Coming Home

Coming Home

The cold rain pounded relentlessly on her as she trudged down the street.  She didn’t care, was past caring if she got wet.  What did it matter?  What did anything matter?   She was so so tired.  He had offered a ride, but then, there was a catch.  As soon as he grabbed her hand and put it on that part of his pants, she cringed and yanked it back.   “Let me out of this car please right now!” she said in a surprisingly calm and even tone. She did not realize she could muster up that kind of control and strength in a dangerous situation.  It seemed the rest of the time she was pure mush, and easily cowed.  But lucky for her it worked, and he let her out.   He spat some parting words at her, “You don’t get anything for nothing, you know”.    Now she had to walk all the way home.

"Why were men such jerks!?", she thought.  Despite her many weaknesses and mistakes, her heart remained pure and kind, and she could never understand the cruelty and crudity in others.  Every time, she would expect the best, and every time it seemed she was let down.   

Ever since she was a little girl, something about her seemed to make her appealing to men, it always had.   As the years progressed, many others felt envy.  To her it was a curse.  

She was only eleven years old when the neighbour first asked her to touch him. It happened repeatedley until he finally moved away. To this day, she had never told anyone. Those first early encounters as a child had subconsciously formed an association in her mind – look good, do what you’re told and men will like you.  This is how it starts, she thought. Behind every so called “promiscuous" woman (or there were worse names they used) is a child who had received early lessons in how to be “loved”.   It then becomes a vicious cycle – a simple wish to be loved combined with looking good and being appealing resulted in lots of attention from the opposite sex.  Too much attention, the wrong kind of attention.

At first it was affirming, a reward, but then quickly soured and turned into something ugly each time.  How could you keep making the same mistakes?!  Her heart was full of love, only wishing to share it, but now it felt like it did not exist, that she would never feel back what she gave so willingly.  “I would have been so much better off if men didn’t like me, if I was ugly!   If they would just leave me alone.  Now I know why women became nuns.  Life would be much calmer and peaceful without having the goodness stomped out of it.  It’s not fair, she cried to herself! Men never have to feel like this!”

The wind blew the clouds across the grey sky, sending a deep shiver through her body.   The raindrops bounced off the dirty street, reflecting the streetlights in tiny flickers.  A few people waited at the bus stop.  Others scuttled quickly along gripping their umbrellas against the gusts.  

Her hair hung in wet clumps, her jacket was drenched, and the cold began to penetrate her body.   Tears had streaked the mascara down her face.  She was glad that she was almost at her apartment.  It had been a long walk, she was tired.  Her head was down, deep in thought as she went to take a step into the crosswalk.

An arm suddenly shot straight across in front of her, blocking her way.  In her bleak state of mind, she assumed the body attached to the arm had malicious intent.  She jumped backwards, with a suspicious sideways glare, all her senses on guard, adrenalin pumping. 

Instinctively she shouted, “Don’t touch me!”.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but there was a car coming round the corner right towards you, you were about to walk into its path…. he went right through the red light!”

She looked up and saw a red car darting away and realized it was true. Had this stranger not stopped her she might instead have been under the wheels of that car.  

Taking several deep breaths, she calmed herself and looked at the stranger’s face.  It was a kind face.  He looked about the same age as her and was wearing a raincoat, carrying a backpack and a black umbrella, which he had immediately shifted to shelter her.  She felt ashamed for having nearly bitten his head off.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize, thankyou…. I guess…for practically saving my life! I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere.”

“I could see that, that’s why I had to do something.  My name is Nick, can I ask your name?”

“Hi Nick, my name is Emma, are you a student here?”

“Yes”

“Which year? “

“3rd …philosophy major, not the most practical, ha ha”

“Well, that’s okay, I’m in psychology, so about the same”, she chuckled.

Something about his manners and expression made her feel immediately at ease, as if she had known him all her life.  They drifted into conversation as the light turned green and walked on together.   She didn’t tell him about her recent experience, which was too personal and embarrassing.  He did ask if she was okay, having noticed that she must have been crying earlier.  She just said it had been a rough day, but she was all right thanks.  

It turned out they had a lot in common as they exchanged tidbits about themselves, and their background.  Time flew so fast, Emma hardly noticed that they were almost at her door.    The rain had let up and they stood in front, seemingly both reluctant to say goodbye.  They talked on and on about school, philosophy, psychology and everything under the sun.  She had a feeling about Nick, that he was different.   He had been a gentleman and didn’t have that smile that hid baser pursuits. The smile was sincere. He seemed genuinely interested in her, in spite of the streaming mascara and dripping hair.  

He did not seem to want to tear himself away.  Caught up in the glow of this newfound connection, and without thinking, he bent forward and kissed her on the cheek.   She did not instinctively recoil. Rather than thinking, “Oh no, not again”, she was enveloped by overwhelming elation, but beyond that something more – a feeling of comfort, of being able to be herself.   

Home, that was the feeling. She had finally come home.