Ready while simultaneously unprepared. Uneasy and yet completely comfortable. It seemed as though I'd never lived here before and also that I'd never left. There's something to be said for visiting a place where you lived the majority of your life.
As I reached the street I grew up on, an early memory came to mind: the day my father moved out.
I stood on the porch, a raggedy panda hanging loosely under my arm. My soft blond tendrils stuck to the salty tears coursing down my face. I waved goodbye to my father as he reversed out of the driveway in an over-sized U-Haul. I thought he had winked in an attempt to comfort me, but before I could think twice, he stepped into the cabin, put the truck into gear and eased out of the driveway. The very same one where he taught me how to ride a bike and then without training wheels. The driveway where I also fell off my pink two-wheeler with frilly ribbons glued to the handlebars and scraped my knee for the first time. The pavement where my father picked me up and cradled me in his arms, soothing me.
My mother stood behind me, her grip holding me in place so I wouldn't run after my dad. She rested her chin on my shoulder and kissed my cheek, her lips brushing against my skin ever so slightly.
"This is for the best, Elle.”
"Why? Why does Daddy have to leave?”
"Sometimes, love isn't strong enough to keep people together, and they have to do what's best for them and their families.”
"Why isn't love enough?”
"That's the most difficult question, isn't it?”
I crossed my arms and pouted.
"You'll understand one day when you're older.”
Soon, my father's moving truck disappeared down the street and around the corner of our quaint neighborhood. Our home. My mom squeezed my arm and promised to let me help bake chocolate chip cookies later that afternoon. She left my side and retreated inside our family home, now only home to two of us.
My little legs were still rooted to the porch waiting to see a U-Haul come down the road. I wanted it all to be a joke, a prank. Maybe it was a dream?
I squeezed my stuffed animal tightly and whispered in its ear, "I promise to be a good girl. Please tell Daddy to come back." I kissed Panda Pete and left him on the porch to wait for my Dad. He had to be coming back. He wouldn't leave me, would he?
As the green street sign came into view, I shook out of my daze, my knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel and my jaw clenched. As I drove down the street, a wave of nausea hit me like a sack of bricks. I took another sip from my water bottle and popped two pieces of gum into my mouth.
I pulled into the driveway, the same one where I stood while my dad drove away those years ago, and realized one thing: I was back.
Two
I parked my car in the driveway, unable to get out just yet. My mother's car was parked at the back near the garage. Beautiful territorial ivy covered the structure.
Above, the birds chirped as the sun fully rose in the brilliant indigo sky. I closed my eyes and tried to picture what it was like before. I wanted to remember my life before I left home. I opened my eyes, and a foggy scene expanded before me.
There I was as a little girl, trying my damnedest to score a basket inside the hoop on the garage. I threw the basketball up as high as my tiny arms would allow, but over and over, I barely managed to reach the rim.
I shook away the memory and forced myself back into the present. My stepfather parked in the driveway as well. Luckily, there was enough room for me to leave my vehicle without having to park in the street.
My brain told me it was time to go inside, but my heart ached with apprehension. I hadn't stepped one foot into my childhood home in years. If I went in, it would make all of this real. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face reality, but I also couldn't sit in my car for much longer without drawing the attention of the quiet street's nosy neighbors.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my keys out of the ignition, tossed them in my purse, and made my way up the porch steps and to the front door. I stumbled on the top step, but regained my composure.
I knocked twice.
"Come in!”
"Hi," I said sheepishly to my stepfather, who opened the door.
He pulled me into a tight hug, and I returned the gesture. My dad's familiar aftershave sprang into my nose, which reminded me of the ocean. More wrinkles lined his lips as he smiled. He stepped back, running his hands through his hair; more salt than pepper, as he gave me a parental once-over.
I saw the delight in his eyes having me here. In the kitchen, a timer sounded, and the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted through the air. My stomach grumbled, and I realized I'd skipped breakfast this morning.
"How are you?" he asked. "Was the drive okay?”
"Not bad," I answered with a slur.
My mom stepped into the doorway, the sun illuminating her freckled skin as she held out a plate of cookies to me with a smile. "Cookie?" she asked with a toothy grin.
"Well, it's never too early for cookies, is it?" I asked and automatically reached for one.
"Would you like a drink?" Jack asked.
"Yes, please." Crumbs fell from the cookie and landed on the carpet. I bent down to pick them up, but my mom waved me away.
Jack ventured off to the kitchen, and my mom set down the tray of cookies and pulled me into her arms, warm and loving. Her blonde hair tickled my shoulders. Once she let me go, I glanced around the house, my childhood home. It looked unrecognizable, and if it weren't for a few pieces of familiar art hanging, I would have thought I'd stepped into the wrong house.
My stepfather returned to the living room and gestured for me to sit on the plush navy sofa. He handed me a bottle of water, a smile still plastered across his face.
"The house looks nice," I said, opening the beverage.
"Thanks!" my mom replied graciously. "We still have a little more work to do, but it's coming along.”
Growing up, the walls were white, the carpet green, and the curtains tan, among other things. Now, the walls bore a soft periwinkle blue; the carpet had been removed, and hardwood floors sparkled beneath my red flats while white, flowing curtains swayed gently with the breeze.
The same home, yet a completely different one.
"So," my mother said in a slow higher pitch. "How are you doing? Are you still on leave?”
I sighed, knowing this would come up sooner or later. "Yes, until further notice."
My mom nodded and sat beside me. She rested her manicured hand on my thigh and squeezed. "I'm sure you'll be back on the force in no time!”
"Thanks, Mom.”
The emptiness where my badge resided in my pocket weighed heavily on me. My badge was my identity, my life. Without it, I barely recognized myself. I lost count of how many days it had been since my captain pulled me into his office and asked for my gun and badge.
“You’re sick, Elle,” he’d said with a furrowed brow. “And, hell, not a damn soul blames you for it. But you need to get some help. Take a few months off; see one of the counselors on that list I gave ya and come back with a fresh mind. We’ll call it a paid administrative leave, okay? We need you here, but we need you to get better first.”
If only my captain knew that before his speech, I’d already finished a six-pack of beer.