The Homecoming

October 13th, 2000 - The Homecoming



Word count: 563



         Denise was late.  But then, Denise was always late.  She had been for as long as I’d known her—which was more than thirty years.  But we all have flaws, and one of the things that changes ‘good’ friends into ‘best’ friends is the ability to overlook those minor imperfections.

         I kept waiting for the garage door to open, thinking about what I wanted to talk with her about over lunch…needed to talk with her about.  I had been unhappy all summer—even more unhappy than I’d been when I’d visited in the spring.  I knew she saw I was miserable…but being the friend that she was, she was waiting for me to be ready to talk.  And now I was ready.

         For nearly a year now, the ‘D’ word had been hovering over me.  I was drowning in my marriage, and terrified to leave it.  In less than a week, Russ would be here for a long weekend—to ‘celebrate’ out 26th anniversary.  And I was scared.  He had become so hard, so cold; so self-absorbed—consumed by his perception of his own self-importance.  I was already embarrassed by how I knew he would act.

         But it was too late—the plans were made.  And he was expected.  I could only try and brazen through whatever happened and hope for the best.  The best…

         I heard the grinding of the garage door.  Denise was home.  It was time to go.  I pasted a smile on my face, grabbed my purse and ran out to the car. 

         Sissy, the restaurant’s chef/owner, had saved us our favorite table.  And the waitress grinned when she saw us.  “Your back…it’s been a long time.  When are you just going to move down here with us?”  She asked as she handed us menus.

         Perhaps sooner than anyone could possibly expect…          

I ordered quickly and then let Denise talk for awhile, wondering if maybe this could wait after all. Then she stared at me through those thick glasses she’d worn since high school—the ones that magnify her eyes until you feel she can see into your soul.  And somehow, everything bubbled up inside me and came spilling out.  She listened in silence, just giving the occasional little nod of encouragement. 

Amazingly, I didn’t cry—not here, out in public.  There would be private time for that—later.  Afterwards, when I’d finished pouring out my hurt, my frustration and my fear, she smiled at me.  Then she reached across the table, and patted my hand.

“It will be okay.  Don’t worry.  If you leave him, we’ll figure out something.  You have to believe you’ll get through this.”

“But…” I started to protest.

“It will be all right.  Bob and I are here for you.  Anne Marie and my folks are in Connecticut for you.  Everything will work out.  Believe—you just need to believe.”

She called the waitress over, “We’ll take a pot of Earl Grey tea and two ‘big’ slices of Sissy’s Kentucky Derby pie.”  She looked over at me again, “But we need to hurry up.  The homecoming parade starts in half an hour, and I promised Rebecca we’d be out in front, waving at her as the band passes.”

I relished that calming fragrance of my tea, savored the richness of my pie and knew I had come home.