mean.” I force a smile and I see one reflected back.

We walk out the backdoor and through the loading dock, the area for a quick smoke. I hand her a cigarette and light mine first before handing the lighter to her, handle end up. I always light mine up first. I don’t know why.

I look at her and think of the first time I really noticed her. My cheeks starting to rose up, I find my memory growing hazy. Only some vague bit bubbling up like so much beer... Sometime outside of my dorm room as she recounted her backpacking trip around the world.
“... so I was by Sydney, piss poor and desperate for a job. An under the table job because I didn’t have a work visa and I ended up picking apples at some farm–“
I decided to finally pipe up. “What were you doing in Australia?”
She smiles and shoots a look at Laura.
“That’s the real question right there.” She pauses and positions herself in a declarative pose with palms up and fingers wide, “what was I doing in Australia?”

I look off into the side, over the dark shadow of ceiling above us and onto the spring sun burning bright. The land rises up, over the road with the hill peaking after the rushing river. The water ripples and shines in the light.
“I remember the exact moment when I wanted to come here.” I finally pipe up breaking the expanding silence between us. “I was stuck in a car with my parents for four hours. Without a cigarette and just plain freaking out. I remember the car going around the bend of the entrance and going up that road over there. Right before the river. The sun hitting it just right. It hit me like a sledgehammer really. This awesome calmness from the rolling hills and gushing water and this old brickstone over here and the chrome shine of the windows in the building over. I mean I know how weird it looked all this nature beside crushing construction. But I don’t know...”

May’s playing around with something on her foot.
“Wanna go sit in the sun?” She asks.
“Sure.”
We sit with the sun on our backs, side by side, looking at our shadows. They connect and separate and contrast with the sunlit concrete. The sun is strong, giving the drab gray a gold glow.
“Why’d you choose Bromwell?” I ask.
“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to go to Bromwell for journalism. Even in highschool and before I took a year off. It was always Bromwell for journalism.”
“You really wanted to get out of there that bad?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Me too. I mean Bromwell was my first choice too. I got one which was really good but much too close to home, one where all of my friends were going, and one which was just far away from home and basically everything else.” I trail off needing something to close with: “I guess I wanted to be far enough so that my parents wouldn’t just ‘drop by’ but not so far that if I was really broke they couldn’t do my laundry.”
“But are you–“
“What?”
“You cut me off then ask me what my question was?”
“Well what?”
She smirks. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yeah... I guess... Maybe. Put me down for a definite maybe. Did you?”
“I don’t know...” She said, her voice trailing off.
“I guess if this was a customer survey, I’d rate it an 8 out of 10 in satisfaction.” I said with a wide smirk.
“8 out of 10?”
“Yeah, 8 out of 10.”
“You’re one of those people who put 8 out of ten for every answer on customer surveys and only go to 4 if one of them personally walked up to you, kicked you in the nuts, and pulled your hair; aren’t you?”
“I am not!”
“Yes! Yes you are. I mean c’mon... you’re not...”
“Not what?”
“The most joyful guy around campus.” She says it gently without malice
“Where are you getting this? I make you laugh. I’m good with the laughter”
“Yeah, you make jokes but it’s like–“
“What?!”
“Let me answer before you ask, ok?” May demanded. “You’ve always seemed... dark. Like there’s always been this storm brewing in you, you’re droll. Positively droll in your sarcasm and constant irony but at the center of it... it’s dark is all. It just seems dark. And you never express it. It kind of bubbles up when you do this voice from hell thinking you’re being ironic.”
“So is that what everyone thinks?”
“It’s not like that.” Her eyes pleaded for reason. “It’s not like that at all. It’s just... we worry. It seeps out because you don’t talk about it.”
Our eyes met with some agreement but not towards any conclusion. Only the conversation they were trying to avoid. They both quickly averted their gaze.
“The reason why” I started up again, “why it’s an 8, is because I don’t blame the school for my frustration. At first, it seemed like a godsend really. A new place, a new start, away from all that highschool stuff but you can run four hours north hell even ten hours north but you’re still you at the end of day.”
“And that’s not so bad, is it?”
“It is when you have to go back home for the summer and back to all you tried to run away from.” Their eyes met again. “I guess I’m waiting for something. At first it was school, it was becoming all that. All that beyond highschool, all that we’re eventually going to be.”
May interrupts with a laugh.
“Yeah I know, typical naive ol’me.” I responded.. “I soon realized that that’s not going to happen. So I started again, something more clear, something less inevitable but something more...”
“Something that’s a healthy mix of what we want and what we need. Not just... what we should be.” May interjected.
“Bingo. And after all that, I still get the mid-term crazies: what the hell am I doing here, is this degree worth shit, etcetera. All this, jumping through hoops and not moving an inch closer to what that light is at the end of the tunnel. So yeah I don’t blame the school. I don’t think blame really has anything to do with it. It’s all just anxiety you know? Not that I-Need-An-Excuse-to-get-Through-Life anxiety but the kind Kant talks about. That startling self-awareness thing.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just this feeling of in-between that does me in. Am anything I’m doing right now worth a damn?”
“Well what kind of answer are you hoping for?”
“I’m not expecting a burning bush type sign or parting of the sea type stuff... a little flicker of the lights wouldn’t hurt though.” I quickly spin my head to gauge her reaction. A chuckle and a smile.
The cigarette burned close to my fingers, I flick mine away. Getting up and turning around, I see May kneed her foot to put hers out.
“More beer?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.”

With a fresh pitcher on hand, I sit and quickly pour. I shoot a quick glance over to her French Prof. “Has he noticed you yet?”
“Nope. I don’t think so.”
“You could always hit him over the head if he does.”
“But it has to be hard enough to give him a concussion but not so hard that I get charged for murder.”
“Either way it’ll get you out of the exam.” We laugh.

“So did you find everything you were looking for here?” I ask.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
Our eyes disconnected and scanned the surroundings.

“You know what I don’t get? The way we used to talk to our parents.” I started up again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when we were young, we would go on and on when they asked about our day. Just babbling really.”
“Really. The way you go on about your parents it sounds like they didn’t do much talking to you.”
“They didn’t except when I got in trouble. And man is there a list of it.”
“Like what?”
“Well I’ve been suspended like fourteen times between elementary and highschool but that’s besides the point.” I paused, try to find my place again. “I mean there were times when they asked. Not ‘how was your day?’ But just a simple, ‘what happened?’”
“What’s your point?”
“I’m getting to it, trust me.” The beer began to make me dizzy as we finished our second pitcher. “When they would ask, just any real question I guess, it would be... I would give a long detailed answer. Not like some exam essay but just that I was... not excited but willing and happy to explain all the minutia then somewhere along the lines... all the answers became monosyllabic and forced.”
“I think it’s called puberty.”
“I know, I know but just hear me out.” I emptied the glass, held down a burp and continued. “I just don’t get... how things have turned out the way they have. The resentment and constant fighting. I mean ok, the obvious rationalization is clashing visions over our future and all that. Us having the chances and opportunities that they don’t, that they’re losing. But it doesn’t mean it has to become a war. That’s what I feel like I’m in now. It’s a fucking war. Everything is retreat, defence, or offence. It’s.... Where did the trust go? When did we start playing those cliched teenage roles and what... made things so hostile. It’s... more than just a difference of opinions. It’s family. It cuts deeper.

What I’m trying to get at is... when did parents become a four letter word? When did we stop seeing them as the supplier of food, comfort, and band-aids but lectures, troubles, and embarrassments?”
“I don’t know.”
“Obviously you don’t. I mean, not that you don’t get it but just... you’re going back home to take care of your mom. When no one else in the family can, a choice instead of just shipping them off to some home. You’re lucky.” I added. “Tell me about your sister.”
“Well I have an older sister and a younger brother, he’s just a year younger than you. He dropped out of highschool but works full-time, I mean with all the oil money coming in... And he’s doing good. He tries to help out mom but he has a full-time job you know?
“And the sister?”
“Yeah well.... what’s there to say?”
“Try me.”
“Well she’s all messed up on drugs and I do send money to her for mom but.... you know druggies.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Well powder drugs, you know the stuff that ruins lives. Not the juvenile fucking around with prescription shit.”
“So the money’s not getting through.”
May doesn’t answer but her quick glance away from me tells me the whole story..
“So I guess you’re coming back home to save the day huh?”
“Oh yeah, I feel like one of those firefighters on 9/11.”
“I didn’t mean it like that... it’s special. Not like a disability, can’t hear or see special but like you know...”
“Know what?”
I sigh and recollect my thoughts. “The money you send... they don’t get to where they’re supposed to go?”
May nods and says nothing else.
“So you’re going back to help out?”
“Yeah, what else can I do?”
“It’s a shitty situation no matter what but... you have this sense of home to go back to, no matter how far you’ve ran away from it.”

A new kind of silence surrounds us, the beer runs out and we’re left looking at the empty glass. Tears run anew across May’s face like streams of condensation off a pint of beer and I reach out across the table for her hand. Mine clammy from gripping the glass and her’s cold.

May wipes away a tear and hangs her head, letting each strand of brown curls form a barrier around her. And in this moment some new sensation sat with us in our little table in the corner. What it was, I don’t know. May’s eyes peered out of her hair like a little animal waking after a long hibernation.
“Those workmen over there probably think we’re breaking up,” May says.
I turn around slowly, not releasing her hand and glance over at the interested table. “I could get up, yell, ’what do you mean the baby’s not mine?!’ and storm off if you like.”
“Please don’t.” A creeping smile returning to her face.
“Well aren’t we a merry bunch?”
“So what about you?”
“There’s not much to say in the ‘me’ department.”
“In that case I’m sorry, I’m sorry for making you listen to all my problems.”
“No, no. It’s not like that.” Dammit, what is it? What is it I’m dying to tell. Someone, anyone… “I did something last night that really scared the hell out of me.” I finally let it out in a voice barely a whisper.
May tries to read it off my face but I just stare at the empty glass. “What happened?”
“Last night, I was packing and I don’t know.” My eyes scatter across the room, not knowing where to rest. “It just came to me, came slow and went around in circles really. I just didn’t know what to do, how it was I was suppose to handle all this and I knew. I just knew that there would always be this moment. This gigantic black hole and that there would another moment after that, and another one after that. All in this torturous succession.” My eyes started to water and I could barely make sense of it, this memory so distant in comprehension but still so close in recollection.
“What are you trying to say?”
“It was something about seeing the last eight months piled up like that. All packed up in bags and boxes, this sum of...this total sum of something. I don’t know. It just led to this realization, hit me like a fucking avalanche. And I knew then that I just had to get as drunk as humanly possible. Finished off a six pack in one offing, cracked open the Green Label I was saving. Felt the world spinning in a panic, my head caving in, my heart fluttering in this monstrous beat. I just had to end it. So I went on a pill-a-thon with my xanax. I just wanted to sleep. Just wanted to sleep and not wake up.”
May squeezed my hand. I checked my watch, not wanting to meet eyes with her.
“Shit, I gotta go meet my parents.”
“No, wait. Jeremy don’t kill yourself.”
“Hm, now you tell me.”
“Jeremy, I’m not fucking kidding.”
“I know, I know. It’s just...fuck, I really have to go.”
“Wait. C’mon, let’s at least go for one more smoke.” May’s eyes were closed in on me. Pleading. “Just one more smoke.”
“No, I’ll... Fuck I’m late. How about… you walk me back. I’ll even buy you a pack of smokes.”
“Oh, Jer just wait till I get some money. I’ll take you out, I promise.”
“Yeah, in September.” I got up but paused. “September meaning when school starts and we won’t be across the country, not–”
“Yeah I get it.” She said reassuringly.

We left the bar and into the emptying hallways of the University Center. The sun strongly shone on the walls, illuminating all we were blind to during the long winter. Down the stairs and a hard left to where the old UC is buried under the new, faded brown bricks against the sheen of fresh white paint.

After we got the cigarettes, we went out back onto the main road. Milling teens in the quad, we walk past them squinting at the sun. We’re quiet on the way back, puffing on our cigarettes. I stop about a block way from my dorm and turn to May.
“I think I’ll let you off here.”
“Oh, are you sure?” May asks. “I can walk you all the way, it’s just another block.”
“Naw it’s alright.” I try to scan the area for any sign of my parents’ car. That big boat of an SUV, screaming: ‘yes, we‘re from the suburbs.’ “If they see me with you, I’ll probably have to introduce you as my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” We share a nervous laugh.
“So I’ll see you soon. You take care of yourself.” I start to turn away.
“Wait.” She draws me closer for a hug and I return it limply. “Now you behave yourself, young man.”
“Always do.” I turn away and start heading towards the door.


The car lurches forward after an endless red light. I’ve got my head phones on full blast, staring out the window as the small towns and shrubbery melts into familiar surroundings. I see Buttonville airport slowly eat up the green space, the rows of repetitive houses subdivided into industrial perfection, steel spires, and blaring logos; the soft dive into the suburban bubble. A pocket where things are placed and forgotten, at close contact and left behind.

The End