Where Home Is

Sara stepped out of her car and walked across the parking lot onto Breakers Beach. There weren’t many things she liked about San Diego, but the naval base’s private beach was pretty nice. 

When Finn enlisted in the Navy the week after high school graduation, she knew she would eventually join him somewhere after he completed basic training. But she was too swept up in planning a wedding to really give it much thought. The wedding was a blur, as was the short honeymoon. Finn left the next day for basic training, while Sara stayed behind in Salina, Kansas. 

Finn’s time in basic felt like forever for Sara, her days spent waiting on the family farm. But then it was over, and Finn received his orders.  They were headed to San Diego. Finn had just long enough to fly back to Kansas, pack up their meager belongings and wedding presents, and drive the U-Haul to California.

Sara knew immediately she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The city was daunting for a farm girl, who was much more at home driving in a field than driving in traffic. Finn seemed to have no trouble settling in, busy at work and making friends as he went. There were several young couples on the base, and plenty of  opportunities to get to know people, but Sara couldn’t find the emotional energy to engage. Setting up their apartment, looking for a job of her own, and being a supportive wife at 18 years old just felt like too much to carry. Finn kept encouraging her to get out and meet some of the other women, but it just felt like more pressure, increasing her anxiety.

She was supposed to be back at the apartment, getting ready to go to dinner with three other couples, but she started feeling claustrophobic. She needed some air. Back in Salina she had space and air in abundance. A walk through the wheat fields with Bella, her golden retriever, always did the trick. But she  was a long way from home. Sara told Finn she couldn’t go to dinner, and ran out of the apartment.

Sara kicked off her sandals, picked them up, and walked along the shore, letting the surf wash over her feet. She stopped, looked out over the ocean to the horizon, and just felt small. Lost.

As she stood in the surf, her feet sinking in the sand, Sara began to feel her chest tighten again. Her breathing became shallow as panic gripped her. She couldn’t do this. Was she crazy to get married right out of high school? Why hadn’t her parents stopped her? It was just too much. All of it. She had to leave. Now. It was 1,400 miles back to Salina. She just needed to get in her car and start driving. All night. Finn would be fine. He’s always fine. Infuriatingly fine. He’d get over her, find a city girl who was born to marry a sailor. They’ll have 6 kids and he’ll forget all about her. He’ll be fine. Just like she would be when she pulled back onto the farm.

She was reaching into her pocket for her car keys when she felt something cold and hard brush against her foot in the water. Startled, she jumped backwards and looked down. It was a wine bottle, being dragged back out with the tide. She stepped forward to grab it. Why couldn’t people just throw away their trash? 

But as she picked up the bottle, she realized that this wasn’t the flotsam of some group’s recent beach party. The bottle was old, the green glass polished from years of exposure to salt and sand. There was a cork in the top, sealed with candle wax. Sara held up the bottle to the sun, revealing a silhouette inside. 

Sara walked back up the beach where the surf couldn’t reach her, and sat down in the sand. She opened the small Swiss Army knife on her keychain, and deftly sliced between the wax and cork. The cork pried out without protest.. 

Sara turned the bottle over and shook it. From the mouth of the bottle fell a tightly wrapped piece of paper, tied with a  lavender ribbon. Placing the bottle in the sand, she cradled the small scroll in her hands reverently. She ran her fingers along the silk ribbon, and pulled at the end of the bow. It released easily, and fell off the paper.

She gently unrolled the scroll, then very carefully unfolded it. The yellowed paper felt brittle, fragile in her hands. It crackled as she opened it, revealing the careful script filling the page.

At the top of the page was a date: 

December 21, 1941.

Sara gasped. 1941. Had this bottle really been floating in the ocean for almost 80 years? Unbelievable. She continued reading:

My Dearest Charlie, 

It’s been two weeks now.  I finally worked up the courage today to buy a plane ticket back home. One way. It all seems so... final. 

Remember how much I hated Pearl Harbor when we arrived? It was so quiet compared to the busy streets of our Chicago. I must have cried for a month. You were so patient with me. But it wasn’t long before I came to realize that you were always what made Chicago home. Home was wherever you were. Now I’m heading back to Chicago without you. And though I have family there and a place to live, I have never felt more homeless. How am I going to do this without you? 

Merry Christmas my love.

Yours Always, 

Eleanor

Sara stared at the letter, her fingers following the words now blurred with tears. Slowly pulling out her phone, she googled how far Pearl Harbor was from San Diego. 2,455 miles.

She looked out over the ocean again, folded up the letter, and dialed Finn’s number.

“Hey, Finn? Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed to clear my head a bit. Listen, I’m on my way home. Let’s go to that dinner tonight. We’re gonna need some friends here at our new home.”