Fly Away Home

Chapter 3

I appreciate the transformative power of words. They're able to replenish the soul, inspiring a person to soar higher than the loftiest clouds. But there's also a dark counterpart with the potential to drag one's hopes deep below the surface. Into the depths of an abyss devoid of any light. I never realized how fast those disparate effects can swing from one extreme to the other.

I clutch the same pilled blanket I used to hide under as a girl. With a storybook and flashlight, I would create an imaginary castle beneath it each night. The cotton fabric protected me from the harsh reality beyond its border. Once able to cover my entire body, it now only reaches my chest. It's proof that some things have grown with time.

I roll over in bed and blink at Dillon's book on the side table. It wasn't a dream. A mockingbird greets the rising sun with its delightful melody. Outside my open window, a gentle breeze ushers the scent of fresh-cut grass into my bedroom. There's so much good to notice in the world. Instead, it's the porcelain plaque with a chipped corner that catches my attention. Home is where the love is.

The sign hangs cockeyed on the door frame. In this singular moment, I become aware how words can force us to face the sobering truth. With all these beautiful reminders of optimism surrounding me, there is none of it on the inside. This is not home. There is no love here.

For some inexplicable reason, I latched onto a woman who hurt me. I pushed away the one who shared nothing but genuine affection with me. Dillon is gone. Forever.

Russell is the older brother I admired as a child. He's left me to deal with this physical and emotional debris field by myself. I have no idea who my father is, and given my track record, I'm not sure I want to know.

Everything about my sad reality is in shambles.

I've been treading water for decades, waiting for a monster to drag me beneath the surface. The weight of my body sinking into this mattress feels like quicksand. The more I move, the deeper I sink. There must be a better way to go through life.

It's time to face the truth. I'm not cut out for love in any capacity. I never was. Living a peaceful and solitary existence is something many people find rewarding. Why should it be any different for me?

***

Surprisingly, my decision is liberating, even if I don't know where it will lead me. Abandoning my boring secretarial position back home is an easy choice. For years, Donna has wanted sole ownership of our shared condo. She'll finally get what she wants. I'm almost forty. I should have a place to call my own.

After making a few phone calls, I arrange for a sizable donation to the local homeless shelter. I'll leave the rest of my mother's possessions for the realtor to handle. I have no desire to see them again. The required fees are over the top, but it's worth the chance to flee this empty shell, devoid of love, as soon as possible.

***

Seated in the car, my hands grip the steering wheel with uncomfortable levels of fear and anxiety. If I let go, I'm afraid I'll spin out of control. My view out the windshield makes me feel like a magnet spinning erratically on its poles. In one moment, I repel against the memories inside a house that seemed to steal so much from me. Then, loving thoughts of the home next-door arrive, pulling me toward something positive.

A breeze blows through the open window and ruffles the pink feather tag on my suitcase. It reveals Dillon's book hiding beneath it. I leaf through the first few pages before finding the epigraph on a page of its own:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,