TheBanyanTree: Home Again, Home Again

[Sharon Mack]

Home Again, Home Again
	By Sharon A. Mack

She never welcomed me, only criticized my absence and lack of communication.  It was hard to go home.  No warm yummy feelings of warmth and love.  No fond memories.  Yet I returned in spite of it.  For what reason I cannot say.  Obligation?  For a while I thought that was why, but she never needed me.  She was a self-sufficient woman, healthy and spry, not needing anything from anybody.  Perhaps it was guilt. What was I guilty of, if indeed I was guilty at all, was never anything I could put my finger on.  I have scratched that reason.  Driven, someone had said.  Driven?  Perhaps.

Mother had died when we were all quite young, except Dianna, of course.  She was old even then, it seemed.  Old and wise and experienced.  Daddy left it all in her hands.  Our lives never seemed to skip a beat.  She did it all.  The only thing she never replaced was Mama's love and warmth.  Neither did my father.  The two boys left home early.  One to work, one to school.  My younger sister and I stayed until Daddy died.  Seemed he worked himself to death.  Worked himself to death in silence.

Suki and I left together much to Dianna's dismay.  We left her alone there on the big front porch looking small and tight and angry.  It almost felt good to leave her like that.  Arms folded across her breast, her thin mouth in its usual downward slant, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.  She never said a word.  Never asked where we were going or what our plans might be.  Nothing.  Just my father's silence and her own stubborn air to see us off.  We pretended we didn't care.

So here I am, back again.  I have an average return rate of once every three years or so.  I wasn't surprised to find that Dianna hadn't changed, at least not in her behavior.  Outwardly she was aging.  The lines in her face were deeper, her frame a bit more stooped.  Otherwise she was the same.  Same attitude.  Same hard ways.

The twilight had sneaked in on me while I unpacked.  The house stood quiet.  The chilly gloom closed in around me.  I finished unpacking quickly and put on a warm fleecy sweatshirt.  I decided to go downstairs.  Dianna would be starting dinner shortly.  I planned to help.
No lights were on to break the gloom.  Why there were no lights on I couldn't figure.  I guess living alone had made Dianna eccentric as well, or perhaps her finances were tighter than I thought.  I moved down the hall and the darkened stairs quickly.  Passing the parlor I took a quick look inside.  No Dianna.  The room looked as it always had.  Clean, untouched, unlived in.  I walked past the large Grandfather clock, past the dining room and into the kitchen.  Dianna was nowhere to be found.  The kitchen was dark and untouched.  Everything lay quiet and cold in the dark shadows.  Dinner had not been started.  I stood still trying to listen.  There were no sounds except the quiet ticking of the clock in the hall.  Where was she?  I turned on the light and went to the back door.
The yard was empty.  I moved out onto the porch and called her name.  No answer.  I decided to see if she was still out front where I had left her when I went to unpack.
Moving back through the house I couldn't help noticing how unchanged everything was.  I began to make changes mentally. "If I had the place, I'd*"  You know how you do that.  I stepped out onto the front porch.  Dianna was still in her chair.  She sat staring straight in front of her.  She never budged at the sound of the door.  She was very still.  I stopped short becoming still myself.  I called her name.  "Dianna?  Dianna*.are you alright?"  I waited for her to respond.  To answer.  To move.   "Dianna*?"

********************

I finally went inside and shut the door.  I felt sick.  Wasn't it just like Dianna to do this?  To die on her own doorstep when I was here.  Why not when Mark or Bud was here?  They could have handled this.  Not me!  Why me?  It seemed personal*like she did it TO me!  What a strange feeling, what a strange thought.  I shivered and shook it away.  She couldn't choose her time of death.  "You dope!"  I said it aloud and felt better.  "Now what?  Call.  Call someone.  Who?"  I was still talking aloud.
I cast around in my mind.  Family?  A neighbor?  The police?  I opted for the police.
I went to wait it out in the kitchen.  I wanted to be as far away from her as I could get.  The kitchen was it.  I was freezing so I stoked up the old stove and put on some water to boil.  I turned on every light.  I thought about Dianna.  She wasn't even really old chronologically she just seemed old.  She was only fifty-two.  How could she have died?  Was it her heart?  I sat in the kitchen and waited.
Nineteen years ago I had left this house.  Nineteen years and in all that time nothing had changed.  I began my mental game again.  I changed the kitchen three times only stopping for the kettle whistle.  I made my tea and began again.  I wasn't facing reality.  I didn't care.  Soon I would have to but for now I could pretend.
But pretending wasn't enough.  Soon I found myself actually moving things around.  I even went out back and brought in the last few flowers left in the garden.  I rooted through the cupboards for vases.  I opened long unopened drawers looking for tablecloths, doilies, throw rugs.  Anything I could use to bring warmth to that bare cold room.  I brought in wood.  Lots of wood.  I didn't want to run out of wood.  I even covered the bare windows by tacking up tea towels.  I picked out the brightest and most cheerful.  I felt frantic working faster and faster as though I had to meet some deadline.  I had to hurry, hurry; hurry before it was too late.
The loud knock startled me.  I jumped letting out a scream.  It took a few minutes to come back to reality.  I felt out of touch.  Disoriented.  The memory of Dianna's inert body came back slowly crowding out my frantic activities.  The knock came again.  This time more insistent. I jumped from my stool and went to the door.  The policemen came in filling the small hall with their large frames.  I told them how I had found Dianna and took them to her.  I left her in their hands.  They knew what to do.  I went back to the kitchen and sat down.  My tea was cold.
The rest of the night was a blur.  They took Dianna away in the ambulance.  The doctor pronounced her dead.  They would do an autopsy in the morning.  He would not say how she died.  I phoned Bud, Mark, and Suki.  They were on their way.  They would arrive in the morning.  I was alone.  It was late and I was very hungry.
I made a sandwich and ate it wandering through the house.  I was back in my game again.  I mentally moved everything first but soon began to put my ideas into action.  I found a box of mother's curtains under the steps.  I scrubbed and cleaned till my hands were red and sore.  I changed carpets as well as furniture, running upstairs and downstairs.  I turned on all the lights.  I turned on the radio.  At dawn I stopped.  I relit the stove and lit up the fireplace.  I wanted it warm.  Above all it had to be warm.  I rested at last.  The chair was mother's chair in the parlor.  I pulled it close to the fire.  I couldn't remember the last time anyone had truly used the parlor or sat in mother's chair.
I dreamed a thousand dreams.  All in bits and pieces.  Unconnected.  It was the past.  It was the present.  It was the unknown.  Dianna had smiled and touched my arm.  She patted my hand.  She hugged Suki.  She left us all alone.  We cried, but not because we missed Dianna but because we were afraid to be alone. Daddy died and Mama cried when she saw us again.  I woke up with a start and in a heavy sweat.  It was much too hot.

*******************

Suki got there first.  She was small and fair and frail and still looked twelve.  We hugged and had tea.  We didn't cry.  Bud and Mark came later.  We talked briefly.  Neither could stay long.  They didn't cry either.  I wondered if their wives would come to the funeral.  They didn't say and I didn't ask.
The funeral was slow and tiresome.  No one wept.  Suki kept talking in my ear.  I never heard a thing she said.  I nodded appropriately.  At least I think I did.  I found my thoughts going back to Mama's funeral.  How different her death had been.  We had all cried.  Sobbed and sobbed until Daddy cut it off.  He said enough was enough.  His look told us he meant what he said.  We stopped crying.  That's when Dianna stopped living.  She became old.  She hadn't cried her tears yet.  Daddy had cut her off before she had the chance.  She never did cry as far as I knew.
Daddy's funeral had been a short business-like affair.  His company buried him.  They called it 'doing their part.'  A show of good works for a loyal and grossly underpaid employee.  We didn't cry then either.
Finally it was over.  The four of us moved away from Dianna's grave in a tight cluster.  It was the closest we'd been since our childhood days.  Mark seemed tired.  Bud spoke first.  "Well, it's done.  I suppose she was just tired.  She never was happy.  All her life she'd never been happy."  He stopped and looked at me.  "Was she ever happy?  Ever that you know of?"
Suki shook her head.  I just stared at him.  Hard.  I'd never really looked at him before.  I only had boyhood pictures of him in my mind.  But there was none of that boy left.  He was handsome, I discovered.  Sharp clear features.  Crystal eyes set deep.  He looked tan and healthy.  He dressed successfully.  He was my brother and I barely knew him and didn't know his family at all.  I wondered if he ever thought of me and if he did, what those thoughts were.
"Come back to earth there, girl."  He smiled at me.  I came back slowly returning his smile.
"Anyone for lunch?"  Mark was slightly ahead and to my left.  He was so practical.  Thank God he had come.  He had handled everything.  He was a hard worker.  His hands were rough but clean and he looked ill at ease in his suit.  His large shoulders pulled at the seams and the buttons on his vest pulled slightly.  He had the same features as Bud but they were more rugged and his face was not tanned by the sun but creased by it.  I wondered what kind of father he was.  His wife was much like Suki in temperament.  Quiet, reticent, sweet, and soft.  She always had a kind word and a gentle smile.  She hadn't come to the funeral.  She was very pregnant with their fifth child.
We ordered pizza.  No one had come to the funeral and no one came to the house.  We ate in silence.  Suki was the first in the three days of our ordeal to notice the change in the kitchen.  "Why I just realized how cozy this kitchen is.  Did Dianna do all this before she died?"  I was here just a little while ago and nothing was changed then.  Everything was just the same as it had always been.  Maybe she softened a bit before she died."
I smiled, "No it was me."
"Whenever did you find the time?"  They all stared at me with a puzzled look of surprise.
"I did the kitchen while I waited for the police the night she died.  I did the rest after they took her away.  I don't know.  It seemed important that I do it.  I went a little crazy, I guess."

************************

They all left the next afternoon.  I stood at the door in the same place Dianna had stood the day Suki and I had left.  I almost crossed my arms over my breast but caught myself.  Instead, I waved and smiled.  They waved and smiled back.  I was actually sorry to see them go.  Suddenly I felt sad.  I felt sadder than I'd ever felt before.
I stood for a while and watched the wind play at the trees.  I smelled the freshness of the air and heard the crickets and katydids begin their night song.  Twilight was descending and I realized suddenly that for the first time everything was different.  So different that it felt familiar.  So familiar it felt like home.