Home

"Here I am, stranded, defeated. Murdered by my own conscious--"

     Walking to school is always the best part of my day. It isn't because I love school, it's just the best part of my day. Every morning, Monday through Friday, I have the pleasant experience of walking as the sun rises. the pleasant experience of seeing all the trees and plants filled with their dew. For me its perfection; it simply cannot get any better. I always wish that rather than a 15-minute walk, it can be a walk that never ends. Truthfully, as much as the sun rising and the dewy plants are nice, I walk, I walk to get away, away from it all. Away from home.

A home, my home, the home I feel so distant from.

     I hear the bell, I know the time. It is the time I dread. I start my walk admiring the things I did a couple of hours before. "Nothing changed," I said. In the back of my mind I knew that once I got to that place, the place I call "home", things would be the same. I was walking slower today than other days, really admiring the scenery. I passed by my friends Zach's house. I admired the nicely trimmed grass and the white picket fence. I had known Zach since childhood. My parents were friends with his parents and you know the rest. We were always together, to every practice and every game. Those were good times, I guess some things do change.

     I opened the door, I feel a chill come up my spine. I'll never get used to this. In the distance, I heard the familiar sound of voices. My stomach turns and I clench my fists. I know who the voices belong to and this is when I wish I never had to come home. They say everyone's childhood is special. That this is the time where we explore, learn, love, and always want to go back to. I on the other hand never had a "childhood worth talking about". My mother was a beautiful and loving woman. She was the kind of person you always wanted to be around. She was happy and full of life. My father, on the other hand, was a quiet man. He was always reserved but loved his family very much. I always blamed my father's quiet and strict demeanor to his past history in the military. I had a great start to my childhood. My mother would always place me and my brother in sports and activities, even ones we were not very good at. In my mother's theory, it wasn't about the game but about "the friendships that came out of the experience" she would always say. That's how Zach and I became so close.

     Joey, that's my brother's name. Joey was also the name of my grandfather that I never got to meet. He was a strict man like my father but I have a feeling he was not as loving. Joey, despite where his name came from was a great brother. He was caring and loving to me even though I was sometimes selfish and mean. I guess we had that kind of "twin brother relationship". Joey always had my back he was kind of my protector at home and in school. I remember getting in trouble at home for throwing the football around the house and panicked when I broke mother's favorite vase. Joey was there to save me though, he took the blame without even hesitating, mother was angry but forgave Joey for his honesty. I never really thanked Joey, I wish I did.

     I found the courage to step inside the house. I walked through the front door and instantly you noticed all of the pictures on the wall. They were filled with past memories of our family, of Joey and I as kids. I try to walk passed these as quickly as possible. The plan to get through my days at the house were rushing to my room and pretend I was always bombarded with homework. Sometimes that worked other times I just couldn't avoid the inevitable. As I am working my way up the stairs my mother flashes her gaze at me and works her way my way. I sigh, "Hi mom," I said. She just stares deep into my face and smiles. "Are you hungry? "she asks. "No mom, I am actually fine. I just have a lot of homework to finish,'' I replied. "I am going to have to go speak to your principal because this is getting ridiculous with the amount of homework your getting, sheesh, you don't have time to spend with your family anymore, not even your brother," she said. "He misses you", she stated. I rolled my eyes and answered, "I know mom, sorry, maybe later I'll hang out with Joey". I head up the stairs when she reminds me that dinner will be ready soon and my father will be joining us after work, "no, he won't" I muttered. I said nothing and finally reached my room. My room continued to look like a room for two middle school boys, with posters on the wall of our favorite superheroes and action figures all around. I pleaded with mom to let me change it and make it more relatable to a 17-year-old in high school but she refused because Joey wanted it this way.     "Dinner's ready!", mom yelled. This was the same way she always called us to come down for dinner every night as long as I can remember. I came down and the table was set up nicely, all four placements and mother serving everyone their favorite portion. Dinner was quiet, just mother speaking to Joey and like I predicted Father never showed up. My father left us a while ago, exactly 5 years ago. I hardly see him and I am glad and angry at the same time. My father went from being a respectful man to a disrespectful alcoholic. The times I do see him he takes me out to eat pizza and to his one-bedroom apartment where he mostly apologizes, cries and drinks. I haven't seen him in 2 months. I hope every day he is ok, and just too busy with his work to come to see me, even though I know that's a lie.     My days are filled with repetition and pain. I dread coming home but home is always there to receive me with grim opened arms. I think my body and mind are too exhausted to continue. Today, I gave up.      "Mom, Please Stop!" I yelled. She looks at me with a horrid face but a confused face. "Mom, please who are you talking to,'' I begged a response. "I don't understand," she said. "I am speaking to your brother, Joey" she calmly stated. "Mom, please, no, you're not speaking to Joey", I said crying. "Joey's dead mom, when will you just accept that Joey is dead and I am here, I am Alive, I need you mom!"I said crying and defeated. "Why?" my mother asked. She asked and asked, "why?". I knew what she meant, she asked me why, why did I have to say this to her. She asked me why I had to kill her this way.      I was sorry, I was so sorry I said this to her. She was my mother and she loved me but I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted her attention, I wanted to be seen. I regret it and I always will. Mother collapsed on the floor and I rushed to call the ambulance. When the ambulance came they took her to the nearest hospital. I was the only one there. I was alone like I have been for the past 5 years. I sat by my mother and held her hand. I told her I was sorry and that Joey was at home waiting for her. For the first time in the last five years my mother looked at me and stated "I know Joey is not home, we lost him 5 years ago while he was playing outside, he climbed too high and fell to his death"; "I know Johnny, I know, I just could not let go". I watched her die slowly while tears in her eyes telling it was going to be alright that she was going to be with Joey for real this time and she was happy. I cried, I pleaded and I reminded her that I mattered too. Here I am, stranded, defeated. Murdered by my own conscious and the guilt of thinking I killed my mother. I was alone.     I feel a tap on my shoulder and a familiar voice. I saw my father standing over me and offering a hug. It felt so warm and comforting, I forgot there were such things in the world. Father encouraged me to get up and grab my stuff. He stated, "let's go home, Johnny". I didn't know where home was, I had a home, my home, the one I dreaded to go to the one who always had grimmed open arms to welcome me. I did not want to go back and be a prisoner of memories and my thoughts.      Father sold the "house" and bought a two-bedroom apartment so we could live comfortably without any grim memories. My father stopped drinking and threw every one of his bottles away. He said he was doing it for me, Joey and my mother. My father told me he refused to lose anyone else or to make me suffer any longer. I never thought I could have a family again. I never thought I could call a place home. I hold the memories of my mother and brother dearly in my heart and the happy moments we lived together. I no longer avoid going home, I am now eager to see my father waiting for me outside of school in his pick-up truck. I am eager for him to mutter those unfamiliar but familiar words "Let's go home, Johnny".