I find myself waiting on the doorstep of a recognisable, yet unfamiliar house in the state that I swore I would never return to.
This was the house that my mother and her new partner, Gregg, moved into after being together for as short as 7 months. After the disappointment of the past and all the aggravation that it brought, my mother jumped at her chance of happiness when she first caught a glimpse of it.
Shortly after finding out about my mother's need for 'treatment', I sat on my couch and attempted to understand exactly what was going on. My protective mental barrier was disintegrating and I was assembling possible situations up that was scaring the shit out of me.
What was wrong with my mother?
How was this going to change things?
Would she want me in Ohio?
Why hadn't I been told she was unwell?
How will people react to the news of my return?
Actually, scrap the last one. Fuck what people thought, I have changed. If they wanted to live in the past, they could do so. Why would I care? I never had before, why start now.
When I overcame my consuming thoughts, I stepped out of the apartment with a half packed duffle bag and didn't look back. I hired a car and drove straight through Indiana, only being able to see my destination.
The sound of my knuckles banging against the solid wood door brought me round from my hypnotic state, and I stood, waiting for the door to be opened. In this time, I took in my surroundings. Streetlights were the sole source of light, and it hit me that it must have been early in the morning.
Still, I persist with another set of knocks, much louder, but not as half as numerous as before.
Instead of the door in front of me opening, the door that belongs to the house situated on the right does.
A girl appears, wrapping herself in a coat, holding it firmly to her chest.
"What are you doing?!" She half whispers, the sleep and confusion in her voice making a sound much louder than she intended it to.
"Well?", she continues when I don't respond, "Why are banging on peoples doors at this time of day? The woman who lives here is sick, don't you have any respect?".
Her final comment ignites my body and sends a shiver down my spine. It reminds me of how clueless I still appear to be to this entire situation and it pisses me off that everyone else seem to know more about my own mother than I do.
"I live here, you don't. Piss off and go poke your nose in someone else's business". My voice comes out much harsher than I anticipated but I had no intention of apologising if it got the message across.
"Excuse me! I spend time in this house every day and not once have you ever been here. These people are like family to be, so go, and leave them be", she all but hisses, sleep no longer evident in her voice. It's not until this moment that I grasp the fact that I've heard her voice before.
"You're Lana, aren't you?", I question.
She steps away from me and narrows her eyes. "Yes, I am. Why should who I am matter? How do you even know my name?" She asks, becoming defensive.
I recall hanging up on her after she asked if I had a message for my mother. It hits me that I didn't say a word on the phone, and that's why she can't make heads or tails out of this.
"I'm Dean. Kathleen's son. We spoke earlier -- yesterday -- whenever". I decide to not elaborate further, deciding upon allowing her to recognise that I am who I say I am.
After she spends what feels like a lifetime taking in my appearance, her eyes widen and she grabs my wrist, dragging me down the steps and towards the house she appeared from moments ago. When we approach her front door, she drops my hand and murmurs.
"You can stay here for the night. Your mother needs rest and you need somewhere to stay".
All I can do is follow, not objecting because I have no other place to stay. She leads me up the stairs and gesture to a room on the right.
"You can stay in there. Everything you need should all be in there".
"Thanks", I quietly whisper as she travels down the corridor and closes her door.
I imitate this by close my own door and turn on the light. I scan my eyes over the room, seeing that there is nothing extravagant about it, but it's neatly arranged. In the centre of the room lies a double bed, covered in a simple white sheet. A bedside table is situated besides it on the left, while a wardrobe is on the far right. Nothing else fills the room other than a simple desk by the open window.
I place my duffle bag in front of the wardrobe and strip down to my boxers, getting ready to climb into the suddenly comfortable looking bed as my eyes become heavier and heavier. Almost immediately, sleep welcomes me.
