When you leave the house in the morning, you take for granted that it will be there when you come back. The doors would still be locked, the windows shut, and the alarm to sing with praise with your key sliding in home. All would be okay, but we all know the dangers that lurk outside. What about within?
Last night’s dinner consisted of chicken nuggets with cheese. On the side was zucchini and soda, two peas in a pod when it came to the dinner hour. Chairs were at the ready, poised before the place mats, and all that was needed were those to come and forget the day’s trials and end. But there’s no rest for the wicked, and a picture frame upstairs shattered into a million glass pieces of razor sharp shards.
The lights soon followed. Darkness crept into what we called sanctuary, home. To walk upstairs especially with bare feet was certain carnage, glass sliding into skin. Doors slammed shut. Voices rose and cursed. The night closed in. So much for an ordinary day.
I was waiting by the bottom of the stairs. I heard the glass slowly being swept up. Little pieces glinted with life under the lantern light, and the broom struck the wood. Footsteps shuffled about overhead with low voices and growls, and eyes narrowed with darkness. And I was expecting a suitcase to be in his hand.
The rest of the night settled in. The television tried to soothe and caress wounds angry and red, and no words were shared. No thoughts were given, but the silence spoke in tones of the whirlwind that had ripped through this once quiet but never peaceful house. And we should have known that this was coming, but we wanted to believe in the peace that seemed real. We were wrong.
I awoke this morning to darkness and doubt. Shadows lingered and screamed against a now vacant wall. Nothing stirred except the cats and dogs we called family, and even they had fear in their eyes. To believe that everything would be okay, that it was just a brief but vicious storm was to believe in the false promise of peace. Nothing was okay, and nothing would ever be okay again. But we still called this place home.
Now, my key rested in the front door. From the outside, it looked like a regular house with a regular family inside. Our secrets were well-locked from prying eyes except for that night when the cops came. My neighbors gave a brief wave of hello and then disappeared into their cars, ready for the morning commute, and I followed suit. As I pulled my key away and headed for the road, I looked back. Yes, from the outside, everything looked the way it was and should be, but inside were the remains of last night. And as I took another step away, I wondered, “What would I come home to, or would there be no home to come back to?”