Finding My Way Home (3 page)

              What was my nana thinking to put me in this predicament?  I have never been good with making the right decisions, instead always counting on others to make the first move.  Now it was all on me.  I look around the old kitchen and wish I could talk to her at least one more time.  No matter how many times I try to come up with a plan, I always come up empty. 

             
The only thing I can think of is that I need a shower and some fresh clothes so I make my way to the car to bring in the overnight bag.  The air is so cold it feels like thousands of sharp needles prickling my skin as it turns a bright shade of pink.  I hurry back inside and head for my bedroom to unpack the few things I have with me.  My closet is still filled with my old clothes from before college, each one reminding me of my old self.  When did I stop wearing such fun bright colors? 

             
I drop my robe and dress on the floor and hit the shower, turning the water as hot as my skin would allow it.  Within seconds the entire room is covered in steam, yet the burning stream fails to warm up my freezing body.  I press my cheek on the flowery tile and let the tears flow freely as the sobs take over.  I stay like that, one with the wall, until the hot water runs cold.  I heard someone once say that nothing a good cry, a hot bath, and a stiff drink can’t cure; as the bath and the crying failed I am starting to believe that maybe the only cure is a stiff drink. 

             
Covered in nothing but a towel, I find myself staring at the old closet and pick up an old pair of jeans and one of the many sweaters my nana made for me.  It has a white daisy and a bumblebee on the front, knitted in bright colors, to
brighten your day even in rainy weather
. I gingerly run my hand over the beautiful flower and tears sting my eyes once again.  I used to hate this sweater, thinking I was too old to wear something as childish as this, yet now looking at myself in the small mirror I can’t help but think of all the work she put into it and how close to her I feel just by wearing it.

             
I rule against drying my hair and instead twist it in a bun on top of my head and walk out to the kitchen, laptop in hand.  I know I have exactly five more days until I need to return to work so whether I like it or not it’s time to come up with a plan.  I open a blank document and try my hardest to focus on the task at hand; this usually worked but it seemed nearly impossible today. My stomach growls as if to remind me that I’ve skipped a few meals since I got here, however I have no appetite.

             
I keep staring at the white screen and wish I could make the words appear in front of me, telling me what my next move should be.  I pick up my cell and just as I’m about to dial Joe’s number, it starts ringing, an unknown number lighting up the screen.

             
“Hello?”

             
“Hi Princess.” I should be annoyed with him for calling me that again, instead a happy feeling starts forming in the pit of my stomach. 

             
“How did you get my number,” I manage to ask.

             
“Sonia gave it to me to use in case I ever needed to contact you. Did you eat?  I’m done for the day and thought I’d do the neighborly thing and bring you some food.”

             
Why couldn’t he be an asshole?  Why did he always say the right things, making me feel things I shouldn’t feel?  I’ve only known him for two days but that didn’t seem to matter.

             
“No it’s ok.”

             
“No, you haven’t had lunch, or no you don’t want to eat with me?”

             
“Noah it’s very nice of you to offer but I’m really not hungry.  I’m sure I’ll be able to find some canned soup or something.” 

             
“Aha, ok I’ll see you in about thirty minutes.”  Before I can argue, the line goes dead and I realize that I’ve been holding my breath this whole time.  Once again a multitude of mixed feelings are invading my very core and I try my hardest to compose myself;  I can’t let him see me like this, like the weakling that I am.

             
Dark clouds are covering the sky, making the room dark and cold.  I pick up my stuff and move in the living room. Feeling a chill I decide to make a fire while I wait for him.  I sit in front of the fireplace, my mind still a blank canvas, surrounded by emptiness and unanswered questions. I am still sitting in the same spot, wondering just how I’ll be able to find my way when I hear the knock. I answer the door without even bothering to check who was on the other side; he’s holding a large bag from Carl’s Jr. and just seeing that yellow star makes me smile.  I can’t remember the last time I ate there and the smell of greasy food makes my mouth water.

             
“Still not hungry,” he smirks.

             
“Maybe but since you’re here already I guess I’m not going to be rude and not eat.  Let’s go in the living room; it’s warmer there.”

I let him go first
, so that I can check him out.  He’s wearing the same beanie from yesterday, and a black and red flannel shirt over baggy jeans. 

             
“Do you want to grab the paper plates?  I know Sonia had some in the pantry.  Or I can get them.”

             
“No it’s ok, I think I still remember where the pantry is,” I answer and walk out.  How is it that one minute I want to touch his face, the circle rings adorning his brow, and then the next I want to break every bone in his body?  Why does he know so much about this house, about my nana?  Why do I feel like he belongs here more than I do?

             
I find what I’m looking for and return to the living room, still trying to calm my anxious breathing.   I pass him a plate and he once again surprises me by serving me first.  Everything about him exudes confidence and yet he is not cocky about it.  The food is as delicious as I remember, or maybe it’s just been too long since my last meal. 

             
“So did you decide where you want to start with your search,” he breaks the silence.

             
“I wish I could say yes but the truth is I feel as lost as I felt yesterday when you gave me the news, if not even more.”

             
“I know you don’t want me here but I promised Sonia I would help you.  No, don’t try to deny it,” he stops me when I try to disagree. “We can start today and maybe check the attic first.  I know you’re scared of spiders and who knows what’s up there.  So you see, you’ll need me for protection, if nothing more.”  Oh my, if he keeps smiling like that I’ll end up in bigger trouble than I already am.

             
I simply nod and finish my meal, trying to avoid his stares and play it cool. The truth is I’ve always been scared of the attic, and while I wish I could say that with age that had changed, that’s not the case.  My nana never liked to throw away things, and while not a hoarder, she kept every single school project I’ve ever made. Every card, every toy, every little outfit, all stored in large bins with bright labels on the outside. 

             
Once we were finished eating and the trash removed we walked towards the back stairs leading us to the attic.  Noah pushed the heavy small door open and walked inside the stuffy room.  It was hard to see and no matter how many times I tried to turn on the lights, nothing happened.

             
“There’s a flashlight in the kitchen, first drawer next to the sink. In the pantry there are a few packs of light bulbs. Do you mind getting them?  Unless you want to wait here?” I didn’t answer, instead walked back to fetch the stuff he requested.  I could feel a pang of jealousy over the fact that he was so at home here, feeling replaced by him in so many ways. I had no problem finding everything and returned to the attic; he picked up the flashlight and changed the light bulb with ease. Before I knew it, the room was inundated in a glowing ray of light.

             
One thing I was right about: everything I ever owned was here, neatly packed away.  The room was cleaner than I expected making me wonder if maybe this was the place hiding the letter.  From up here we could hear the rushing wind and the heavy rain dancing on the worn roof. Noah pulls a few boxes down and we open them one by one looking through the old contents.

             
“So where exactly are you from? Come on don’t give me that look.  If we’re going to be stuck here for the next few hours we might as well get to know each other, don’t you think?”

             
“I’m from around here.” 

             
His brief answer only makes me more curious.  What is he hiding?

             
“If you are from around here how come I don’t know you?  It’s not like I’ve been gone forever.”

             
“Feels like it.”

             
“What did you say?”  I heard him the first time but wanted to make sure I heard him right.

             
“Nothing.  I moved away when I was sixteen.” 

We continue to pull out random things from the boxes, each making me smile, or sigh, taking me back in time.

              “Can you believe she still kept my report cards?” Everything is here, all tucked away safely like priceless treasures.  We’ve looked through four boxes already and so far no letter and it’s making me anxious.  What if it’s all a lie?  I mean I never met this guy and yet I believed him on the spot, never doubting his motives.

             
“Why did you move back? Do you have family here?” 

             
His eyes are on me now, watching me intently and he takes his time answering my question.  “Your grandfather asked me to come back.”

             
“Come back?  As in you’ve been here before?  Why did he ask you to come here?”

             
“Look what’s with all the questions? What is it that you want to know exactly?”

He has no reason to be angry with me and yet he sounds like he is. 
              “I just want to know why he asked you to come here.  Why can’t you answer a simple question?”

             
“Because it’s not a simple question.  He knew you were not coming back and wanted to make sure Sonia was not going to be alone.”

His words cut through m
y heart like a sharp knife. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. Noah was right.  As I glance around the room, something catches my eye and I move closer to take a better look. 

             
“Wow, I can’t believe she kept this too,” I say as my fingers trace the top of my old dollhouse.  “I got this when I turned seven, the very same year I thought I was a princess and this was my castle.”  I squeeze my eyes as tightly as I can, to hold back the tears.  I haven’t even found the letter and I’m already falling apart. Noah comes around and pulls the house from its corner so I get to have a better look.  There are three stories, each room filled with beautiful carved furniture, and I lower myself until I’m sitting on the floor in front of it, touching the small items as my eyes move from one room to the other.

             
In what appears to be the bedroom, there are two initials carved on the wall with a heart between them and I simply stare at them.  N heart B. The more I look at them the more I start to remember. 

             
“My nana once told me that when my father died I stopped talking altogether.  It was months before she could finally get me to open up a little and the only time she would get some sort of reaction was when she would read me bedtime stories.  Stories filled with princesses; fairytales. There were not too many kids my age in this neighborhood and one day papa surprised both nana and me when he brought a boy to the house. Wow, I haven’t thought of him in such a long time.  Right after I turned thirteen he just stopped coming around; he disappeared.  It was as if he was a figment of my imagination. I can’t remember too well but I think he was the one that carved these letters here.”  More memories are appearing in front of me like slideshows and each piece of the puzzle starts to come together. I turn to Noah who seems to know just what I’m thinking.

             
“That’s impossible,” I whisper.

             
“I helped your grandpa with this the day before your birthday.  I was only ten and didn’t have any money to get you something.  It was stupid but, I don’t know, at the time it was just right.” He seems frazzled and embarrassed and tries really hard to avoid looking me in the eyes.

             
“Oh my Lord, you are the boy I used to play with.  The boy who was at our house all the time, reading to me and…” I am starting to feel lightheaded and it feels as if the air is being sucked out of my lungs. “How could you not tell me who you were?  Why did you lie to me,” I yell.

             
“I did not lie to you.” He takes a few steps back, scratching the back of his head.  For a second his eyes are closed making me wonder if maybe he’s too upset; I pray he doesn’t turn around and leave because now more than ever, I want answers.  I need to know where he went all these years ago and why he was back now.