I lived in the same house from My First Memory, until I was 12. By the time my parents were divorcing, we’d all been so far removed from ourselves in their violent chaos, that it didn’t feel like a home at all.
For me, changes come in threes. The first time I noticed this pattern, I was 21. I’d just bought a new car, moved to a new city, and started a new job. I was thriving on a high of change. When anyone would ask me, ‘How have you been?’ I’d feel myself slip into my complete element as I gave them a coy smile: “How much time ya got?”
I’ve had favorite homes. I’ve had least favorite homes. I’ve had homes I’ve slammed the front door leaving, and places I’ve reluctantly returned keys to. I’ve lived in some apartment complexes more than once. I’ve had neighbors that came with me when I moved somewhere new. I’ve had long commutes to work, I’ve had short commutes to work, I’ve walked to work, and taken the bus to work. I’ve shared bedrooms, I’ve slept on couches, and I’ve been the single name on a lease.
I’ve moved nineteen times since I got my worker’s permit fifteen years ago.
“You’re just a gypsy,” all my exes have drunkenly sneered at me, at least once.
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Eight months ago I’d turned my house keys in to my landlord, and traded them in for a storage unit key. The past eight months I spent as a wallflower (and the rotting food in the disposal) in other peoples homes. The past eight months I spent living on other people’s schedules, existing in other people’s spaces, living other people’s lives with no trace of myself in sight. After the initial shock and depression faded, I began to feel at home- no matter where I was. I developed a confidence in any space that I occupied.
o0o
I’d barely spent a full week in my new home before I left the state for a week. I’d made it a point to at least unpack the last box before I boarded my plane; I absolutely had to gift myself the joy of coming home to a HOME.
o0o
“Welcome Home,” The pilot announced, as the seatbelt lights switched off. I was thirsty, I was tired, I was hungry. Everything I’d brought with me was in the cabinet above my head, and as I exited the plane, I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort as I effortlessly navigated my fourth airport in five days. Home.
“What a week,” I thought to myself as I absent-mindedly re-traced the steps through the airport. I’d made the same ones in reverse, just six days before.
I was grateful I’d left my car there.
I unlocked the doors and slung my backpack and camera bag into the backseat. I placed the houseplant I’d traveled with, in the cupholder.
“Hi Baby,” I sweet talked my car as I turned the key into the ignition.
I’d rescheduled my flight home twice since I’d left, and ended up on the I5/Hwy 50 exhange at 5:30pm exactly. From my spot in rush hour traffic, I had another hour and a half before I even made it to my town.
I didn’t care. I sank into my chair, and turned up the radio, and smiled anyway. I smiled at the fact I had a house key on my key ring. I smiled at the fact I finally had pets at home waiting for me. I smiled at the fact I was no longer guessing where I was going to sleep, or if the person I was sleeping next to was still texting their ex, or if tomorrow would be the day I had to move out. I smiled at the fact I didn’t have to worry about being locked out of my house, or being drunkenly berated Just ‘Cause, or had to walk on eggshells to keep the peace.
When I pulled into my driveway that night, there were deer already loafed up beneath the pine trees in my front yard. They lifted their heads to squint at my headlights, and immediately went back to snoozing.
“Hi honeys,” I sleepily smiled at them from the car, as my eyes welled up with tears.
I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and let myself in through my sliding glass door as I argued the tears trying to fall from my eyes. It was dark, but it smelled like me. I didn’t bother wiping at my tears, and I didn’t close the sliding glass door behind me. I hadn’t turned on any of the lights by the time I turned the shower on. I grabbed some pajamas from the hamper under my bed and by the time I returned to the shower, I was full-on crying.
I’d never been so Home.
Wild Little Hare 