Coming Home Again

It was twenty-five years ago this week since I was last home on this farm, since I last saw Daddy, and twenty-five years last Tuesday since the day I killed my baby sister.

The old gate looks like it could use a paint job. It used to be shiny black with that emblem of horses on the front right in the middle. Now the emblem is all rusted, the paint is peeling off, and the hinges don’t even line up properly. Kind of like me, I guess. Peeling and rusted, with everything all outta kilter.

When I turned off Route 57 into the driveway, I wasn’t even sure if I should come. Maybe it’s still not too late to turn around. I just don’t want to disappoint Chet, you know. He begged me to come, says Daddy’s not well, he’s got something wrong with his heart, and he really wants to see me. I’m not even sure if I believe it. I wonder if it’s Chet just trying to make things right between us before it’s too late.

I know I’m not making much sense right now, and everything is coming out all hittery jittery, but that’s the way I feel. Yeah, I know that doesn’t make much sense neither. It’s probably not even a word, but that’s me right now – all hittery jittery. My head is spinning. My heart feels like it’s gonna jump right outta my chest. I’m sweating like a stuck pig, and my throat is all parched. Same way I used to feel sometimes with the drugs.

Sorry, I know I’m getting ahead of myself here. I haven’t talked much about this over the years, and I’ve tried not to think about it since the day of Miranda’s funeral. That’s the last time I was here, before the funeral. Daddy kicked me out right after the service. Wouldn’t even let me come back to get some clothes. He didn’t really want me to go to the funeral in the first place, seeing how it all was my fault and stuff.

Momma wouldn't let him keep me away, though. She didn't want him to kick me out either, got real mad. She even threatened to leave him, but I told her she needed to stay for the other boys, my brothers. Daddy didn’t listen to Momma; he said he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore. I couldn’t bear to have him looking at me either, nothing but hatred in his eyes, 'cause I took his little girl. He didn't understand that it was an accident. I didn't mean to kill her; I just didn't listen.

She was always out playing in the field, horsing around with me while I was doing my chores. I loved my little sister so much. We all did, especially Daddy; She was the apple of his eye. After Momma had four boys and two miscarriages, they finally got themselves a girl. The prettiest little girl in the county, she was. I was the third boy in the family, and Miranda was the only girl and the youngest. She came along eight years after me, five years after Frankie.

On the day of the accident, I was lollygagging around in the field after finishing my chores. Miranda came out, and we started playing hide and seek. She was running for a hiding place when she tripped over the rake and hit her head on the rock. I was supposed to put the tools away when I was finished my chores, but like Daddy always said, I just don’t listen.

There was so much blood. I never saw nothing like it, and it sent me into shock. I was still standing there, in shock, when Momma and Daddy come running out of the house and started screaming. Momma was crying and screaming for Miranda, and Daddy was screaming at me for not putting the rake away. I’ve never seen a look in Daddy’s eyes like that before. I swear I thought he was goin’ to kill me.

Daddy never spoke to me after that day, and as I said already, he never wanted me to go to the funeral. He didn’t think I deserved to be there. I didn’t think so either, to be honest. If not for Momma, I would have just run away. As weird as it sounds, Daddy kicking me out was kind of a relief. He couldn’t stand to look at me, and I couldn’t stand the boy he saw when he looked into my eyes. Some days I still can’t stand that boy.

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When I left home that day, I went to the neighbours where my friend Mark lived with his parents and younger sister. They were very kind people and said I could stay with them for a few days until Daddy calmed down.

After a couple of weeks, I could tell that Mark’s parents were getting antsy with me being there. I even heard them talking about Daddy one night, saying what a nasty son of a bitch he was. It made me mad. I yelled at them not to talk about Daddy like that. It wasn’t his fault Miranda died. It was mine. Besides, even if he was a nasty son of a bitch it’s not their place to disrespect him. Looking back now, I’m sure they were just picking up for me. I was really just a kid, after all.

Needless to say, I couldn't stay there anymore, so Momma made arrangements for me to live with her sister. First, she tried to get Daddy to let me come back home, but he wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to by then anyway. Momma made sure I had some clothes and spending money, and she cried and gave me a big hug when Aunt Jeanette came to Mark’s to pick me up.

I stayed with Aunt Jeanette and Uncle Bob for a couple of months until things got so bad that I had to get outta there too. Uncle Bob was ornery and mean, way worse than Daddy. Actually, Daddy wasn’t really mean at all, at least not before Miranda died. He was always strict with us, but he was never mean.

I wasn’t at Bob and Jeanette’s place two days before he was yelling at me about getting a job or going to school. I was planning to go back to school, but I was still upset about all that happened with Miranda and Daddy. I asked Uncle Bob to give me a week, but he wouldn't. He dragged me back to school himself the very next morning. He even insisted I get a part-time job too so I could pay my way, said he wouldn’t have any freeloaders living under his roof. So I got a job at the car wash on route 57 after school. They didn’t pay much, and I didn’t get to keep any of it. Uncle Bob said it was for my room and board.

He and Aunt Jeanette used to fight all the time. They kept me awake at night, always yelling at each other and throwing things around. One night I heard some loud crashing and banging, and Jeanette started screaming. I ran downstairs to see what was going on, and I caught Bob about to smack her. I started yelling at him to leave her alone, so he beat on me instead. When I woke up the next morning with a black eye, I decided I didn’t want to live there anymore. I told Aunt Jeanette that she should leave him, but she never listened to me.

I skipped school that day and snuck back into the house when Bob and Jeanette were out. I knew they kept money in a lockbox in the kitchen, and I knew I needed some. I was never a thief before that day, but I really needed to get away from there, so I took what they had and hitchhiked to the city.

**********

When I got to the city, I had two hundred dollars and nowhere to live, so I went to a hostel. They took me in for a bit, but after I got beat up and robbed, I had to get outta there too. I met up with some guys at the park. They had some tents set up there, so I hung out with them for a while.

It was great in the beginning, some of the best times I can remember. We always had parties every night, and we could go to the food mission every day to get a meal or two. Sometimes we’d even get some money from passersby, so we could buy some beer or pot. Seemed like an ideal situation for a naive 16-year-old like me. What it actually was, though, was my slip into nearly two decades of self-loathing soothed by drugs and alcohol.

I used to call Momma a lot in the beginning whenever I had a quarter for a payphone. I didn't tell her I was living in the park. I said I got a job and was working at a garage. She wanted to come visit, but I always had some excuse. After a while, I just stopped calling.

Anyway, I’m not gonna get too much into that, other than to say I had some pretty dark times. I did manage to find jobs here and there but always seemed to screw them up somehow.

Last time I saw Momma alive was after my second overdose more than seven years ago. I nearly died that night. The look in Momma's eyes when I saw her at the hospital broke my heart. No disappointment, no anger, no hatred, just fear; and love. She cried that day, said she couldn't bear to lose another child. I cried too. I promised Momma I would give up the drugs and go to rehab, and I did, and I was doing great for six months until she died.

I wanted to go to her funeral but couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I saw all my brothers outside in the parking lot; They gave me hugs. That was nice but awkward. I haven't seen them since I left, well, except for Chet. He always keeps in touch. I couldn’t believe how much the other two had grown, especially Frankie; He was only 13 when I left.

I didn't know if I should go in to Momma's funeral. I wanted to, but even Frankie and my other brother Alistair said they didn’t think it was a good idea. They didn’t know if Daddy was still mad at me either. He never talks about me, they said. I haven’t spoken to Daddy since I left the farm. I just didn’t wanna upset the apple cart, if you know what I mean, so I walked away and hoped Momma would forgive me.

Momma’s death hit me like a ton of bricks. I went on a two-week bender until I ended up OD-ing again. When I was in the hospital, she came to me in a dream, and I could see how disappointed she was. It was the only time Momma ever showed disappointment in me in her life, and she wasn't even alive anymore. That was seven years, two months and three days ago, and that's the last time I ever touched the drugs or booze. Swear to God; I haven't even had a sip since. I won't dare disappoint Momma again.

I even got a real job. Funny enough, it was at the same garage I told Momma I was working at when I first left Aunt Jeanette’s. They're real good to me there, even let me stay in the room above the garage for a while until I could afford an apartment of my own. They could see how good I was with fixing cars. I used to help Daddy fix the machines on the farm before he kicked me out, and I always worked on my own cars whenever they had problems. I'm a mechanic apprentice now and taking night courses to be a real mechanic.

I think Momma would be proud if she could see me now. She and my big brother Chet were the only people in the family who still talked to me after Miranda’s funeral. Chet is such a good man. You'd like him. He's a little simple-minded, but he's got a heart the size of a mountain, and he’s almost as big as one too. Everybody loves Chet.

The barn looks different than I remember. It used to be a rusty red colour. It’s green now, with a big fake barn owl sitting at the top. I bet the green was Chet’s idea. He always said it was his favourite colour. The owl is a good idea too. I can’t count how many times I walked outta that barn and got shit on by the pigeons perched on top of that stupid eave.

Chet’s hug feels like being cuddled by a grizzly bear with the heart of a kitten, strong enough to break your ribs but gentle enough to know when to stop. He looks even bigger than the last time I saw him, too; he must be near six and a half feet tall and probably three hundred pounds. He’s the biggest boy in the family and for sure the kindest. When he saw me looking at the fake barn owl, he got a glint in his eye, saying he’s got something amazing to show me.

There’s a real barn owl inside. It’s nested in the corner inside a box sitting on some hay bales, and it's even got babies there. Chet is real excited about that, but I'm having trouble paying attention. I keep getting distracted by the box. It’s the one for the old Easy Bake oven that Miranda used to have. I can't believe they kept it all these years. She loved that oven; It was her favourite toy. She used to bake me cookies, and I’d always pretend to eat them with her. Then she'd pour me a pretend cup of tea, and I'd pretend to drink that too.

I can’t help but wonder how her life would have turned out if I had just put the tools away that day, if I had just listened to Daddy. Miranda was such a pretty little girl, and she had the bluest eyes I ever seen. I bet the boys would have been fighting over her when she grew up. I bet she would have found herself a good husband and had babies of her own. God, I would give anything if I could just go back in time and put the damn tools back in the shed like I was supposed to.

Chet’s still going on about the barn owl and her babies. He says it’s a sign from heaven. I’m not sure what he means by that, but he seems very excited. Frankie and Alistair are here now too. I haven’t seen them since the day of Momma’s funeral. They gave me hugs, too, like Chet. They look real happy to see me, unlike at the funeral, when they kind of looked shocked. It's weird, really. That day when I saw them last, they hugged me then too, but it was awkward and uncomfortable, you know. Today feels different, welcoming, almost like we were never apart. It's really great to see them and talk like real brothers do. They say their wives and kids are coming over later, and they want me to stick around and meet them.

We’re having a nice conversation, and they're telling me that Daddy really wants to see me, that he feels guilty about throwing me out all those years ago. I never blamed him, and I tell my brothers that. I think they’re glad to hear that from me, but it doesn’t matter now. No one can change the past. We just have to learn to let it go, to burn up all the anger, and try to build something better from the ashes. My AA sponsor told me that. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but I think it might have something to do with me and Daddy.

My sponsor even got me to go to a therapist a couple of times. I told her the story of my sister's death and how it was my fault. She told me I have to stop believing that, to stop blaming myself. I said I don't know how I'm supposed to do that. She asked me if I had ever made any other mistakes in my life. I told her, of course I have, but none that killed anyone. That's when she said my mistake wasn't what killed Miranda. I didn't know what she was talking about, but then she said that sure I left the rake out, but it wasn't tripping over the rake that killed her. It was the rock. The therapist said even if I had put the rake away, she still could have fallen on that same rock. It was just a horrible accident, and it was nobody’s fault, she said.

Every time I look at that oven box, I think about Miranda and what happened. As the therapist said, I'm trying to accept it and stop blaming myself, but it’s not easy. I’m getting there, though. Just like the lettering on the front of that old box, my guilt is still there, but it’s fading away.

Maybe this is what my sponsor meant when he talked about building something new from the ashes. It’s like that old box that’s filled with memories of my precious baby sister and her too-short life. It’s tattered and broken now, kind of like our family, but it holds new life and new a family with those baby owl chicks.

Maybe it means Daddy can find a place in his tattered and broken heart for me, and I can for him. Perhaps this old box is a sign that there can be a new beginning for me and Daddy, a new life for our relationship, and just maybe, after twenty-five years, I can finally come home.