HOMESICK
CHRISTMAS CONTEST ENTRY 2015
"Where thou art—that—is home"
Emily Dickinson
Note: There are several cultural references made in the story. Some of them may be unfamiliar so comment or google them for clarification. I'll probably add a word bank to the story later, but I'm running out of time to post the entry.
NOW
Mina Alfred danced to distract herself the mistake she made. Her precise steps did not unleash her emotions-- she could never quite figure out how to properly express her emotions-- but she was a firm believer in the idea that dancing was the best form of procrastination. The moon shone through the window, providing dim lighting that was just enough for her to avoid the stacks of boxes that kissed the walls. There was no music to guide her, but her mind was too occupied to focus on music anyway so she didn't bother to turn any on. She simply danced to avoid packing the aforementioned boxes.
It was an accident, or she liked to think that it was. Rohan had suggested selling the apartment and she agreed, not realizing the seriousness of the situation until after the apartment had been sold. After a mere two months they were packing up their belongings and preparing to move.
She continued to dance, her amateur ballet morphing into something that vaguely resembled Bharatanatyam.
Her husband was practically buzzing with excitement due to the move, he could barely go five minutes without bringing up their future house. He had found it on the internet, and they had both gone to see it a few weeks ago. For Rohan, it was love at first sight, but she despised it the second she stepped through the door. It was a perfectly fine house but she doubted it could ever be considered her home. In the back of her mind she knew this statement was not entirely true, she had once thought the same about her beloved apartment before growing attached.
Her steps steadily grew louder until she practically stomped across the wooden floor, sweeping her arms out and around in swift motions.
The only thing that stopped her from saying anything was the pure happiness that seemed to be permanently plastered across Rohan's face for the past few weeks. She knew that it was entirely because this would be their first real house together, and she could not bear to destroy his joy. She did not blame him for being excited, if this had occurred a few years later she probably would've been bouncing along with him.
She stopped dancing when she hear the front door open, not because she was ashamed but because she knew that Rohan would recognize her need to forget if she saw her. Her feet ached, but she rushed across the floor in order to appear as if she had been packing the entire time. It would be a futile attempt, he would probably see the way her dark hair stuck to her face with sweat and the heavy breaths that fought their way out of her throat, but she decided to try anyways.
"Is this the last room?" asked Rohan as he walked into the room carrying a few more empty boxes in his arms. If he noticed anything odd about her appearance he did not mention it.
"Yeah," she responded, not bothering to look up from her task.
"You definitely packed up everything from the kitchen, right?" he asked while beginning to pack a few more pieces of leftover furniture.
"Yeah."
"Our bedroom?"
"Yeah."
