Coming Home

Fierce summer rays flooded into the room through broken metal slats, yet I lay as still as a statue, eyes shut, mouth agape, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Lily of the Valley, my favorite perfume, hung in the air, a fresh smell amidst the damp clothes I forgot to hang up on the clothesline. Bright purple lipstick stained my lips. The thick, black mascara I had generously lavished on my eyelids the night before had smeared over my cheeks as I tossed in my sleep. Dark circles rested beneath my eyes. Quite unladylike, tutted Olivia, my roommate, as she walked over and pinched me affectionately on the cheek.

“Oi. Get up. You have a flight to catch”.

I rubbed my eyes and fumbled around aimlessly for my phone, which informed me that I was going to be very, very late for my flight.

“Why didn’t you get me up earlier?” I asked, agitated, chucking a glass of lukewarm water down my throat. My head throbbed.

“This may come as a surprise, but making sure you are on time for your appointments isn’t my top priority” Olivia quipped.

I stumbled to the bathroom, splashed some tap water on my face and started brushing my teeth. I then reached under my bed, pulled out a suitcase and walked over to the wardrobe – which was completely bare, save for a few broken hangers upon which hung a wet towel and a beaded necklace. Where the hell are all my clothes? Oh. Right. Of-course. I emptied out my laundry basket into two plastic bags, already anticipating the scolding I would receive upon my return.

After frantically ripping off the dingy cream sheets from the bed, reaching into the space between the mattress and the bed frame and touching god-knows-what, then shaking out the insides of the bedside table, I finally found my passport lying in the middle of my desk. I wiped the crumbs and jam off the back cover and shoved it into my pocket. “I’ll see you in two weeks!” I shouted to Olivia as the door slammed shut behind me. The thud, thud, thud of my suitcase as I dragged it down the steps was slightly worrying. I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my ear. “Take care of your things, and they’ll take care of you!”.

There was no way in hell I was carrying these bags down five flights of stairs. Not in this heat.

After what felt like a lifetime (but was in fact around 2.5 hours) I reached the front door of my house and dropped my suitcase onto the floor, heaving. Both the wheels had broken off, and so I had to alternate between cradling it like a baby and dragging it along the floor. Sweat poured down my forehead and mixed in with my foundation, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. I took my frustration out on the door.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” came my father’s muffled voice from inside. I breathed a sigh of relief, dropped my bags and held out my arms, ready for a grand embrace.

“You were supposed to be home half an hour ago” He looked at me with what I could detect was a slight hint of disapproval. I dropped my arms to my sides.

“Yes, yes, I know but…” Well, I really had no excuse. I stopped off at a quaint little gelato shop on the way home, and was rooted in front of the dipping cabinet for a good twenty minutes: Lemon custard? Belgian chocolate? Cookie dough? English toffee? In the end I went for all four. Not a good mix.

“You were supposed to be home half an hour ago – James is waiting for you at the grand hall. I’d suggest you leave as soon as possible. He’s really been looking forward to this”

I checked my calendar, felt a surge of panic, grabbed my keys and rushed out, slamming the door behind me. Fuck. I had completely forgotten. So unlike me. I glanced at my watch: 7:05pm. He did say the concert started at 7:30, didn’t he? Coming to a sudden halt on the side on the road, I began flailing my arms about in the hopes of getting a taxi. Within a couple of minutes, the road had emptied.

Exasperated, I pulled up my jeans, gulped in the oppressive summers air, and began to run. Can’t a girl get a moment’s rest? I thought to myself. Beads of sweat tricked down my forehead, arms, and legs. My chiffon blouse clung to my skin and my feet throbbed with pain. After a few stops and starts, the cultural arts center finally came into view. It was a grand structure shaped like a crescent moon, made up of orchid-pink, teal-blue, and emerald-green tiles that shimmered in the night’s sky, beckoning me forward. I bounded up the steps leading to the great hall, my chest heaving as I gasped for breath and, pushing the door that said ‘pull’, I fell inside.

The conductor raised his hands. His index finger pressed against an invisible button and music spilled into the air, mingling with the frantic tapping of my heels against the marble floor. My heart sank as I noticed James on the leather couch beside the usher. As I scanned the room for what felt like the hundredth time and caught his eye, my face flushed a deep red. We wouldn’t be allowed in until intermission now. I tentatively sat down beside him, mumbled an apology, and examined my hair for split ends to avoid his piercing gaze. It wasn’t a good way to start off the holidays.

The usher finally called us in at 8:15, but neither one of us watched the rest of the performance. James usually fixated on the cello player, his hands resting on the seat in front of us, perching on the view end of his seat. This time he sat bolt upright against the back of the chair with his hands folded across his chest, his eyes looking ahead into…nothingness. I felt a little queasy, reached for the back of the seat in front of me, hung my head between my arms, and closed my eyes.

The sound of loud clapping jolted me out of my slumber, and we joined the jostling crowd as it made its way out of the theatre and into the lobby. The salmon-pink sky had been replaced by heavy grey clouds dotted across a jet-black canvas.

“Don’t you think of anyone but yourself?”

The words shot through my body. Droplets fell onto my cheek, my shoulders, and down my legs. Silence, an unwelcome stranger, accompanied us on our route home along the riverbank, through the newly opened department store, and across the noisy junction. James opened up his satchel, took out his favorite grey jumper, and slung it over my shoulder in a gesture of kindness. No, I don’t think I do, came the inaudible reply.