Save My Day (boyxboy)

32 Home

Home. They say it’s where the heart is. They say there’s nowhere like it. They say you always find your way back. They say it’s the warmest and happiest place. They say it’s where you make it. Home.

As I’m finding my way back, I reflect on how I’ve lived in my ‘home’ a shorter amount of time than I’ve stayed at Riel’s beach house. And even though I’ve only really ‘lived’ there a month, it’s still the only place I want to be right now. To be honest, I think that has more to do with the person inside rather than the place itself.

When I called my flat in the city ‘home’, I never felt the pull to go back there. Sure, I went back to sleep and eat and do all the necessities of continuing life, but I never really felt it was a home. I always felt more comfortable at Christopher’s place; or with Riel. But again, I’m sure that had more to do with the people than the actual surroundings.

Now, as I return to the flat in Mount Vernon that I live in with my husband, I understand the true meaning of home. Although it is more about the people you live with, it also does have a little to do with the surrounding. I can’t wait to lie in our bed or cook in our kitchen. I did those things when Toph came to visit in Los Angeles, but it’s nothing like coming home.

After 23 years, I finally figured it out.

“I’m home, love,” I announce as I shut our front door behind me.

Chris and I decided to meet at home instead of him coming to get me from the airport. There’s less hassle that way and it goes for a smoother transition.

When I look up, Christopher is suddenly standing in front of me with his pointer finger to his lips. I go to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but he puts his hand over my mouth. “Be quiet,” he whisper yells at me.

I don’t panic or freak out because he does this, but it is a little worrisome. The look in his eyes is what really makes me nervous. He looks scared. He looks like he’s about to panic.

I hitch an eyebrow silently asking what I could verbally. He just shakes his head and whispers, “Just leave. I’ll call you when it’s clear to come home. You can’t be here. I promise I’ll call.”

He slowly releases his hand, but puts his pointer finger back to his lips. When he goes to reach for the handle behind me, I grab his arm and pull his ear to my lips, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I can’t go,” he whispers quickly. “They know I’m here, but you can get out.”

“Who’s here?” I ask, but at this point I’m definitely not leaving. No way am I leaving him here with someone who he’s apparently scared of.

“Just-”

But before he can say anything else my entire world freezes along with the blood in my veins. The voice that interrupts my husbands is like nails on a chalkboard.

“I thought I heard voices,” my father walks out of our bedroom with an over-confident sway in his step with two men behind him.

Clark is wearing his ever-prevalent suit, but the men that accompany him are wearing jeans, with filled gun holsters around their right thigh and black polo shirts. Even more important is the bulletproof vest they wear over their shirts that say ‘ICE’ across the chest and a badge on their left shoulders.

I.C.E stands for Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. They are the people that collect illegal immigrants in America.

Seeing his face throws me back into reality. And without thinking, I grab Topher and shove him behind me as a human barricade. If this man so much as looks at my husband wrong, his day is going to go drastically downhill.