Welcome Home

         To fasten your seatbelt, insert the metal tip into the buckle.
         The door opened and the banner said ‘Welcome Home!’ I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. There he was, standing in the foyer, my stepfather. I stood in the doorway as my mother embraced him, stood in the doorway as he kissed her, finally stepped inside when they broke apart and she turned to face me. She was tall and thin, with wide hips and small, squinted eyes that made her look as though she was always smiling. Eyes that people said were identical to mine, although I still maintain that I look like my father. I don’t remember much about him. The only memory I have of him is of his hands. When I was six years old, we went to a water park, and I had wanted to go on the tallest water slide. I rode down on his lap, and at the end of the slide, the force flung me forward out of his arms. I sunk slowly to the bottom, eyes closed, water rushing all around me. All of a sudden, I felt his hands on my waist, pulling me up and back into his lap. It was at that moment, when I was six years old, that I understood that as long as my father was around, nothing could hurt me.
         In case of an emergency, lights will illuminate the aisles.
         I followed them into the living room, a place straight out of the 70’s, with bad wallpaper and scratched floors, which he had tried to cover up with abstract paintings and modern end tables. It resulted in a strange mix of wood paneling and bright color splashes that somehow worked. There were so many paintings around the room I almost expected there to be little cards next to them, boasting the artist and medium. A glass of champagne was shoved into my hand. I hated champagne. As I tipped my glass back in celebration, I found myself wishing for something stronger. Vanilla extract, for example. I placed my unfinished merriment back on the counter and my stepsister downed it in one gulp. She placed it back where I had left it and grinned at me.
         If there is a loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will appear.
I subtly jerked my head toward my new room, and she made a tiny nod and followed.
         "So…welcome home huh?” she quipped.
         “Yeah, whose great idea was that?”
         “My dad’s. Who else?”
         “Well at least he was being thoughtful.”
         “Are you serious?”
         Oxygen will be flowing even if the bag may not inflate.
         “Am I ever?”
         “No.”
         “Exactly.” I looked around the empty room. It used to be my stepbrothers, and he clearly hadn’t finished clearing out his stuff. The walls were white and blank, with the same wood paneling that decorated the living room and kitchen. The carpet was a dark red with a navy blue border. God. The only gem in the wasteland of a room was a window seat. I’d always wanted a window seat. Maybe it won’t be that bad.
         “The bottom cushion slides around when you sit on it and the window cranks dig into your back,” she said matter-of-factly.
         God dammit. I sat down on the bed.
         “Jesus!!!”
         Your bottom cushion can be used as a floatation device.
         “Water bed. Should have warned you.”
         “Why didn’t he take it with him when he moved rooms?”
         “Seasickness?”
         “Oh haha.”
         “How was the drive down?”
         “I’ve never seen that many cornfields.” She laughed.
         Flight attendants, prepare for departure.

When I was 10, my father collapsed at work with what my mother told me was food poisoning. He was in the hospital for three weeks, and I never questioned it. As far as I was concerned, the day he was discharged was the day he was okay again. The night he told me, I was downstairs watching TV. He called me up to his room, and I asked him if I was in trouble. No sweetie, he said. You didn’t do anything wrong. I cried for hours, but it didn’t change anything. Apparently brain tumors can’t be cured by a child’s tears.

         When school started, I sat in the back of all my classes and told everyone my name was Markie. I wore my headphones everywhere and kept my head down in the hallways. I was determined not to make friends, to just work hard and get straight A’s and get out of there as fast as I could. That plan didn’t last long. By winter term, I had already carved out my own niche in the school’s hierarchy, and I was working backstage on a play.
         We have reached cruising altitude.
         “I want to see what Sam can do.” Sarah giggled.
         “Everybody can do something,” I mocked. She clapped her hand over her mouth and we all burst out laughing. We’d only been rehearsing for a couple weeks and already we were quoting the play.
         “I can do some voices.” He said something indistinguishable in a Donald Duck quack. “Yeah that’s all I can do.”
         We spent every rehearsal backstage giggling and even though I resisted the feeling with every part of my being, I was actually having fun. I actually wanted to be there.

         My mom started dating Michael two months after my dad died. It took her 6 months to tell me, and another year to get engaged. The second she showed me the ring, I knew we were leaving. I ran into my room and slammed the door, burying my face in my hands in true teenage fashion. All I wanted to do was blame her, hate her for ripping me away from my family, my friends, and the home that I loved. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate her for wanting to be happy. For wanting to get away from the house and the city that constantly reminded her of my father and the pain of losing him. I couldn’t hate her for that because deep down, it was all I wanted too.

         At this time, electronic devices may be used.
         “Come home!” my friend whined over the phone.
         “Wow great idea Ashley, I’ll just hop on a plane right now.”
         “Why can’t you?”
         “Because I have a feeling stowing away isn’t that comfortable.”
         “When are you coming back to visit?”
         “No idea. My mom’s a little weird about letting me go back.”
         “Why?”
         “Well, apparently flying me home every weekend is a little pricey.”
         “You haven’t been here in months.”
         “I know.”
         “So ask her to come back.”
         “Hey I hadn’t thought of that.”
         “Seriously.”
         “Seriously Ashley, I don’t know when I can come home.”

By the time school ended, I had only visited home twice, and I was surprised about how much it didn’t concern me. My old group of friends had deteriorated in my absence, almost as if I had been the only thing holding them together. All of the little things that had bugged me about them had been amplified by a thousand, and little by little I began to let them go, just as they were doing to me.
         Flight attendants prepare for landing.
         I collapsed on my bed the night I came back from my last visit and remembered the night I had moved here. I was so afraid of the change. I was so afraid of losing my friends, and losing all sense of having a real home. As I stared at my ceiling, I knew that everything I had feared had happened, but at some point during the process, I had stopped being afraid. Someone knocked on my door.
         “Come in!” It was my stepsister.
         “Hey there.” Bella grinned.
         “Hey.”
         “Good trip?”
         “Eh, it was okay.”
         “So, I was looking at the calendar, and I noticed that today is August 5th.”
         “Wow, great story Bella.”
         “Well if you let me finish…”
         “Sorry.”
         “Where was I?”
         “It was August 5th.”
         “Oh right. You moved here exactly a year ago today.”

         The day I left, my uncle drove me to my father’s grave. He was buried on top of a hill decorated with pine trees that rose above most of the rest of the cemetery. I sat in the wet grass and told my father all about my life. I told him about how scared I felt, and how much I wanted to stay. I told him how happy Mom was. I told him how much I missed him. And when I finally stood up to leave, my face wet with tears, I told him goodbye.

         “Yeah. I did.” I smiled.
         “Welcome home.”
         To unbuckle your seatbelt, lift up on the metal flap.