I can even see myself running down the narrow hallway, calling out to my mom, "Look what I made, Mommy."
I handed her a drawing done in crayons of a little stick figure boy with a small, brown dog at his feet. "Can we have a dog?"
My mom laughed at me as she looked at the drawing. "That's beautiful, Zach, but you know we can't have a dog. We're leaving next month for Brazil, and there would be no one to take care of it."
"Uncle Randall can watch it for us. I'm sure he'd do it."
My mom ruffled my hair and leaned down to kiss me. "I'm sure he would, baby. But if you're going to have a dog, you need to be the one to care for it. Maybe we can get one when we get back, okay?"
Disappointment filled me because I didn't want to go on this mission trip with my parents. I loved Jesus, and all of his teachings, but I didn't want to leave my home... my friends... Uncle Randall. I loved it here.
"I don't want to go," I said petulantly. "I want to stay here with Uncle Randall, like the last time you went."
"But we're going to be gone longer. At least a year," my mom told me with a confident smile. "We can't leave you for that long. I'd miss you too much."
"I don't care," I told her angrily. "I'll hate it there."
My mom bent down and picked me up, nuzzling my neck. "You won't hate it there, silly. But if on the off chance that you do, we won't make you come back with us again. How's that for a promise?"
I wanted to cry and stomp my feet in denial, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. This trip had been planned for a while now, and there was no changing it. We had this conversation many times before. My mom set me back down, giving me some warm cookies with a glass of milk. Cookies usually made everything seem better, but not that time. That time, they tasted like dirt.
I blink my eyes, falling out of the memory hard. I had totally forgotten that I never wanted to go to the Amazon with my parents. That I was bitter about it, and that I wanted to stay here with my godfather. I turn slowly to look at Randall, who is watching me with kind eyes.
"I never wanted to go to Brazil with my parents," I say stupidly.
Randall nods at me with understanding. "No, you didn't. But your parents understood that. You were too young to share their passion for helping to teach Christianity to the Indians. But they couldn't very well leave you behind. Not for the extended trip they had planned. They loved you too much to ever do that."
"Yet, they ultimately did leave me... when they died," I say with a bitterness that surprises me. "They left me in a strange world. They left me unprotected."
Randall takes a few strides toward me, resting his hands on my shoulders. "Don't be angry with them for that, Zach. They're gone. You can't undo that, and you know they never wanted anything bad to happen to you. They trusted they were doing the right thing."
"Right for who? For them?"
Sighing, Randall squeezes my shoulders. "They thought it was right for your family, and we can't change that."
I pull away from Randall and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. My head is spinning with resentment, and I'm ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I would feel that way toward my parents, who are dead, and ashamed that I'm actually having bitterness over having left this home that I'm standing in right at this moment. It's the absolute same feeling I had not less than a month ago when I was told I had to leave my home in Caraica.
Now, I'm confused. I don't know where my home truly is. I feel like I belong neither here nor there. Every bit of sure footing that I had seems to be sliding out from underneath me.
I peek inside of my bedroom, and it's exactly as I remembered it. A tiny twin bed with Batman sheets and a blanket. Various toys are scattered over my dresser, and a baseball bat and glove lay on top of a footlocker at the bottom of my bed. Everything is very clean and without a speck of dust anywhere. I assume Randall has been maintaining this house all these years.
Turning from my room, I walk across the hall to my parents' room. Immediate recognition assaults me as I take in their wrought-iron bed covered in a pale blue and white quilt. Their dresser is covered with photographs of our family, and I walk up to them to peruse, trying to remain dispassionate as I take in the smiling faces and happy family union. Closing my eyes, I swear I can even smell my mom's subtly sweet perfume, and a flash of pain and longing seeps into my bones, replacing some of the bitterness I was feeling moments ago.
I open one of the drawers, but it's empty of clothing.
"I ended up giving away all the clothing, but everything else I left the same. I have someone come in weekly to clean the place."
Nodding my head, I take a peek outside the window and look out into the backyard. The peach tree stands there, looking about ten times larger than I remember, but it's devoid of any fruit.
Turning back to Randall, I clear my throat so he can't hear the tidal wave of uncertainty to my feelings. "Thank you for showing me this today. But I think I've seen enough."
"Sure," Randall murmurs. "I'll take you out to lunch, and we can just chat some more if you want."
"Actually... I'd rather just go back to your house if you don't mind. I'd like some time alone, if that's okay with you."
Randall smiles at me with sad eyes and says, "Of course."
I f
ollow Randall out of the house and get back in his car with utter silence, lost in my own thoughts. He says this house is mine, but it's not.
Not truly.
My true home is back in Caraica. A longhouse I had built with my own hands, which sits next to Paraila's abode. My hammock provided me all the comfort I needed, and the forest provided me food. I had friends... and an adopted father that loved me like his own.
I have no need of any of these things that Randall showed me here today.
Chapter 16
Moira
I stand outside of Zach's bedroom door, hesitating. I'm worried about him. He didn't come down for dinner, so I had a quiet evening with Randall discussing what had happened today.
He's worried about Zach too.
Apparently, the trip to his childhood home stirred up some bitter emotion. Randall told me that Zach remembered some things in vivid detail. He remembered not wanting to go to the Amazon with his parents, and how he begged to stay with his Uncle Randall.
I suspect that Zach is conflicted over what "home" actually means. He's been so adamant that the only home he'll ever acknowledge is the one he made for himself back in Caraica. But now, he remembers that he had a home here that he loved very much and was resentful of having to leave. I can't even imagine what he must be feeling at this moment... the dichotomy of emotions that must be weighing on him.
It terrifies me to think that he may be sitting inside of his room, right at this very moment, planning an immediate return to the Amazon. It would be an easy way for him to deny the feelings of affinity he must have been feeling to his childhood home today. It would be an easy out for him to take... to run back to what is most comfortable to him.
I go ahead and knock softly on the door. "Zach... can I come in?"
I'm met with silence, so I go ahead and try the doorknob, finding it opens to my touch. Swinging the door open, I note that the room is cast in semi-darkness, as he has the heavy drapery pulled shut and only one small bedside lamp lit.