Chapter 2

Welcome home Freida

To my relief, it was Briar who had opened the door. I was taken a back at the man that was standing before me; he aged, but aged beautifully. He was more built, a big change from his previous overweight appearance when I had left 4 years ago. His brown hair was shorter than I remembered, he had a buzz cut, he was handsome, but I could see the creases, and wrinkles surrounding his eyes, it looks like stress got the best of him, but he had an amused look on his face.
“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a smirk on his face

“Briar!!” I was surprised at the tone of my own voice, and even more surprised when I found myself jumping into his arms. He was surprised by my embrace, it even took him a moment for him to return the hug.
“Jesus Freida, is this type of behavior new or something, you never hug… any of us, especially me for that matter”
Tears start to prickle in my eyes, I realize now how much I missed my brother.

“Shut up Briar, sorry I can’t help it, when you don’t see your family for 4 years, you start missing them”
Briar let go of me and smiled, he wouldn’t say it, but I knew he missed me too.

“Right, get in here, get settled, I was just headed out to the gym”
“The Gym?!...our town has a gym now? Man times have changed” I choke out laughing.

“Yeah fish head, times a changing, it explains the new muscles” showcasing his physique. Fish head was a nick name I got when we were younger, my brothers and I would play fight a lot, and one time, when my brothers were violently hitting me with pillows, I thought it would be a great idea to grab the raw tilapia fish from the sink that my mother was about to cook. When I swung the fish, it missed my brother and I wacked myself in the head with it. Thus, the nickname.
I forgot how much I missed my brother’s humor
“You’re leaving Briar? Could you please pick up a few things from the market…”

I let my brother and mother converse as I leave them at the door to walk around the house. The house felt so familiar, yet so different. It’s liked I stepped into the twilight zone, I left for a reason and I came back for the sake of my mother’s sanity. The first room I entered was the living room, nothing much has changed, still the same tanned colored carpet, wooden coffee table, with mismatched coasters, couches covered with brown polyester fabric, with oversized cushions. Cobie was resting on the white rug near the wooden fireplace. The only real change I had noticed was the new TV above the fireplace, 60 inches in size.

Wow… that’s new.

The photos on the wall were still the same, a photo of me from my high school graduation, and one photo of Briar at his high school graduation, and the next one next to Briar’s was a photo of Garrett at his high school graduation. My mother arranged our three photos from youngest, me, to oldest, Briar.

I stared at Garrett’s photo, Garrett was the black sheep of the family, my mother and father don’t like to talk about it, but I believed he was autistic. He isolated himself in many social settings, and when he was in engaged in social situations he was quite awkward, telling weird facts about airplanes, but I was very fond of him, I had a deep connection with him that I couldn’t explain. We spent a lot of our childhood days playing with the planes he built from his Lego pieces and we would read a lot of books to each other before bedtime. He moved out when he learned of the news I was leaving for the San Fernando. He was living with some of his frat brothers on campus nearby, from the letters he used to write me, he was happy for me and he was even happier he broke free from the family and try independent living. He stopped mailing me, after 2 years into my program, I assumed he was busy with school, and I myself, was too busy to inquire why his letters stopped, but I knew I would see him this holiday.

Within the living room, was the dining area in the far right, a long wooden family table with matching dark oak wooden chairs, and a table that fit up to 8 people. In the middle was my moms basket center piece of fake fruits, and god awful Christmas decorations surrounding it, white cotton that was broken apart to imitate snow, with a baby Jesus right inside the faux fruit bowl. I moved my way through the two-way wooden door and I was in the kitchen. The smell of baked goods, turkey, mash potatoes, fruit salad, corn, peas almost had me fall to my knees.

Finally a home cooked meal, I whispered to myself.
I realized how famished I was from my trip, and I realized it was the first time in 4 years I was about to have a home cooked meal. If my mother was good at anything, it was definitely cooking home made meals.

“You hungry Fish head?” My mom peeked in through the door. “Well I’m glad my nick name is being put to good use again” I smile. “If you can’t wait, go on and eat”.
“Thanks mom, I think I need a long shower and a nap first; it will make eating your food that much better” I say as I yawn.
“Okay honey, I restocked all your toiletries in the bathroom of your room, I’ll see you at dinner” and at that moment my mom was gone, probably cleaning something that has already been cleaned 30 times today.

I make my way up the wooden stairs, the creaks still audible as I walk slowly up to my room.

I make a sharp right, and before me is the doorway to my past, where I spent most days either talking on the phone, crying, reading, my safe haven from all the hurt that has caused me. My piece of sanctuary in the middle of the chaos I left behind. I hesitantly open the door because maybe I don’t want to relive my memories. As I enter, the first thing I noticed was my queen sized oak bed, with black iron vine bars as my headboard. I dropped my keys, and bags on the floor, and fell back on my bed and stared at my ceilings, slowly counting the bumps on the ceiling, and then I drifted to sleep.

I dreamed.

I dreamed of a small room, with my father staring at me, holding a woman’s hands. Those hands did not belong to my mother. I inched closer and closer, if disappointment had a name, it would be my face. I stared into his eyes, and I wanted so much to scream, and tell him how disgusted I was of him. I stared into the woman’s eyes, no she was not my mother, but her face was all too familiar.

I awoke with a jolt, I sat straight up, still in the clothes I was wearing when my mother picked me up from the bus station, jacket still on too. I made my way to my bathroom, luckily, my own private bathroom, connected to my room. I took my jacket and clothes off, and jumped into the shower. The hot water hitting my skin was like heaven. Once my shower was finished, I dried my hair with a towel and put some of old pajamas on, ones I had left behind when I left for nursing school. I turned on my mac laptop to find 40 emails from my classmates, instructors, and e-bills. I shut my computer to sleep and found myself famished. I made my way out of my room, when I heard creaking and giggling from up the farthest room from my room. It was coming from the guest bedroom. I inched closer and closer to the noise and saw that the door was slightly open. Then, blood drained from my face, and I could feel myself light headed. I heard moaning.
“Yes, harder, harder” In a woman’s voice
Through the slit of the door all I could see is blankets moving up and down, hands gripping the headboard, and then it dawned on me, it was my father, and the woman who was in my dreams. It was one of the very reasons I left town, a picture I knew all to well growing up. My father was continuing on with is old habits.

Without any hesitation I ran to my room, and slammed the door shut. I could hear muffling, and the guest door opening, the moaning stopped, but all I wanted to do was escape. I locked my bedroom door, and ran into my washroom, and locked the door to it as well. I put my hands on both sides of my ears to block out any more noises, like a mantra I repeated to myself, go back to sleep, go back to sleep.

After what felt like hours, I succumbed to my grief, anxiety and anger and submitted to the darkness as I fell back to sleep.