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A Walk to Remember. 

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The Past of my Future

           A crack, a fissure, a physical ripple in space and time carved out of thin air, and out popped a silver being, wrapped in material upon material, glossy, protected, and traced with galactic allure. The figure fell to their knees, facemask tinted, face obstructed, breathing heavily. They slowly stood up, raised their left arm to their face, and punched a few buttons on the device attached to their wrist.

“Right on schedule.”

          A voice reminiscent of a female’s murmured out, and she began disrobing carelessly, arrogant that they would not be discovered. Her clothes didn’t seem out of the ordinary once she was out of the silver hazmat-like suit. She dressed as though she really were from the year 2022, or at least how she used to dress; black jeans, Doc Martens’, black crewneck with a white collared shirt underneath for layering, and a black tuque. She really did exhibit the particulars of a Zoomer, yet it was clear in the lines of her face and the awkwardness in which she moved about that she wasn’t used to this anymore.

“Shouldn’t be home quite just yet.”

           As she muttered this, she checked her wrist-device once more, ensuring that everything was going according to plan. She forcefully rushed upstairs and widened her eyes, surprised at her non-surprise. She wandered about the scenic family home, pictures galore on the mantlepiece of the living room, posted snapshots on familial life decorated on corkboards in the kitchen, pictures that featured her with her parents. As she approached her childhood bedroom, she paused by the doorframe with horizontal markings going up, each with an indicator for at title, with the top: “Claire – 12 – 5’0.” She had always been a tall girl, but these grooves under her thumb as she felt for the memories embedded into the walls brought a tear to her eye.

            However, her careful planning had not been so careful, the danger of the mission exacerbated by the emotional charge that she granted it, causing oversights to have been made on her part. A click, joints of wood and metal creaking, the front door opened, and steps slowed rolled into the reverberations of the home. Claire quietly, but rapidly, lurked into her childhood bedroom, making her way to the small walk-in closet and crouched down silently, peering through the slit to see if the intruders would find their way in there.

           Soon after, a young girl, about the age of 13, stormed in, angrily pulling open her drawers and restlessly speaking to herself.

“I’m done with this shit, I’m out, I’m done, I’m done, I’m so done.”

          Tears flew unattended as she whisked random garments into a duffle bag she had under the bed. This was her sleepover bag, but today, it would be the bag that she was to live out of for the next few years.

           This proved to Claire two things though; that she had not properly prepared for this excursion and had forgotten crucial details about this day, and that at one point, that young girl would open the closet door and find her there. As the closet opened, and the girl stared in a stunned fashion at the stranger crouched down, Claire stared back, both sets of eyes filled with tears, and whispered softly.

“Hi Claire.”

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“Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.”  - Sylvia Plath

Home (John Sweeney),  The Homecoming of Odysseus (Homer), Christina’s World (Andrew Wyeth), The Haunting of Hill House (Shirley Jackson) and The Haunting of Hill House (dir. Mike Flanagan)

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The Future of my Past

           The drive back home from school was arduous and enduring, and she seethed in her seat as her parents continued berating her. Normally, on a Friday afternoon following classes, the three of them would go and have a late lunch/early dinner at a restaurant of her choice, a small reward for finishing a long week. Really, it was a chance for the three of them to bond since they were all busy, her especially with her extensive extracurriculars.

           Today was significant though, infamously sounding throughout the years to come; today was the last time she would see them, because she resolved to leave her home.

“No, we’re going straight home, we’re not having eating out today. Claire, it’s time for you to grow up. You’re 13, you’re in a new school, it’s time for you to make friends, not get into fights. What is wrong with you?”

           Her father screamed at her from the passenger seat, as her mum sighed in an exaggerated fashion, determined to get home, and be done with this. Clearly, the two were disappointed from picking her their daughter, only to find that she had been suspended for a week due to violence against another student.

           Claire usually wasn’t difficult to handle in the first place; her grades were fine, she was generally well-liked at school, but she also had a temper anytime anyone made a comment regarding her race. Diversity was already common in the area, but somehow, her being Chinese instigated many skirmishes on school grounds.

           No number of explanations could make her parents anger subside, as they pelted her relentlessly about criticisms regarding her appearance, performance, and general behavior, clearly releasing pent-up frustration. Whether that frustration had anything to do with her at all was besides the point, it was now directed at her, and Claire wouldn’t be able to realize that her parents were also just human and capable of mistakes until years later.

           When they finally arrived home then, she forced her way to the front and rushed through, clamoring that she be left alone and that she would be in her room, and slammed her childhood bedroom door shut.

           “Home sweet home,” she thought, as she got out her sleepover bag and began tossing necessities inside of it. The contempt and revulsion she temporarily held bled out of her mouth as she ravaged the contents of her room, determined to leave and to never come home again. If they wouldn’t respect her at her school, and she couldn’t get any respect or affection at home either, then what good was she doing here?

            Looking to the future wasn’t something that she kept in mind as she facilitated her resolve. To Claire, this was the best idea that could have sprung up, a chance to be independent and be rid of those who would pull her down. Yet as she opened the closet door, she was gripped with paralysis, unable to move from the shock of what she was seeing as she stared into the eyes of her future as it muttered:

“Hi Claire.”

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A daughter is not supposed to have to earn her mother's help or her love. It is supposed to be unconditional.

-Brooke Davis, One Tree Hill

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You don’t exist to please your parents. 

Art by Liberal Jane

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“I’m Home Again”

For Lydia and Mark, their idyllic life wasn’t one that didn’t have nicks and cuts embedded, but they seemed to be happy most of the time. Mark firmly believed that being happy wasn’t even what they should have been striving for:

“Happiness is an extreme, we are looking to be content.”

           Today was one of the worst days either of them had had in a long time though, and unfortunately, their emotional regulatory capacity had been run dry for the time-being, unable to control themselves. Their irritability had led to the pair vexing their daughter, poking holes in her character as they berated her for a school-related incident resulting in a suspension, and yet, they knew that they had made a mistake.

           “We should give her some time alone to herself,” suggested Lydia when Mark wanted to march up, sit her down, and have a long heart-to-heart talk, and he knew his wife had been correct in her judgement. Their daughter needed time to calm down, they all needed time to calm down, and really think about what made them a family.

           A scream was all it took to erase that decision that they had come to though, a piercing and blood-curdling wail that reverberated against the walls and resonated from their 2nd floor. The two bolted like they never had before, their fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. No matter what their feelings were at any given moment, that was their flesh and blood in distress, and they would stop at nothing to protect her.

           When they reached the top of the steps, and burst through Claire’s childhood bedroom door, they saw their daughter, standing with their daughter. Eyes all locked, time stood still, time passed forwards and backwards, past present and future, their daughter was here and gone all at once. Seeing the two Claire’s side-by-side created a liminal image, a being that isn’t. Yet, in the precipice of anxiety that stemmed from this chance encounter, the older Claire, the one clad in black, the one who appeared as though she had been hurtling through life alone for years and years turned to the pair and whimpered out:

           “Mom… Dad… I’m home, I’m finally home.”

“Abruptly, the older Claire grasped their Claire by the shoulders, barely able to squeak out orders to put the bag away and apologize. Without warning, she then rushed towards Mark and Lydia and held them in a lasting embrace, staining their clothes with her tears. For the two parents, their baffled state short-circuited their brains, as they hesitantly hugged her back, before finally seeing the bag and realizing what had occurred. This Claire was still theirs, both of them were, and she had finally come home.

Their Claire joined in this hug, weeping into her older counterparts back, as she felt the body tighten and slowly soften while she began apologizing profusely, all of them apologizing profusely. However, paradoxes can only be stretched so far, and the clad-in-black Claire was fading, a fact and concept she knew would occur had this journey been more than just a sight-seeing tour, as it was now a reunion of sorts. She faced all three of them, gave them all a kiss on their forehead, and wistfully floated away, her last words hanging in the air above them.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m back now, I’m home again, I am home.”

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0201 Bart Gets an F

Loving parents overlook Bart’s failure