Finding Home

This is the first story I wrote in my college career.  I wrote it for an assignment in my Freshman Composition class.  My professor loved it and encouraged me to change my major from Business Administration to Creative Writing.  I didn't change my major, but I did take his advice and take a Creative Writing class the next semester.  Now, almost a decade later, I am about to finish my English degree with a concentration in Creative Writing.  I am thankful to professors like him who inspired me and encouraged me to write.  This story has been edited many times since that class nine years ago.  I submitted it as part of my writing sample when I applied for the Creative Writing program at MUW three years ago.  My first year at MUW, this story won second place in the annual creative writing contest held by the English department and was published in Mississippi University for Women's annual Art and Literary Magazine, The Dilettanti.  

Finding Home

Almost a year had passed since the last time I turned onto that red dirt road.  The rain had been pounding the Alabama clay for weeks, and the ruts in the road were deep.  Jonathan eased the truck into a set and hoped they would lead us home.

            I gazed out the window, taking slow, deep breaths as we passed the oak tree in Aunt Sue’s yard, the pond where David and Jonathan taught me how to swim, and the barbed wire fence where I cut my arm when I was five.  I pushed up my sleeve and traced my finger over the thin, jagged scar on my right arm.  Jonathan was chasing me through the pasture that day, and I got caught in the fence trying to get away from him and his tickling fingers.  When I finally wiggled free, my arm was cut from my wrist to my elbow.  I’d never seen so much blood, and neither had Jonathan.  He was only eight then, and thought I was going to die.  If he killed his little sister, he’d never get the four-wheeler he wanted for Christmas, so he scooped me up, slung me over his shoulder, and ran to Granny’s house.  She looked at my arm, wrapped it in a dishtowel, and called Uncle Travis.  He came with his paramedic’s bag and stitched me up.

            “Jess,” Jonathan said, snapping me back to the present.  “You’ve been really quiet.  Are you okay?”

            I met his eyes in the rearview mirror.  For a second, I could have sworn that Granny was looking at me.  Jonathan was the lucky one that got Granny’s green eyes.  The rest of us had brown eyes like Papaw or a mixture of hazel, but he got her gorgeous emerald eyes.

            “I’m fine”

            He held my gaze for a second and knew I was lying to him.  He could always tell when I was lying.  Big brothers are like that.

            “Are you sure?”

            “She said she was fine,” Daphanie, Jonathan’s girlfriend, said from the front seat.  She had spent most of the ride touching up her makeup and pretending that I wasn’t there.  “Leave her alone, honey.”

            Jonathan met my eyes in the mirror again and shrugged.  He turned left at the fork in the road and slowed down as the road narrowed. 

            “Oh!” Daphanie suddenly squealed, “how charming!”  She pointed through the window at the little white church where I had grown up.  “Honey,” she said, patting Jonathan’s arm, “pull over so I can take a picture.” 

            I held my breath while she dug through her bag for her camera.  The old church would make a beautiful picture.  It was a small building, painted white with blue and green stained glass windows and a tall white steeple.  They had planted shrubs since the last time I was there.  The fence around the graveyard needed a coat of paint, but its faded posts gave the church character.  The parking lot had been covered with gravel recently, but the stubborn red clay was already seeping through the rocks.

            “We’ll stop on the way back.”  Jonathan tapped the clock on the dash and grinned.  “We don’t want to be late for Thanksgiving dinner.”

            I had just started to breathe again when I saw the rusty Ford tractor in Wilbur Jackson’s field and felt my heart start beating faster.  It’s just Thanksgiving dinner, I told myself.  Just like always.  No big deal.

            “Here we are.”

            I waited for Jonathan to park before I looked up.  The old house looked exactly like I had left it.  The familiar smell of roasting turkey melded with the sweet scent of apple pie when I climbed out of the truck.  “We’re home,” Jonathan said, smiling at me.  The two-story farm house, with its bright white wood siding and green tin roof, stood proudly behind three huge oaks.  My tire swing was rocking in the wind under the tallest tree, and three rusty tricycles that had belonged to my brothers and me were still displayed in the flowerbed.

            The air was cool and a gentle breeze was blowing.  I turned toward the wind and rocked back onto the heels of my boots. 

            “Aunt Jessica!”  David’s kids burst through the front door and jumped down the green cement steps.  I squatted down to give them both a hug.

            “Hey, girls,” I said, wrapping my arms around Stephanie and Madeline.  “I’ve missed you.”

            “Why did you stay away so long?” Stephanie asked.

            “Hey!” Jonathan called from across the yard.  “Doesn’t Uncle Jon get a hug?”  The girls ran over and tackled him and Jonathan laughed as he swung Stephanie around while she squealed and giggled.

            Madeline threaded her fingers through mine and pulled me toward the house.  If she hadn’t, I probably would have stayed rooted in the driveway.  Jonathan followed us with Stephanie on his shoulders and Daphanie clinging to his arm.

            I took a deep breath before I pushed open the heavy wood door.  The dusty paneling that had lined with walls for as long as I could remember was gone, replaced by smooth, painted sheetrock.  The dark varnish had been stripped off the floors to reveal gorgeous pine boards.  I let Madeline lead me through the house, my eyes taking in every detail.

            “Look at our new kitchen,” Stephanie said when Jonathan set her down.

            I stopped at the threshold and Madeline tugged on my arm.  “Come on, Aunt Jess,” she said.  I could have cried when I saw that kitchen.  The back wall had been knocked out and the room was twice its original size.  The cabinets that I had helped Granny stain when I was seven were gone, the old farm sink had been replaced by a new stainless steel one, and the butcher block countertops that had been stained from years of baking, canning, and entertaining grandchildren were missing.

            “What happened in here?” Jonathan muttered under his breath.

            “Do you like it?”  My sister-in-law, Cortnie, smiled brightly and wiped her hands on a dishtowel.  She took off her apron and walked around the large granite-topped island.  “David and I worked so hard to get it ready.”  She wrapped me in a tight, warm hug.  “Do you like it?” she asked again, looking at me expectantly.

            “It’s beautiful,” I croaked.  I cleared my throat and flashed my brightest smile.  “It’s really nice.”

            Cortnie beamed at me.  It wasn’t exactly a lie.  The house did look nice.  The rooms were open and sunny and warm.  But it wasn’t home.

            After I’d been thoroughly hugged and scolded for staying away so long, I sat on a bench in the corner of the living room and watched my family.  The women were gathered in the kitchen and the men were crowded around the TV watching a football game.  They were all laughing and joking, just like always.  Just like nothing had changed.

            The house suddenly felt hot and stuffy.  I needed out.  When I reached the back door, I felt a tug at my sleeve.  “Aunt Jess?”

            I turned around.  “What is it, Madeline?”

            “Where are you going?”

            I squatted down and smiled into a face that looked exactly like my own.  “For a walk,” I said.

            “Can I come?”

            “Not tonight, sweetie.”  I pushed a dark curl behind her ear, then reached and pushed one of my curls behind my own ear.

            “What’s the matter, Aunt Jess?” she asked.

            I almost laughed.  Of all the people there, a five year old was the only one that could tell how uneasy I felt.  “Nothing,” I lied.  I stood up and put my hand on her shoulder.  “Go play, okay?”

            Madeline blinked slowly.  “I miss her, too,” she whispered before she ran across the room to join her cousins at the toy box.

            Outside, I took a deep breath of the cool autumn air and stuffed my hands in my pockets.  I walked across the backyard, climbed through the fence, and followed the shallow creek across the pasture.  Wilbur Jackson’s rusty tractor looked like at statue in the moonlight.  Lightening bugs danced around the trees and cicadas sang in the distance.  I kept walking until I got to the barbed wire fence that separated our land from the Jacksons’ property.  The bottom wires were still a tangled mess two sections from the corner.  I pushed up my sleeve and looked at the scar on my arm again.  Memories flooded my mind:  the sights and smells and sounds that I had grown up with surrounded me.  I shook my head to clear it and stepped over the fence.  The church wasn’t much farther away.

            When I stepped onto the gravel parking lot, the old streetlight next to the building flickered on.  I walked around the church slowly, cautiously running my fingers over the rough fence boards until I got to the gate.  A gust of wind blew it open, inviting me to step inside.  The tiny graveyard was well kept.  Two rows back, on the third stone, I found the name I was looking for.

            “Hi, Granny.”  I knelt down beside the tombstone and ran my fingers over its cold, smooth surface.  Then, I cried.  For the first time since it happened, I cried.  I told Granny everything:  about Jonathan’s annoying girlfriend, the kitchen, and the barbed wire fence.  I told her how different everything was.  I asked her why it was so hard.  And I begged her to forgive me.  I poured my heart out to her, and she listened.  Just like always.

            I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.  “Come here, Jess,” Jonathan said quietly as he pulled me to my feet.  He wiped the tears off my cheeks with his thumb and wrapped me in a hug.

            “Why didn’t I come?” I cried into his chest.  “Why didn’t I come when she called?”

            Jonathan stroked my hair and David put his hand on my shoulder.  “You didn’t know,” he said.  “None of us knew.”

            I sucked in a ragged breath and the cold air ripped through my chest.  “Come on,” Jonathan said, letting me go and running his fingers over my curls to smooth them.  “Dinner’s ready.  Everyone’s waiting on us.”

            I climbed into the cab of David’s truck and slid into the middle.  David and Jonathan both sighed when they climbed in on either side of me.  “She wouldn’t want you to feel bad about it,” David said in his matter-of-fact way.

            We sat there for a few minutes, staring out the cracked windshield and listening to the old truck motor hum.  “Are you gonna be okay?” Jonathan asked.

            I nodded and David pulled out of the parking lot.  “I miss her, too.”

            “Yeah,” Jonathan agreed.

            “Did you take down the porch swing?” I asked.

            David scratched his chin and looked at me.  “No.”

            “Good.”  I adjusted the rearview mirror as David pulled in the driveway so I could check my reflection and wiped the streaks of mascara off my cheeks.  “How do I look?”

            Jonathan shrugged.  “You’ll do, I guess,” he said.  I rolled my eyes and shoved him out of the truck. 

            Uncle Travis met us at the door.  “Now that everyone’s here,” he announced, “let’s eat!”  I stood between my brothers while he said a long prayer, thanking God for the food, our family, and our wonderful home.  I was wiping tears again before he said amen.  Jonathan pinched my arm and handed me a handkerchief. 

            My stomach had been in knots all day, but while I waited in line to get my plate my mouth started to water.  Everyone’s favorites were accounted for, including mine.

            I sat at the kids’ table between Stephanie and Madeline and listened to the kids talk about their Christmas wish lists and their school friends.  After dinner, I helped clean up the kitchen, then escaped to the back porch until everyone left.

            “You should take up acting.”  David walked up beside me and leaned against the porch railing. 

            I sat down on the porch swing and sighed.  “How do you stay here?” I asked.  “I couldn’t do it.”

            “This is home.”

            I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my sweater.

            “What?”  David crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me. 

            “It doesn’t feel like home to me.  Not anymore.”

            “Come here.”  David stood and walked to the door.  “I want to show you something.”  He led me inside and up the stairs to the third room on the right, my old room.  “This is Madeline’s room,” he said, pushing the door open and flipping on the light.

            The faded pink and green quilt Granny had made me for my tenth birthday was spread across the bed and the pillows we had made together when she taught me how to sew were propped against the headboard.  “We saved this for you,” David said, pulling a box out of the top of Madeline’s closet.  He set it on the foot of the bed.  It was full of pictures and cookbooks that Granny had given me.  “Madeline wants to keep this one, though.”  David handed me a frame and I smiled.  It was my favorite picture.  David had taken it when I was four years old.  Granny and I were standing in the kitchen, laughing, both of us covered in flour from head to toe.

            “That was the day I learned to make biscuits.”

            “Yeah.”  David smiled.  “You’re the only one that can make them like she did,” he said. 

            “I should have come home when she called.”

            “Why?”

            “To tell her goodbye.  To tell her that I loved her.”

            “She already knew that.”  David kissed the top of my head.

            I pulled a little jewelry box out of the box on the bed.  When I opened it, music started to play.

            “’Softly and Tenderly,’” Jonathan said from the doorway.  He ducked under the doorframe and sat down on the bed.  “That was her favorite.”

            The same song had played at her funeral.  I set the box on Madeline’s dresser and left it open to let it play.  When the song was over, I sat down on the bed between my brothers.

            “It’s good to be back.  Right, Jess?”  Jonathan put his arm around my shoulders like he used to do when we were little.  “You know what would really make this feel like home?” he asked.

            “What?”

            “The smell of Granny’s chocolate cobbler cooking.”

            “We just finished eating Thanksgiving dinner,” I said.  “How could you possibly be thinking of food?”

            Jonathan patted his stomach.  “There’s always room for cobbler.”

            “Or,” David said, “you could make Granny’s biscuits and homemade syrup.”

            “Yeah,” Jonathan agreed.  They stood up and walked out into the hall, naming more of Granny’s treats that I would be expected to make before the weekend was over.

            Madeline skipped into the room and climbed onto the bed beside me.  “Do you like my room?” she asked.

            “I love it.”

            Madeline looked around and ran her fingers over the soft quilt.  “Daddy says that it feels like home.”

            “Yeah.”  I smiled and leaned down to kiss Madeline on the top of her head.  “Yeah, it does.”