Maybe

Being gone for 15 years can change your view on a place you grew up. You notice things you never did before. You see people differently. You, yourself, are different. You act differently. You look different. In the time that you left, all these people stayed there, while you moved on, you changed. And now you come back home to show everyone who you became.

“Michaela!? Is that really you? While I live and breathe. Girl get over here,” my old hairdresser, Bonnie, says, taking me into a huge hug. 

“Hi Bonnie. How has business been?” I ask, leaning back to look at her face. She’s gotten more wrinkles on her face, and her hair has turned slightly gray. The last time I saw her she looked younger. I suppose 15 years can change a person. I would know. 

“Eh. So-so. Hasn’t been the same since you left. Same people every week. No new gossip. That was always something that you brought to the table. Coming in here every Saturday to get your hair nice and ready for Sunday church and telling all us the juicy gossip at the high school and the town. What with you being everywhere at once, and knowing everything about everyone all the time. I don’t know how you did it. And now you’re some bigshot interviewer for the biggest online paper and you don’t even drop by to say hi,” Bonnie says, preparing a station for me. 

“Hey now. You know why I left. And I wanted to visit, but work and school isn’t easy,” I say, sitting down. 

“Yeah, I know. Now, sit your butt down and tell me all about the big city and what it’s like working for a big online blog.” I laugh and sit down and tell her all about the big city as she prepares my hair.    

                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I step out of the shop, I feel like a whole new person. And it feels weird being back home. I felt like a new person when I left, but something pulled me back here. And I need to find it.

As I walk through the streets, I get a sudden feeling of deja vu’. Memories from my childhood appear in my thoughts. Me, playing at the playground across the street with my sisters, getting pizza with my dad, buying a cake and streamers for my birthday with Mama, walking to school with my best friends, going on dates at the arcade, and a million other things I did that I don’t remember. 

As I walk around, I say hi and smile to people I grew up with. I grab donuts from the donut shop and grab a cappuccino along with it. I catch up with old friends and chat with my old neighbors. I visit old teachers, the library, past jobs, but nothing calls to me. I was called here. But why? 

“Hey, Mama,” I say, setting down all of my groceries. 

“Hey baby. How’s your day been?” she asks, setting the table. 

“Good. Is Mia home?” I ask. She nods and points to Mia’s old room. Mia had been staying with Mama for a couple years since the accident. Mia was two years older than me and she was my hero. She was my voice of reason. She helped me. And I needed her now. 

“Mia. Can I come in?” I knock. 

“Yes,” she replies, weakly on the other end of the door. 

“I need to talk to you,” I say. She nods and I close the door. “I lied about why I came here. I didn’t come here for a break from New York. Although it has been very relieving being back. But I came back here because I got this feeling. Something inside me told me to come here. And I don’t know why, but I’ve learned to trust my gut when it tells me things. It’s how I’ve uncovered half of the illegal stuff people do. So I need your help. Can you do that?” I ask. Mia nods. I help her get out of bed and into her wheelchair. 

“Mama. We’re going for a walk. Get some fresh air,” I tell my mother as I grab the keys. She tells us to be back home soon and to be careful. We assure her we will and we begin our quest to find out why I was called back to my hometown that I left so many years ago. 

“Maybe we can go to the graveyard, say hi to Daddy,” I say. Mia nods and we head over.

As we walk past all the graves I notice names that hadn’t been there last time I was here. Some names I recognize, some I don’t. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that the world doesn’t just stop and stay in one area while you’re living your life in another. 

After walking the path that seems so familiar that it has become muscle memory, we arrive at my father’s grave. It had gotten more rustic and dirtier than I last remembered. I park Mia’s wheelchair and sit down on the ground in front of the grave. 

“Hi Daddy. It’s me, Michaela. I’m back. I’ve missed you. New York’s been busy. I work for a very big online firm. It’s a lot of work but I like it. It keeps me busy and helps pay the bills. But sometimes I miss home. I miss Mama. I miss you. I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while.” As I’m speaking to my father, I feel a slight breeze. And maybe it is just the wind, but it feels like it is my father sending me a message. Saying that he forgives me and that he is listening. 

“Mia, you wanna say something?” I ask, looking up at my sister. I look into her eyes and they look so void of emotion. So empty. To be honest, it scares me. And somewhere deep inside of me, I feel guilty. But before I can go down a dark road with my thoughts, Mia begins speaking. Her voice is hoarse, probably due to the fact that she hasn’t talked much in the past few weeks. 

“Hi Dad. I miss you too. I’ve been okay. My doctor says that I can be taken off my medication in a few weeks so that’s good. Or at least they say it is. But to be honest, I miss you. I miss when everything was normal. When I could walk around town and people wouldn’t look at me with pity. When I was normal. When I was whole. Now I feel like a bunch of broken pieces that Mom has to pick up and glue back together. Even though I’ll never be whole again.” By the end of her speech she has slight tears in her eyes. I think that might have been the first emotion I’ve witnessed since I came back. I stand up and hug her. I let her silently cry on my shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to feel this way. I thought therapy was helping?” I say, sitting down on a near-by bench. She shakes her head and sniffles. 

“I stopped going weeks ago. Mom doesn’t know. Instead, I just come here. It’s only a ten minute walk, 15 if you have to roll,” she says. 

“Mia. You know you shouldn't be doing that,” I say. 

“And why not? It wasn’t helping. It wasn’t doing anything. It was just making me relive something I never want to go through again. And making me talk about it doesn’t help.”

“That’s because you’re not giving it a chance,” I argue. 

“But I have. I gave it three years. Nothing’s changed. I’m still paralyzed, I’m still in a wheelchair, I still have nightmares and flashbacks. I’m still stuck in this dang town. And I’m still broken.”

“You’re not broken. Stop saying that!” I yell. 

“Why?! It’s what I am!” she yells back. 

“No it’s not!”

“Why do you care so much!? You haven’t even visited in 15 years!”

“I care because it’s my fault! All of this is my fault! Dad, Mom, you. All of it!” I scream, finally revealing what I’ve kept hidden for 17 years. What I knew was true all along. Mia’s face and demeanor visibly soften. 

“Michaela. This is not your fault. Why would you think that?” she asks, tilting my head upward. At this point I can feel the tears streaking down my face. But for the first time, I don’t care, and I don’t try to stop them.

“Because if I hadn’t asked for ice cream, Dad wouldn’t have been in that car’s way. And if I hadn’t asked you to pick me up from a party because I was stupid and got drunk, you wouldn’t have been in the car accident. It’s all my fault,” I cry. She hugs my head and now it’s my turn to cry on her shoulder. I let out everything that I’ve been holding in for years. All my guilt, sadness, regret, everything.

“Michaela, listen to me. It is not your fault. It never has been. And nobody blames you. You need to learn to forgive yourself. You know what I think? I think somewhere deep inside of you, some part of yourself knew you had to face your demons. So it told you to come here. Come back home. Where it all started. But now, you have to let go. Let go of everything negative. Because that is what is holding you back. Okay?” Mia says, looking into my eyes. I search hers for any sign of lies or doubt, but I don’t find any. She has unwavering trust and love for me. Even after everything I’ve done.

At that moment, a strong breeze flows through my hair and flower petals from other graves join it and surround me. And I know it’s my dad. And I think, for a second, maybe I can move on. I lean my head on Mia’s shoulder. Maybe I can move on. Just maybe.