(Credit: Author)
Now Playing: “Baba O’Riley” – The Who
The final letter gets its due attention. Between the interview and the concert, trying to convince my sister that nothing is really going on, and the general day-to-day which has been sorely neglected, it’s taken several days for us to get to studying the letter in depth. But my friends and I are gathered in my bedroom, around my table, with my conspiracy board, my mom’s notebook, and the letters to both my uncle Derek and the one to William which we printed out from the picture Allison took with her phone. Allison had to sign up for a new library card because none of us have a working printer at home, and it filled her with great joy to do so. I’m dating a nerd.
We’ve gone over William’s letter three times so far, and it’s given us three things. The fact that mom likes the way sunrise looks at her new house, she saw some band at a college not too long ago, and that she’s still living in this place with a mortgage as of two months ago.
Martin is kneeling in front of the table with my laptop open. Allison is sitting on the couch, hunched over the table looking at all the letters. I am anxiously pacing the room with my conspiracy board next to me as I do so.
Something in William’s letter is scratching at me. The way she described the band without naming them. I ask Allison for the description again and she reads it back: ‘If you took Brooklyn indie rockers and cross-bred them with Yes before Steve Howe left.’ It’s a memorable description, which is apt, because I think I’ve heard it before somewhere. In those exact words.
I ask Allison for my mom’s journal, my hypothesis running away in my mind already. She hands it to me, and I start flipping through some of the music she found when I was starting middle school while I continue to pace. There it is, the same words, describing a group called Dishes of Light.
“Martin, give me Dishes of Light’s tour dates in the area,” I request.
“On it.” It probably takes about forty seconds, but I swear it’s at least ten minutes before he speaks again, “Okay, back in the spring, on the East Coast, they played the Lincoln Theatre in Washington DC, the Fillmore Philadelphia, and the Palace Theatre in Albany.”
“She’s probably in Upstate New York!” the three of us shout in unison. We just took one step closer and narrowed the field.
“Allison, can you read me back that line about sunrises?” I request.
“‘My favorite time of day is when the sun gets high enough in the mornings to reflect on the water. It’s the perfect time of day for my coffee and listening to the birds in the trees.’” My girlfriend has an uncertain tone. Something about that line is striking her and I in the same way. Neither of us can put our fingers on it.
“Well, if she’s upstate, she’s probably not by the ocean,” I muse.
“The rest of the paragraph doesn’t make me think it’s Lake Ontario. It’s too obvious for some trying to lay low.”
The moment Allison says the word ‘lake’, it hits me like a thunderbolt.
“She lives by a lake!” Martin hits the same realization I do, and he speaks it quicker.
“What is mom’s pattern?” I ask aloud, tracing her whereabouts on the board, specifically looking at the dates when she first pops up in a new location. “She usually spends six to ten months in a place before moving on, right? Sometimes it’s about a year, but it’s never much longer than that. We know from her whereabouts at the Stone Pony and from Allison’s dad that she’s been back east for about six months.”
Martin slams his hand on the table, “Which means we have a timeframe when she bought her place!”
“Martin-”
“I’m on it.” He types away on the keyboard for a few minutes, does some scanning, and drops his jaw. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “Holy shit.” Louder. “HOLY SHIT!”
“You found it!?” I ask in disbelief.
“I have a motherfucking address my man. Near Lake Pleasant, New York.” He scribbles it down on a piece of paper and tries to hand it to me.
This is it. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. I know where my mother is. Five long years. Reality hasn’t quite sunk in yet. I don’t feel any different except that I know the wave is coming. I say wave, it’s more like a tsunami. I hope to be halfway to Albany before I have to start feeling any emotions.
First things first, small details. I call my boss.
“You’ve reached Daniel Walters, how can I assist you?” He answers overly politely because he knows it’s me.
“Dan, I need you to find someone to cover for me today.”
“Oh fucking hell, Adams, I’ve been patient with you but this is a new level of bullshit. I mean-”
“What if I promised you that we’d get to premiere whatever music Melanie Winters writes next before anyone else does?”
Dan takes a few beats to ponder what I just told him and put the pieces together. “Does this mean?”
“I have an address, in upstate New York.”
“Casey, go.” His previous fury forgotten, Dan is warm but forceful. “If you don’t miss work today, so help me god. You just better make me sound cool in the book, and I want to be played by an a-lister in the movie.”
“Will do, boss.” I hang up and turn to Martin. “Do you have an overnight bag?”
“Dude, you know I’ve kept one here since we were in the seventh grade.”
I turn to Allison. “You?”
“I’ve got enough stuff here that I’m sure I can come up with something.”
“Good, pack your shit you two.” I shove some clothes into a backpack before throwing it at Allison. She starts to pack her own stuff as I grab the car keys and bolt downstairs. I slide into the driver’s seat of mom’s Challenger. The engine growls to life while my friends struggle to catch up. Martin squeezes himself in the backseat along with the two bags we packed, and Allison sets her seat before climbing in. The door shuts with a satisfying thunk.
Houston, we are ready for liftoff.
“Ready to rock and roll?” I ask my friends.
“Punch it,” Martin sounds off.
“All engines go, babe,” Allison agrees.
I floor it, tearing out of the driveway and onto Siren Road with an eager hunger. I’m invincible, unstoppable, and there isn’t a roadblock, police officer, or spot of bad weather that will stop me now. Unfortunately, we have the top up because of the time of year, and Allison is messing with the sound system Martin and I installed because it’s not cooperating, but I don’t care about any of it. Finally, my hour is at hand, everything I’ve been searching for over the last five years is finally within my grasp. I’m not sure what I’ll even say to her, or how easy it’ll be to convince her to come back, but I’ll figure it out on the way. Or hell, I’ll improvise when I get there.
Mom, here we come.
***
Now Playing: “Tears and Laughter” – Tall Tree 6ft Man
The cabin is quaint. It’s small, rustic, and has a back porch which is right on the lake. The car makes its tinks as the engine cools off, quickly drowned out by Martin whining about his sore hindquarters. I remind him, gracelessly, that he chose to come.
“Actually, I didn’t. You basically told me to get in the car and blew out of the room before I could offer any sort of response.”
Allison groans. “Can we not? We were having such a nice time.”
“Says sleeping beauty,” I mutter. Allison spent at least two hours dozing in the shotgun seat, which annoyed Martin to no end. Yet she still beat him at the alphabet with the signs game, which only amplified his annoyance.
After pulling my bag out of the backseat, I take a good look at the cabin as the sun casts orange fire over the treetops and colors the lake. It’s scenic, quiet, quaint, and in the middle of nowhere. It’s probably killing mom to be this far removed from the world, especially after coming from Seattle. Here I am, with a first class ticket home that I hope she’ll take.
The front porch is small, and the front door is mismatched to the rest of the house but charming, nonetheless. Inviting almost. This is a place where you’d want to spend a cozy weekend. I cross the gap with a confident stride. This is everything I’ve been waiting for. I just won. I just did it. I fucking did it. I raise my arm to knock on the door, exhale and smile in triumph.
My fist stays in the air, my arm refusing to move.
She doesn’t do all of this without a damn good reason. How do I know if she even wants to see me again? To know her family anymore? Did she completely freak out and bolt? Will she be happy to even see me, or did I just ruin everything? Maybe I should just go home. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t have tried so hard to get lost.
“Maybe we should go,” I suggest shakily.
“Why?” Allison rubs my shoulders, “What’s wrong?”
“I mean, what if she’s moved on? What if she left because she didn’t love us anymore? What if this has been all a massive effort to go live her own life away from us?” I grit my teeth. The idea of my mother abandoning us for selfish reasons wraps a belt around my head and takes off with one end tied to the hitch of a pickup while I remain rooted in place. I start trembling.
“Well, I mean, Casey, you have to-”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Martin interrupts and pounds thrice on the door. He hits it so hard I think it’ll get knocked inward.
Guess it’s out of my hands now.
My mind replays the last time I saw my mother. When she and my father had that heated exchange at the dinner table the night. The last time I thought about it was at the movies with Jordan a few weeks ago, and it already feels like it’s been ten years since that happened. The time before that…damn. I can’t even remember the last time I thought about that memory before the movies.
In some ways, mom’s absence hasn’t been something I focus on or fixate on emotionally, it’s just always been there. A constant prodding in my heart and head, a splinter under a fingernail you can’t quite get rid of. Eventually you forget that it’s there, but it still makes you quicker to anger, more frustrated, and very careful touching things with that particular finger. Mom’s absence just became part of me. Now I don’t know who I’ll be next, whether she comes back with us or not.
Shadows move inside; I can see that through the cheap curtains she bought. The figure approaches the door. The lock clicks loudly, and I stop breathing. The door slowly swings open, and I swear I can hear every beat of the wings on every insect out back by the lake, every bird or squirrel shifting in the trees, see every grain of the wood in the doorframe, and smell the smoke of a campfire from so far off.
Then there she is. In blue jeans, fuzzy slippers, and a ratty old hoodie, still with the rockstar aura she always had. Supermom. Every line on her face jumps out at me, but her hair is still that same blonde, her eyes that same piercing blue, and the look of shock on her face matches when she saw Reilly trap me in the china cabinet when we were kids.
“Hey, um, hey mom,” I awkwardly stammer before I’m crushed in a hug.
Neither of us say anything, but the shuddering from mom and the water rolling down my cheeks tell me we’re both crying. My mind moves too fast for me to recognize what I’m thinking and feeling. She’s here. We’re here. I’m hugging my mom again for the first time in five years. No time has passed and it’s been an eternity. I’m going to wake up from this cruel nightmare any moment now. This is all too real.
We. Fucking. Did. It.
“Casey.” One word, barely whispered, carries the weight of the world.
“So, we found you.” I don’t know what else to say. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over the years and any prep work I might have done once upon a whenever is out the window now. My mind reaches for words no longer where they should be.
“You found me.” My mother finally breaks the hug and takes a long look at me. She sighs. “You’ve grown up.”
“Little bit,” I speak without thinking.
She laughs. “Well, come in. I don’t have much to eat, but we should talk at least.”
I stand in the doorway and take her meager little cabin in. It’s got a wood stove, a table, and a small living area. There’s at least two bedrooms and a bathroom, but not much else. It seems like it’s more of a vacation getaway than a real house, which is probably why she got it for as cheap as she did based on the listing Martin found this morning. While on our way, he confirmed by doing some searching for public records and my mom’s name is on the deed for this place. With his research skills, it’s kind of odd he had as low grades as he did.
“Think there’s enough room for all three of us?” I ask.
My mom looks confused until Allison and Martin step into the doorway. Allison offers a bashful smile while Martin charges mom with a harder hug than she hit me with, causing her to literally stumble backwards. It breaks any remaining tension, and the two remark how glad they are to see each other. When Martin finally lets go, she gets her moment with Allison as well, which goes much more gently.
“It’s good to see you. All of you. My other children,” mom jokes, “Sorry I don’t have cookies, but that’s more Graham’s department.” She catches herself after she says my dad’s name aloud. A dark cloud quickly passing over her face before she shakes it off. Some behaviors truly are hallmarks of family.
We are ushered in and take up positions by the wood stove in the living area. I understand why as mom explains that this place is not insulated and does not have central heating or air conditioning because it is a vacation getaway, just as I suspected. We make small talk for a little while, biting around the edges of the elephant in the room. While Allison tells her recent history, I realize that they were both in Seattle at the same time last year without either one of them knowing.
If Wiliam knew my mom was in Seattle, did he ever tell Allison? Based on what she’s saying, I’d guess no. Has she been lying to me though? Does she know something I don’t? And when considering the weight of things I do not know, I feel more uncomfortable. A few more minutes of sitting with that weight and it becomes too heavy to bear.
“Why did you leave?” I finally ask, bluntly, too tired of talking around it.
She refuses to meet my eyes, and that heavy weight returns to her shoulders. I see my mom shrink in a way I have never seen before. Her normally fearless nature is in full retreat. If she’s anything like me, she’s rehearsed this speech for five years only to totally balk when the moment arrives and the question is finally asked.
I can’t say I blame her.
“Casey, I want you to know that there was nothing about what happened that was you and your father’s fault. Don’t put that blame on yourself, don’t blame him.”
I chuckle. “Oh hell no. Not even for a second.” I look at Allison for support, but all it does is remind me of how she was the proxy for my anger at mom for so long. I clench my fist and snap my gaze back to my mother with a scowl on my face. “No, I never blamed dad, because I doubt he would have been as absolutely fucking devastated as he was trying to carry on. While Reilly was dealing with heavy shit and I was falling apart in college. No, I never blamed dad for one single second. You fucked everything up for us when you walked out.”
Mom sinks even further. The fury gives way to a knot of guilt which originates in my stomach before raising the temperature across my body by at least twenty degrees. Or so it feels.
“Dude, that’s a little harsh,” Martin interjects.
“No, no, Martin. He’s right,” my mother waves him off. Martin crosses his arms and fixes me with a disapproving stare either way.
“No, mom, it’s mean to say,” I side with Martin against myself, which I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of. Allison sits down next to me with cups of hot chocolate, tea, and coffee for us based on our respective preferences. I hadn’t even noticed she was making anything in the kitchenette. My head is elsewhere. “Please, I want to know. It’s been the great mystery for half a decade.”
“Leaving you all was the hardest thing I could do. I never reached out because I felt like I’d fold, come running back, and that I needed to be strong to take care of you. That meant radio silence.”
“Why did you have to run?” Allison’s questioning is a lot more gentle, soft, and kind than mine is right now. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it just to tell her that I love her. Even if we haven’t actually said it aloud yet, even if she doesn’t know what I’m trying to say, I do.
Mom clears her throat, takes a deep breath, and speaks with a resolute regret. “I was with a band when I was much younger that ran into some financial difficulties. At the time, none of us wanted to give up on the music dream, but we needed to pay the bills. So we borrowed some money from some unsavory people.”
“Who was it?” I ask. Grantchester isn’t a hotbed for criminal activity or anything, not by a longshot, but every place has its resident scumbags. I’m sure they’re people I know.
“It’s not important. We paid them back, in full, with interest. They left us alone for a few years. Then they came back, changed the terms. I was making better money at the time, and so I was able to keep the wolves sated. But they kept coming back hungrier and hungrier, and eventually I could feed them no more. Reilly was out working one day, you were at school, your father was at the bakery, and so I was home alone. They knew it. They came to the house.”
“Jesus Christ, you were getting extorted by fucking mobsters!?” I wince as soon as I finish speaking, wishing I hadn’t been so blunt. Acting without thinking seems to be a real theme for me lately.
Mom takes a sip of her tea and looks me dead in my eyes. “I swear one of them was doing a bad impression of Robert DeNiro in Goodfellas and it was still the most terrifying moment of my life.”
“So why didn’t you talk to us? Why only the occasional letter to Uncle Derek? Surely the heat died down after a year or two, so why didn’t you come back?”
“At first it was to keep them from finding me. It was my way of protecting you. After so much time spent alone with my thoughts, moving from place to place, never having a lot of friends, working demeaning jobs when I couldn’t be a session musician or something like that, I got scared. I was afraid you’d judge me for leaving, and I felt like I was a bad wife and a bad mother for ever putting you in danger, and also for leaving. Then my exile turned into a punishment for all my horrible choices. Here you are, as wonderful as ever. I still wonder how such a terrible mom could have made such great kids.”
“First, you’re not a terrible mother. At all. Like, without a shadow of a doubt in my mind. I may be mad as hell at you, but the only reason I was able to track you down is because you taught me how to be the kind of person who could do it and wouldn’t be too afraid to try.”
Tears start their descent down my mother’s face, and her lip trembles in a smile filled with so much pain and relief and release. I get up from where I’m sitting and kneel in front of her chair to wrap her in a giant hug.
“I’m so happy I got to see you again, Casey. It’s made my heart so happy. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, mom. But cut out that past tense shit.”
“Casey, I still can’t come home.” The hug breaks, I pull back, and for the millionth time today it seems, my mother’s heart breaks and her soul sinks.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves while I attempt to moderate my anger before it cooks off once more. “The hell you can’t. You’re telling me I went through all this trouble to track you down to bring you home for Reilly’s wedding and you won’t come back? Fuck that. Your family needs you. We’ll figure out the rest together, as we always should have.”
My mother seldom gets surprised in an abrupt manner, and even less often does she let it show. The way her body jolts and her hair almost stands up for a brief moment like she just jammed a fork into an electrical outlet and hung on is the most taken by surprise that I’ve ever seen her.
“Reilly’s getting married?” It’s a whisper of disbelief, of jubilation, of angst, of curiosity. Mom’s eyes dart around so dramatically and rapidly across the room while she processes the news that if I hadn’t just dropped the mother of all atomic bombs on her head after dropping the mother of all conventional bombs on her head, I’d be worried about getting her to a hospital.
“Yes. To Justin, whom you met right before you went all-” I start snapping my fingers mid-sentence because I totally blew my rhythm by not having a good example when I committed to making a snappy pop culture reference, because I’m mediocre in all that I do apparently.
“Paper Towns,” Allison fills in for me.
“Yes, thank you, Paper-” I interrupt myself again to look confused at my girlfriend. “Paper Towns?”
“It’s a John Green book. I’ll tell you later,” she waves me off.
I shake my head, and turn back to my mother, “Before you vanished on us. He’s treated her well. They just got engaged last month, they’re holding an engagement party next Saturday at Beckett’s, which is where they got engaged. You are going to be there. In fact, we are going to pack your shit this evening, we’ll crash here for the night, and then we will all be returning to Massachusetts. You are moving what little you took with you back into our house, you will sleep in the bedroom which looks the same since you left and come back to your life, and you will celebrate your daughter’s engagement with your family.”
My mom takes a deep breath, puts her hand on my shoulder, and meets my eyes once more. “Okay. You’re right. I need to come home. I am coming home.”
Those are the words I’ve been waiting for five years to hear.
***
Now Playing: “Can’t Find My Way Home” – Blind Faith
After mom agreed to come home, we spent the evening catching up and telling tales of the good old days. Allison and I saved the reveal of our relationship for this morning. Though if mom is as sharp as everyone else, she already knows. Not like Allison and I are really all that good at hiding it apparently. I still think everyone else has superhuman abilities of deduction.
After a squabble for the bathroom, we’ve spent the last hour packing up mom’s few worldly possessions, a process which she hadn’t quite finished from her last move anyways, which has made loading up her Subaru Outback much easier. There’s another thing; she still doesn’t know about her car being here.
“Okay, as much as I love y’all, I think I’m going to need some serious food to tide me over for the long ass drive back,” Martin states through a yawn. The man has the talent to speak through yawns, burps, hiccups, or sneezes the best I’ve ever seen. It’s honestly impressive.
“Glad your appetite is still unchanged, Martin, because the Northampton Diner is not too far from here, so we’ll make a stop before we head back home.” The way my mom describes Grantchester as home makes me smile a giant, elated, involuntary smile.
Allison informs me that the pile next to her is the last of the boxes as she hefts one into her arms before handing it off to me. She picks up a lighter one, and mom moves through the bedroom one last time to quadruple check that she hasn’t left anything behind. I slide my box into the back of her car, and Allison follows suit. I return to the cabin as mom comes up with a few odds and ends in her hands, but nothing major.
Mom takes one last look around her home for the last several months, the final entry in a long line of places to lay her head over the last few years. She takes a deep breath, nods solemnly and then closes the door behind her, locking both locks. I’ll bet she’s excited and terrified to go back in equal measure. Can’t say I blame her. She left it undecided whether she’d sell the place or she’d hold onto it as a place for her and my dad to go for small getaways.
“Oh, mom, I have one last surprise for you,” I bid her as I lead her out to the car. If last night’s shock and surprise at Reilly’s engagement was the most surprised she’s ever been, this probably ranks fourth or fifth. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees her purple machine shining in the morning sunlight.
“I thought you were driving your grandfather’s truck?” Mom gasps.
“It died a month ago, Martin and I just got finished resurrecting this thing. Figured what better way for you to come back home than in proper style.”
“Casey,” my mom sighs in disbelief and wraps me in another giant hug. I return it and give her a kiss on the cheek before pulling the keys from my pocket.
“C’mon, go fire it up.”
“Yeah, c’mon other mom, I’m starving here!” Martin whines as they make their way over to us.
“You’re always starving,” Allison deadpans.
“And so what if I am? I’m a working man!”
“Allison, if you would be so kind to drive my car, my son and I have some catching up to do on the drive,” mom makes the request politely, but throws a snarky smirk at Martin.
“You’re going to let Allison drive!?” Martin’s now screeching and gesticulating wildly, though what he’s attempting to convey, I cannot fathom. Not like I ever could with him anyways, but that’s beside the point.
“Martin’s got a point, he is the better driver,” Allison willingly fesses up to being the weakest driver in the group. Not that I blame her, she didn’t get a car of her own until college. Much to Martin’s chagrin, however, it’s an old Saab 9-5 that he’s supremely jealous of. Martin told me when I questioned his irritation that Saabs were always cool cars and he hates himself because didn’t understand that until watching Top Gear’s farewell to the company on a rerun or the internet or something.
“Not a scratch,” my mom warns him in a tone which promises grave consequences with a sternly pointed finger to boot. He stares at the keys being offered to him for a few moments before gently taking them out of my mother’s hands.
“No promises!” he jokes before bolting off. Allison and I shake our heads before she climbs into the passenger seat of the Subaru leaving my mom and I to drive to the diner for some mother-son time.
No sooner than we’re on the road does mom ask what I’ve been up to. I tell her I’ve been following in her musical footsteps, with my role at the radio station and the bands we’ve been playing in. I promise more stories when Martin is around because our hijinks don’t sound the same without both of us telling the tales.
“Everything I’ve tried to do since you left, I did to make you proud,” I say while watching trees and road signs pass.
“Casey, I am so proud of you. You have become such a wonderful young man since I went away. Truly.”
I smile in contentment. Warmth and easy breath in my lungs. I think all of my fears and tension have been getting my mother to come home but also questioning whether she is proud of me. To know that I did it right while she was missing validates every struggle I’ve had with every mean-spirited doubt and proves that I’ve done most of the things in my life right these last few difficult years.
I tell mom the whole story with Jordan. She sits and listens with a quiet care and offers some words that I had been needing to hear from someone removed from the situation. Namely that I handled a rough situation as best as I could, I did the right thing to accept responsibility, and I was a class act to apologize to Jordan the other day as I did. I only partially believe her. She is still my mother, bound to say nice things about me. But still, it’s nice to hear.
“So, after the Jordan situation. Well, uh, Allison and I started dating.”
She actually slams on the breaks in surprise, sending me towards the dashboard before I have a chance to catch myself. I’ve never seen that happen in real life before, only movies and television shows. Her shock wears off a few moments later and we continue driving as if nothing happened.
“About goddamn time, Casey Adams.”
“Dad said the same thing,” I chuckle. “And Martin. And, well, a lot of other people.”
“I’m glad you’re not being mean to yourself as much, Casey.”
I question her about what she means, but she refuses answers for another three miles. I sigh and change the subject. “Allison and Martin made this happen. All the lost time I spent looking on my own, and I brought them into the fold for a few weeks and all of a sudden everything started making sense.”
“You have wonderful friends, Casey,” she replies in that quiet, wise mother voice that’s universal. Or at least the mothers that aren’t total psychopaths. The ones who probably shouldn’t have had kids.
“I do. The search was so draining, in addition to living life. Dad helped a bit too. Gave me your old music notebook and bought our tickets out to Seattle with the vacation fund.”
Mom breathes in sharply. “You went to Seattle? Casey, what all did you do to find me?”
I take her back through the whole story. How since a few months after she left, I had gotten a board and put it behind my Revenge of the Jedi poster. How every idea or mention over the years from the people who called or wrote would go up on it. How it helped me track her progress to a certain point, and then the letters to her brother filled in blanks, and finally, how Allison’s dad gave us the last missing piece with the letter mom wrote him and with some sleuthing, we found the address. I tell her about every moment in between, about Allison and me, about Asbury Park, and so on and so forth. Details spill from my lips like a waterfall after a monsoon: raging, rushing, unable to be stopped, potentially lethal if not handled with proper care. I say much more than I mean to, but I cannot stop. We’ll be talking for a month solid before she’s totally caught up.
“Casey, I know how to get to Grantchester, but I don’t think I could have found my way home without you. I don’t know how to tell you what I think right now, but just know you are a wonderful boy, and I love you so very much.” Mom’s openly bawling by the end of her sentence. I can’t help but tear up too.
“The time we lost doesn’t matter. We make every second count from here on out.”
“Especially with all the food Martin’s about to devour,” she brings us back down to earth with levity as we pull into the parking lot. We still have far to go, both physically and emotionally, but right now, I want some pancakes and a hot chocolate. By the looks of my friends in the parking lot, they’re of the same mind.
I tell mom to go on ahead and get seated with everyone else, that I have to make a phone call first. Again, time slows as my mind races a million miles a second past thoughts too blurry to even contemplate before they’re gone. My father’s voice greets me on the other end of the line, and I reply in kind. A heavy silence hangs between us for a moment or two. I can only imagine he’s figured out why I’m not home right now, but I’m also certain he’s prepared himself for one of several different scenarios, all of them worse than the reality. Even on a cold autumn morning in upstate New York, there is nothing that could make me feel bad at this moment, because I get to say seven words I’ve been dreaming of saying for five years.
“We did it dad. She’s coming home.”
Ark of the Lost Angels 
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