Northern_Lights_2014

toward her, watching her as she dug around the pictures box. “Here,” she said, “I found these in your old room. Do you still want them?” I shifted through the handful of photos and a small smile began to form on my face. They played out in my head like scenes from a movie, each one telling a story about my past. One was about the time when Jenny and I played in the park a few blocks down with a few neighborhood kids. It was autumn and the leaves are their usual crunchy, crimson and gold colors. Another photo was Jenny’s thirteenth birthday party, complete with cake, balloons, and presents. She was blowing out her candles in this snapshot. But to her right was Ma- ma. She looked energetic and full of life—happy. The next photo was Mama sitting on the old rocking chair near the big picture window. I could tell by the way she was dressed that she was still in the early stages of her mental breakdown. She was still vibrant and energetic, but I could see the lost look in her eyes. I almost lost it every time I glanced at her face. “What is home, Jenny?” I asked, trying to keep the tears from flowing down my face. “Did you ever find a place that you call ‘home’?” Jenny stopped stacking boxes and slowly turned to face me. Her face was stoic, but I could see the emotions that played out in her eyes—sadness, grief, and understanding. “Home is where your family is,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “It’s where you are loved and safe.” How dare she? After all that we’ve been through, how dare she say something that? I laughed, throw- ing the stack of photos on the floor. “Don’t give me that line!” I shouted, “This place used to be what we called home, remember? Or have you forgotten that already?” I wanted to yell at her, blame her for all of my doubts and problems. But I didn’t. I clamped my mouth shut and looked at the opposite wall. “This place used to be a home,” Jenny whispered. “After Daddy passed away, this place changed into that nightmare. Or have you forgotten that already?” I glanced back at her, noticing the tears that had welled up in her eyes. “I don’t remember when this place used to be like that,” I muttered. “I wish I did, though.” The silence weighed the both of us down, unsure of what to say or do next. Time seemed to inch by slowly, only measured by the sound of the afternoon traffic outside the window. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said,” I apologized. “This place just brings back a lot of bad memories.” “I know,” Jenny said quietly, “Me too.” Together, we went through a few boxes and sorted them into piles for us to keep or to donate. After that, we packed everything up and parted ways. I knew that Jenny was right; that the place we used to live was a home. It was a place where we were loved, cared for, and kept safe. But all of that changed so quickly that I don’t remember what it used to be. All I know are the demons that the three of us faced and how difficult life was. That’s why I could never go back. It was a reminder of how horrible my life was and how bad it was for Mama. On the way back to my apartment, I realized that I’ve never truly had a home. It was more of a place 27