Short Story: Of Instability and Growing Roots
Of Instability and Growing Roots
She walked out of the airport into the humid air, so humid
that each breathe was a mix of droplets and warmth. She didn’t turn around to
look behind her; she just walked straight over to the men with their cars, to
what appeared to be a taxi rank, disorderly, loud but with the main direction
of taking people where they needed to go. This was the start of all new, a
place where she could soothe the aches and pains of a life that had failed her
and find that core that had gone missing months before.
Another country, new people, a new adventure. Gone were the
days of sitting at the bar and drinking the night away. Gone were the days of
lying in bed under the covers, wishing for the time to stop so that she
wouldn’t have to face anything outside of the house. Gone were the days of
pretending to smile and laugh at everything and everyone, waiting for that one
moment when she could start drinking and drown herself in oblivion. This wasn’t
even a new start, just an awakening of sorts, a change and a time to reflect on
the years lost and found.
“The beach please. Just the beach.”
Emily was your quintessential wild child. Rebellious and
quiet as a teen, adventurous in her twenties and free-falling in her thirties.
Strong-willed and strong-hearted, but lost in the world that surrounded her.
She spent so much time looking for something that had departed so many years before;
that she often forgot what it was like to actually enjoy her life in the way that
it should have been lived.
There were the days in the squats, cooking vegetarian food
over a gas stove, foraging the market for the cheapest foods and inventing
meals that were filling and savoury on a tight budget. While Emily would go to
school and dissect poetry and fiction, her boyfriend Neil would sell weed and
coke in order to provide himself with the odd heroin fix. Nights were spent
talking about the world and listening to old records saved or stolen, scratched
and warped. It was hard to afford food, but the alcohol was always present, as
was the white powder that would make its way into everybody’s noses at some
point or another. Electricity was not always an option, and in the days of
darkness the instruments would appear, or they would all pile into a van and
drive around, looking for a warehouse party or an outside rave. Sell drugs,
consume drugs and dance until the sun went down again, sometimes multiple
times. The only milestone was the degree that Emily wanted to obtain, not for
any real purpose except for an accomplishment. The first person with a degree
in the family that she had lost sight of.
Emily tired of the squat and of Neil once his dabbling in
heroin became a daily need, and branched out on her own, traveling to places
that her eyes had never seen before. There were the days with a small backpack
and random friends picked up along the way. Ashrams in India, third class train
rides in Egypt, kibbutzim in Israel, barefoot walks on the beaches in Morocco.
Postcards home with the words “I am safe, I love you”. Men who fell in love
with her, and men who she fell in love with along the way, sad goodbyes and
lies about being together again someday, somewhere else on the planet.
Friendships forged over campfires and during bumpy bus rides. Cheap cigarettes
and vodka, beach parties and long discussions involving copious amounts of weed
and tobacco. Emily lost herself in the different worlds she ventured to, and
came out of them with a new sense of self, with a confidence she had been
lacking in her younger years and with a new sense of fulfillment and goals for
the future. It was time to settle for a while.
“Left and then a right here. Go straight down the road until
you get to the little shop on the corner, and then make another right.”
Emily contemplated the world outside the open car window,
breathing in the smells of ash and incense, food and rubbish. People clad in
garments of all colours and shapes, voices talking in different languages and
cars honking at every intersection, trying to make their way through the
traffic of people and cars and bikes. The only thing that mattered at this
point was the beach and the peace it would always bring.
There were the days in the city, working in the office,
scraping by to pay rent on a tiny studio that she only ever used to sleep in.
Nights in dive bars and days picking up the brain cells lost in those bars,
only to lose them again in another location the following night. Emily despised
her job and the stress that she let overwhelm her on a daily basis, but persevered
under the notion that this is what she should be doing with her life,
conforming in her own way, tattooed sleeves under business shirts and barefoot
wandering in airports during business trips. It couldn’t last, it just wasn’t
for her. The partying took its toll and pneumonia and depression crept in,
taking over the smiles and laughter that used to fill her days and nights. A
sure sign of needed change, time to move on and find that natural light and
happiness again.
Emily left those days one rainy, blustery day and found what
she had been looking for for years, a life that she had always wanted. Jobs
that she enjoyed and friends that had the same outlook as her. People who did
not want to conform but who just wanted to be who they were, despite the fact
that they may not always be accepted by others. She realised that there was no
calling in life, but ideas and needs and destinations and sights. Places to go
and people to see and experiences to feel. Freedom was always available; you
just needed to take advantage of it. Some may call it another form of running
away, but for Emily it was just another adventure, another place and another
time where her insomnia died and her laughter came back. The simple parts of
life that were so fulfilling reappeared and she woke up most days with a smile
and an interesting thought. There were some days and weeks of grey areas, times
when the tears would fall freely for a while, before drying up and leaving her
be again. Emails came and went, with the words “How are you? Should I be
worried” and the usual response of “I’m fine, doing great!”
Then came the days that the grey turned to black, and the
light disappeared once again. Back to the bars and the oblivion that she had
been fleeing for so long. Sadness prevailed happiness and the tears would never
dry up, even when the sun was shining and the sky was pure blue. Christmas
lights and songs of freedom did not help, all cares were gone and hugs could
not fight the growing sense of impending doom on the horizon. Night turned to
day and day to night and the most important thought was that of escape, once
again. Ties bound her down, and the scissors to cut them were always just a few
centimeters out of reach.
It was time. Time to leave and time to return. A small bag
of belongings and a ticket to fly away, no looking back, no looking forward.
“You can leave me here. This is perfect.”
There she was, right there, on the beach, in the same spot
as she had always been. In front of the hut, looking exactly like she always
had. A few more wrinkles, lighter hair and the same ocean-blue eyes. Some
things never really changed, even after months and years of outside changes.
“Hi Mum.”
“Emily… You came home at last! It’s time to let the healing
begin and to rest within the confines of this paradise we have always called
home. I love you child, I knew that you would make it back when the time was
right for you. I never doubted your strong spirit would guide you back to me.”
Time may not heal all wounds, but love and peace may just do
the trick. Home is where your heart never leaves.
