A Piece of Home

One thing I’ve learned in my 35 years is that home isn’t always a singular place, not really anyway. My belief is that it’s pieces of us scattered everywhere along our journey. The places and people, the moments frozen in our memories that captured pieces of our hearts, our souls. Those who bring solace by just residing in their presence. My heart ached for that peace more than ever before and fluttered in anticipation as the drive grew closer to a piece of my home. The elation dimmed by the devastation of knowing that while the place would still be an incomparable comfort, the people had passed. It had been a year of chaos and tragedy, ending with the unexpected loss of my grandparents. The small town of Barre, VT, would always hold some of my most cherished memories but never again would they be shared with those I held so dear. A sense of belonging rushed through me as I pulled uphill into the familiar dirt driveway shaded by towering pines; it was all so bittersweet. The tears betrayed my strong facade, streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks. I let them fall and gave into a loud, deep scream, allowing all the built up pain to escape. There was land for miles, wide open fields and dense forests to drown out the volume of my emotions and allow my soul to breathe once again.

It felt like my entire life was in shambles and I was failing at everything, struggling to be a good mother, wife, daughter, friend all while attempting to work through past traumas and the seeming impossibility of making ends meet with a minimum wage job while drowning in debt. The uncertainty of the future was too overwhelming to see any way out. Truth be told, I hadn’t a clue where I was going when I had packed a bag and spontaneously jumped into the car. The pressing desire to get away from it all in search of a piece of myself led the way. It was no surprise that I instinctively drove north, a piece of my home was calling to me. I wasn’t even entirely sure what my soul was in search of. If only I could be in a place so comforting for a few days maybe I could find myself again and finally move forward, put the past behind me. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, feeling the cool breeze on my face. The smell of fall soothed my nerves, and a smile was effortless for the first time in a long time. Home. No, I couldn’t say that I live here, but this place was part of me.

Lingering in the yard, I tried to soak up each image, ensure each detail was embedded in my memory. Nothing hurt quite so terribly as knowing it would be the last time I stepped foot here. The last time I’d sit at the edge of the small pond in the front looking for the fish to jump, smell the wildflowers growing in the garden on the far side of the house, wander the winding path in the back woods to the tiny shack of a cabin I’d spent so many September’s dreaming in, the last time I’d sit on the porch in my grandparents’ house overlooking the beauty of the land. My feet felt heavy as I walked up the three creaky, old wooden stairs to the enclosed front porch and rested my hand on the doorknob, gaining the courage to open it. Stepping into their house, built by their own hands, soothed my soul, though my heart still heavy with loss. Collapsing on the wicker couch, I envisioned my grandfather across from me in his old wooden rocking chair and let the tears rush again until finally suppressed by sleep.

The chilling call of coyotes nearby in the woods startled me awake. Half asleep, I pushed the door to the kitchen open praying the electric was still connected. Flipping the switch I let out a sigh of relief as the dim light flickered on. I’d always loved the simplicity here; the out of date cabinets and old-fashioned decor was beautiful in its own way. It was a house made of comfort and love, not the next best thing. A reminder that sometimes less is more, that the most important things are often the simplest and happiness is found in the little things; the epitome of what life should be. And standing there in that old kitchen, on that brightly but faded red rug it all hit me, that this was exactly what I was looking for. I just needed to see life through a clear lens again, what really matters. All the things I was letting myself get wrapped up in weren’t important and I was missing all that truly was, the simple little things. Feeling a sudden, strong yearning of wanting to run straight back home to my husband and kids to just hold them tightly, do all I could to reassure them everything would be ok, my mind was made up; I wouldn’t stay the weekend after all, I’d leave the first thing in the morning.

The new-found sense of inspiration quickly vanished as the clear sound of a gunshot rang through my ears. My heart raced into an instant panic as I rushed to switch off the light. No one should be around here, it was 3:00 am and this was private property. Thoughts raced through my head, evoking my fear. Everyone knows this place is vacant right now. You are in the middle of the woods all alone! I instantly regretted staying past dark. Such a fool! My brain shouted loudly. Footsteps close by, a mans voice mumbling outside the window. Crouching under the kitchen table in hopes not to be seen, I tried my hardest to listen while inner pleads remained incessant. Please, don’t come inside. Please, don’t come inside. My thoughts were a cycle of repeated prayers and failed attempts to be brave. Just calm down, panicking isn’t going to help anything. The deep voice could be heard coming from behind the house; whoever was out there must have come from the trail in the back woods. I could only pray he’d leave the way he came and not notice my car in the front driveway. Another gun shot rang loud echoing through the house, sending shivers down my spine. More footsteps, a phone ringing. “Ya, it’s done.” The mans’ voice was muffled but loud, certainly he did not expect listening ears were nearby. I struggled to hear each word but his voice trailed off “Don’t worry about ... no, he can’t ...”. I caught as much as I could. “Yes, still vacant... I’ll be long gone by that time... consider this debt paid... no more contact... I left it under the back steps...”.

Footsteps faded until I no longer heard anything except the short, deep hoots of an owl far off in the distance but I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t yet bring myself to even try. Hours passed, I felt frozen, consumed by fear until I saw the first rays of dawn begin to peak through the windows. The conversation overheard replayed through my head, and I knew someone else was coming - possibly today. Get up, you have to get out of here. I urged myself to move. What’s under the back steps? Curiosity demanded. Thinking this was how horror movies progressed I told myself I shouldn’t check but I had to know before I left. Making my way slowly and quietly to the back door just in case anyone was still nearby, I cautiously glanced through the clouded back window, confirming no movement before gently turning the handle, opening the back door just a crack. Birds were beginning their morning songs and a wild bunny scurried by to find shelter behind the shed. It all seemed so serene that I questioned if it had been nothing more than a vivid nightmare. Feeling more secure, I stepped cautiously onto the first step, then the second, until I was standing vulnerably on the open grass. No sign of a struggle, nothing suggesting a gun had been fired, and more importantly no one waiting to take care of the frightened witness who had been hiding under the kitchen table. It seemed I was in the clear - for now anyway. I raced to look under the steps, gasping in shock when I saw it. A small black notebook, splattered in what I imagined was blood, half hidden under a pile of fallen, withered leaves. My heart pounded in my chest, and my brain screamed urgently, RUN! But, I had to know what it was. The color drained from my cheeks and my stomach somersaulted in warning as I carefully grabbed the book and rushed back inside where it felt safe. The binding was a thick black leather peeling at the edges and threatening to fall apart at my touch. For something seemingly so important it looked no more than a piece of discarded garbage. My hands shook as I opened the cover. Cash fell to the floor, fluttered all around like the brightly colored Autumn leaves to be left scattered sporadically on the ground. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Hundred dollar bills covered the floor at my feet. Etched into the inside cover was writing, ‘$100,000 ends this.’ My conscious tugged me in both directions of right and wrong. To take it or put it back? Did the blatant illicit behaviors of these strangers justify what would still be considered stealing? It was not left for me. It is not mine. My thoughts guilted. While others tugged relentlessly, You need this. They left it on THIS property, so it’s only fair. Without further hesitation I hastily snatched the bills, erratically shoving them back into the mysterious black notebook before I could change my mind.

Looking around one last time, I took in the contentment of this place and the comfort it had brought me - flashes of memories dancing through my mind. I had come here in search of myself, my inner peace and it had obliged, effortlessly bringing my hopes back to life. Incidentally, through horrifying circumstances, it had unexpectedly provided me with a solution to the trivial matters that led me there. I vowed to ameliorate the perilous situation and cryptic little black book with acts of benevolence. One day I would be able to put it all behind me, but in the meantime I’d focus only on the good times, hold onto only the good memories. This was a new start, a new chapter, and I was ready to turn the page. Never would it be easy to part ways physically with this piece of my home but it would always remain a piece of my heart.