Changed

Cara drove up to 13 Meadowlark Lane. She was so excited- she hadn’t been home to visit her family for several years, having just completed a deployment in Japan for three years. Text messages, Facebook messages, even Skype were all good ways to keep in touch but Cara felt really distant from her family home; not distant so much in miles as in connection. She grew up there and had her first date, her first prom, her first broken heart all within those walls. Of course she missed her mom and dad, and her brother Caleb, but she found that she had missed the house, too. It was part of her family and she was so very excited to return.

She was surprising everyone by coming in a day earlier than she had announced. She suspected that they would be tidying and planning and she really didn’t want a fuss. She wanted the familiarity of home as she remembered it, with Caleb’s hockey equipment piled up in the hallway or the kitchen counter filled with piles of sorted mail. She wanted to run up the stairs to her bedroom and jump onto the comfy four-poster bed and snuggle into her favorite quilt, the one with the whales and dolphins on it. She wanted to admire the walls that she had painted to resemble a sunny day at the beach with their warm blue-greens. She loved the sand-colored wooden floor and the rug that looked more like a beach towel. And she wanted to plop onto one of the tall kitchen chairs and soak in the familiarity of Mom’s country kitchen with its oak and maple decor. 

She exited from the interstate and after a few streets and traffic lights she turned onto Morninglark Lane. Her house was the fourth on the right and it sat majestically, calling her home. She parked in the driveway, switched off the engine and sat for a moment, drinking in the sight of home. Nothing had changed. It was still the beautiful blue-and-brick that she remembered, and the trees and bushes were the same, just a bit bigger. The lawn needed to be cut and some of the bushes could stand a trim, but to Cara’s eyes it was all perfect. Grabbing her purse, she jumped from the car and found herself running down the front walkway and leaping up the three stairs that led to the front door. She opened the screen door and tried the doorknob- locked. No problem, she still had her key. She fished out her old keychain and found the front door key, unlocked the door, and prepared to be awash in nostalgia.

What the heck?

She found herself in a stark white entry hall that opened up into an equally stark white living room filled with black and white furniture and dominated by a white marble fireplace. Cara stood frozen with confusion, then went back outside to check that she was in the right house. The familiar black mailbox on the wall next to the front door still displayed the number 13 in brass numbers- she was definitely in the right house. Foolishly, she realized that of course she was at the right house because her key had opened the front door. She went back inside and once again was assaulted by the unfamiliar. The entire first floor was one huge space and it was a checkerboard of black and white furnishings and decor. With a small cry of dismay, she noticed Mom’s country kitchen could no longer be called country; in fact, she wasn’t sure what to call it, other than a chrome and granite nightmare. Gone were the oak cupboards and maple table and in their place she saw glass-fronted white cabinets and a glass and steel monstrosity with spindly metal chairs. This was a nightmare. What had happened? Had her parents moved and forgotten to tell her? Then she noticed mail piles on one of the white-marbled counters- thank goodness, something she recognized. She walked over and pulled one of the piles toward her and saw her father’s name on the top envelope. This was certainly her family’s house- but where was her home?

“Mom? Dad?” she called. “It’s me, Cara- I’m home!” Instead of warm replies, she heard nothing but cold silence. “Caleb?” she shouted. No response. It seemed that no one was here. She walked around the large space, discovering more changes. A glance out the kitchen window was reassuring; the backyard appeared as she remembered it, with the patio furniture and Dad’s grilled. The old swing set was gone but after all, she and Caleb were grown now. She was a little surprised; she thought that they would keep it for the “someday” of grandchildren. Dad had built it himself out of thick timbers and ship rope and it could have lasted for another 25 years. She turned back to that terrifyingly alien kitchen and walked through it, back to the equally frozen landscape of the living room. The shock was wearing off a little but she still didn’t understand what she was seeing.