homecoming
at home, even the sky feels welcoming
The boy walks by the river close to his new house. This new house is not home though.
The sun is setting and boys ride past him on their bikes. They throw water at him. They ride away. No… this is no home.
He remembers the marshy forest behind his old house, behind his actual home. His heart aches. And he’s is soaked now.
The longing doesn’t stop. Days, weeks, months pass by and fall arrives. Leaves start to fall of their branches. It will be the boy’s birthday soon.
He steps of the train and walks into the neighborhood. Its been years. How many exactly? He doesn’t bother counting. He doesn’t want to think about it. Its been way too long. Ironically, the boy got his math test back today. He failed.
He finally did the math. 8 years. He has been away for practically half of his life.
Was this still his home then?
Half of his life… stolen. He feels an ache, not in his heart, but in his head. The utter distaste for his parents that made him leave, and for his schoolmates that treated him like thrash. At least he doesn’t have to look at the latter anymore.
He walks toward his old house, his former home. But even the way there is fraught by memories. The simple things like street signs awake a burning nostalgia. Streets that he and his sister would get lost in are the same - smaller, but still grey and inviting. There are no people here at this hour. The street maze promised adventure to a kid that was not the boy anymore.
He arrives to the house. Well… the place where it used to stand. The structure of gentle orange paint was no more, torn down in the years of absence. In its place, a new building was rising. Unfinished, still displaying its brickworks and cement.
There were so many memories here. The boy feels like he should be sadder about the loss of his home. But he isn’t. The memories that were just sparks in his subconscious before, now bring with them entire flames. Nothing is lost for him. They could tear down the entire street, but the strength of this moment was already enough for him. He felt genuinely happy. The last time he did so was probably right here, 8 years ago, in what seems like another lifetime.
He leaves the house behind. There was no home left for him there after all. But there was one more place he needed to visit.
On the way he looks at the sky. Never before had a grey sky looked so welcoming. How can a sky make someone feel so at home?! He thought it would have looked foreign or detached, always looking down on all of them. But even without the warmth of the sun, he felt the sky smiling.
He entered the forest behind his house, where he and his dad used to walk. The lumps of grass that felt like hills so long ago were now small and easy to miss. He finds a path among the trees. It is only them here, and the boy. If the trees missed him, they don’t show it. He walks by a stream and stumbles upon an abandoned fireplace. Charcoal was cold as were the stumps where people used to sit. The boy sits down now too.
For a moment he just sits there and reminisces. Contemplates. Observes…
He would have thought there would be more pain, more emotion inside of him. But there is nothing like that. Just some internal peace he can’t quite name, flowing as peacefully as the stream next to him. Whatever disappointment, anger, sadness he though would come rushing out was not there. It was stifled. How could feelings as ugly push forth in a place of such beauty and such meaning?
There are no sounds here today. Not even birds or the wind, only the stream and the breaths of a boy welcomed back home. He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. But he has been filled. Something that has been gone from him for 8 years has finally returned in his lungs and chest. He would carry this feeling home.
He looks around the little camp, looking for something else - a memento to remember this place. The campfire provides it almost immediately. A rusted axehead, dark as the cold charcoal that surrounded it. It was perfect.
The boy wraps the axe into his math test. At home, he would put it next to the bullet casing he and dad found more than a decade ago among the grass lumps. He would always remember this day. But now, he has a train to catch.
Excerpt from a diary
October 7th, 2013.
Went to discover my origin. So nostalgic.
Almost everything is the same.
The buildings are smaller,
there are more cars…
And there is a new building being built where my home was. It’s good.
But the forest is the same, overgrown marsh. Beautiful. Quiet.
If only I could stay.
Even the sky is the same. Friendly.
A note by the author:
This entry was very heavy for me to write. It brought forth many memories and feelings from my very core. Well, all entries in this series do so, but this one is extra special because of the occasion and what it means. There is a special significance in the moment when you come back home after many years of struggle. It was a rare moment of pure goodness in a life I wasn’t particularly happy in and it still means a lot to me. So extra thank you for reading it.
Next chapter is gonna be even heavier.
🤍🌲