Let Me Go Home

Content warning: themes of abuse and death.

Thanks for reading!

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Plant a tree, save a life.

Plant a forest, save humankind.

Stella looked up from where she was sitting inside Chicago’s busy L-train and read the ad for the Trees for Tomorrow Foundation on an overhead panel. Funny, that ad, on a train in a city of 8 million people where skyscrapers and giant, metal beans seemed to soak up more square footage than trees. Stella wondered where these trees were supposed to be planted in a place like Chicago. As much as she would love to look outside her bedroom window and not see her next door neighbor, old Mr. Lafferty, shaving his head, chest, underarm, leg, and facial hair - the man hated body hair - her small, brick house wasn’t exactly robust with available real estate. The only window that boasted a view of nature was the one in the kitchen, which looked out onto the tiny patch of dying grass that the landlord referred to as a “lovely garden space” when she and Julian moved in nine months ago. She yearned for a wraparound porch overlooking rolling hills, wildflowers, a family of deer; a place with views for days.

Beneath the ad was an old woman who appeared to be sleeping. If trees saved lives, the old woman looked like she could use a tree; she was as thin as the handrails inside the train and as gray as the clouds hanging over the tube that rainy Friday morning in May. Stella wondered how people could sleep on these noisy contraptions. She’d lived in Chicago her entire life and still couldn’t even fathom nodding off on any of the city’s public transportation. The air, the seats, the people, everything smelled like an old lunch box - stale and sour. How could anyone drift off when the very air around them smelled like it was a breeding ground for bacteria?

The man standing in front of Stella fingered the cigarette pack in his pocket, itching to get out of this tunnel in the sky and onto solid ground where he could satisfy the addictive craving he’d likely nurtured over decades, based on the loose, sagging skin around his neck and face.

Stella’s hand reflexively grazed the bruises at her elbow, which was nestled up next to the small burn mark on her forearm. All were hidden beneath the Cubs sweatshirt she’d stolen from her father before his death two years ago. She was positively swimming inside it, but it was a cozy reminder of her father’s love for her and this city. A city she tried her hardest not to resent since he passed. She was failing at that, for she was beginning to loathe every building, every street corner. 

In the few minutes that passed as the train rumbled on, Stella noticed that the old woman hadn’t yet stirred. She watched the old woman’s chest for signs of breathing, but there was only stillness in her breast. Stella guessed that most people on the “L” were likely to either not notice or feign indifference. The old woman’s seatmates - an attractive, black man with stylish blue glasses and a punky, white teenager with headphones in her ears - were none the wiser.

Stella was no longer interested in watching this scene play out as it might in any other situation; everyone going about their business until, at some point in the day - maybe even late this evening - someone decided to check this woman’s pulse.

She stood and squeezed by the nicotine addict, at which point he decided to become the groping nicotine addict, for he took the opportunity to grab a handful of her ass and had the gall to smirk when she glowered at him over her shoulder.

“Disgusting prick…” she mumbled to herself as she knelt down in front of the woman. 

Stella snapped her fingers in front of her, which earned her a few wary looks of the passengers beside her. The woman was still.

“Have you heard her say anything since you got on the train?” She asked the woman’s seatmates. The man shook his head quickly and furrowed his brow, suddenly looking quite concerned, as if he was finally noticing the lifelessness emanating out of the woman’s pores. The girl, unresponsive, took out her headphones and asked if Stella could repeat herself.

Stella lifted the woman’s hand - limp and heavy - and pressed her fingers to her bony wrist, already knowing what she would feel - absolutely nothing.

When Stella’s head drooped, the young girl began to scream.

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The train was stopped at the next station and the passengers were hurried off by CTA workers, police, and medical professionals.

The woman’s seatmate - the man - came over to stand by Stella as she observed the people inside the train, lifting the old woman onto a gurney. His hands were shoved deep inside the pockets of his sleek, army-green jacket. Whether he was fighting the early-morning chill or simply needed somewhere to put his idle hands, she didn’t know.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice that she had died.” He caught her by surprise when he began talking to her. “It really makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Think about what?”

“Life,” He sighed. “The fullness of it, the absence of it, everything in between.”

Stella didn’t know how to respond to a statement like that, so she simply nodded along, understanding his words but not fully digesting their meaning. She held her hand out in front of her. Still shaking.

“You alright?” The man asked, cocking his head to get a better view of her. “Were you on your way to work? Where do you live?”

Too many questions. “I’m definitely not alright. I’m an administrative assistant at Loyola and was on my way to work. And I live in East Garfield.”

His question reminded her that, due to the commotion, she was now an hour and a half late for work. She sat down on a nearby bench and tapped out a text to her coworker, who texted back quickly, gently encouraging Stella to take the day off. The Friday before Memorial Day was always relatively quiet at the university anyhow.

“Well, looks like I’m going home now.” Stella held out her phone for him to read the texts. She wasn’t sure why she was sharing any of this with a veritable stranger, one whose name she hadn’t even learned, but she felt a certain affinity with him, a closeness brought on by their strange morning.

“Can I walk you home?”

“You don’t have somewhere you need to be?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m just in the city to visit my mom. I always like to stop by the Museum of Contemporary Art before heading to Union Station.”

“Where’s home?” She found herself asking as she removed her bulky sweatshirt, feeling like a total slob next to him. Beneath the sweatshirt, she was dressed casually, as Friday was “Jeans Day” in the office. Her three-quarter-length sweater covered any signs of abrasion on her arms.

“Grand Rapids, Michigan. Though, once I get back, I’m planning to head out to my vacation home in Ludington for the weekend.”

Without even acknowledging what they were doing, Stella and the man had started walking in the direction of her home.

“My name’s Ray,” he said as they walked past a bakery, the smell of sugary pastries filling the air, for a moment outweighing the foul stench of the city she had grown accustomed to.

She smiled, holding out her hand for a quick shake of his. “Stella.” Her smile left her quickly as a somber thought entered her mind. “I never learned the name of that woman back there.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can think of her as May. ”

May. Stella liked that. She thought of spring, trees, clear blue water, warm sun. Peace and tranquility. She liked that for the old woman and hoped it was what she was seeing now, wherever she was. 

It was what Stella wished she could see, feel. Instead, all she felt was cold, gray isolation.

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By the time they made it to her home, they had learned more about one another than Stella did on her first date with Julian a few years ago. Ray was an Environmental Engineer who specialized in natural resource management. He told her that growing up near so many great lakes had fostered a sense of accountability in him to preserve the beauty of his surroundings. Though he was only 32, he was divorced, sharing that he and his ex are still friends but rushed into marriage soon after graduating high school. He loved modern art, beer (he dabbled in a little home brewing), and all things nature.

She stopped in front of the ruddy brick face of her home. “Well, this is me.” She opened the door of the short, wrought iron gate surrounding the house and he followed her through.

“Despite the tragic turn of events this morning, I really enjoyed meeting you, Stella.” He smiled, pearly white teeth in juxtaposition to his beautiful carob skin. It was electric, igniting a spark somewhere deep in Stella’s core. 

She didn’t want this to end. His train didn’t leave for another three hours and she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, soaking up his rays. She smiled inside herself at the pun. Julian was away on the east coast for business and wasn’t due to arrive back home until late this evening.

“Would you like to come inside for some coffee or tea?”

He grinned that award-winning smile again. “Tea would be wonderful.”

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Ray was perusing the bookshelf in her small home office, sipping at the earl gray she had brewed. He fingered the spine of several books before pulling one down.

“You have a lot of travel books,” he said while flipping through one on Brazil. He held it up for her to see. “Have you ever been?”

She snorted, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I’ve barely been anywhere. Julian travels a lot for work, but I rarely tag along.” She purposely left out the part about him referring to her as a “distraction” and how he needed to focus when he traveled for work. She left out the part about how he slept around with his business partner when he was away - the real reason he didn’t want Stella coming with him. She left out the part about how he backhand slapped her just a couple of weeks ago when she confronted him about it.

“You should go. To Brazil, Madagascar, Nepal, Scotland,” he named the books he saw on the shelf. “Life’s too short to stay in one place.”

She nodded in agreement, their morning a stark confirmation of that fact.

When she didn’t respond, he filled the silence. “Your boyfriend,” he started, furrowing his brow as though he were looking for the right words. “Do you love him?”

She was shocked by the bluntness of the question and how he didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be asking it. She was equally shocked by the quickness of her response. “I haven’t loved him for some time.”

Ray came near, set his tea on the desk beside him. He didn’t touch her, but he was so close to her that she could feel the warmth emanating off of his skin. “Why not?”

The universe had a sick sense of humor, because at that exact moment, the screen door at the back of the house opened, a distinguishable creak sounding from its hinges. Stella began to lose feeling in her extremities, as though the mere presence of Julian numbed her entire being. Before she had time to warn Ray, Julian’s form appeared in the doorway, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Julian,” she said in greeting, forcing herself to smile. “What are you--”

He cut her off, his deep voice oozing with suspicion. “Our client this morning canceled our meeting. I got an earlier flight.” He set down his bag and gestured to Julian. “What the hell is this?”

“Well, this is Ray. He and I had a bit of a scare this morning on the ‘L’ - the elderly woman sitting next to him died, Julian - and he walked me home. We were both in a state of shock. I thought the company would do me some good.”

He seemed to gloss over the surprising details of her morning and instead focused all of his attention on the man in his office who he no doubt saw as a threat.

“But why is he in here, huh? This is my office, Stell. My office.”

He moved closer to Stella, his hands already balled into fists at his sides. Ray sensed the changing tensions in the room and stepped in front of Stella.

“It’s nice to meet you, Julian. Your home is lovely.” Ray held out his hand. Julian didn’t budge.

“Mmm,” He grumbled. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Ray.”

Ray heard a voice over his shoulder, quiet and full of concern. “Your train is leaving soon, isn’t it?”

Ray turned and saw the fear in Stella’s eyes. Suddenly, he caught the reflection of her back in a decorative mirror behind her. There, on her pale neck, peeking out from her sweater, was a burn. A burn about the size of a cigarette.

“Come with me,” he said to her with urgency. “Come with me to the station.”

“What the hell did you just say to her?” Julian grabbed onto Ray’s shoulder, whirling him around. “Did you just tell her to go with you?”

Ray had had it with the niceties. “Don’t touch me, man.”

Before he had even a second’s warning, Julian hauled off and went in for a punch, but Ray’s reflexes were quick and he blocked it with his forearm. Stella was fuming behind them. She felt the bruises on her arm again, matching the one on her other arm from when Julian had shaken her violently before throwing her down on the cold tile floor of the kitchen a few days earlier. She recalled the other scars, both physical and emotional that Julian had left behind over the years. She thought of the loneliness, the isolation, the feeling of being held captive in your own home, your own city. She looked at her abuser as he began to wind up his fist again.

With a newfound confidence in her voice, Stella boomed, “I’m leaving!” She made to grab a handful of books on the shelf, some travel, some fiction, she wasn’t really thinking through the action, but rather just grabbed what she could. She stepped around Julian’s still form, his face mirroring the shock she herself felt. In the bedroom next door, she shoved some of her belongings in a duffel, then made her way to the front door, calling over her shoulder. “Let’s go, Ray. We have a train to catch, don’t we?”

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Two days later, Stella found herself in a rocking chair on a spacious deck, overlooking beautiful lake Michigan. The sun was setting, making the sand and rocks below sparkle in its beams.

A glass of red wine appeared on the arm of her Adirondack chair and the hand attached to it reached up to caress her face.

Ray sat down in the chair beside her, one of his home-brewed beers in his hand. He sipped at it and scowled. “It needs a lot of work,” he laughed.

She laughed with him and stretched out her arm to take him by the hand. His grin consumed her, filling her with a desperate need to find more ways to make him smile.

Stella looked out to the lake again, the calm waves a soothing sight for her weary soul. She recognized that she was looking at the same lake as she had in Chicago, but from a different point on the map. This resonated with her in a way very few things had in the tumultuous years she had been with Julian. That she was the same, but changed. Still her, but full of more life, more hope.

She thought of May, of her final few moments on earth. How she died on a busy train, alone and yet surrounded by strangers. She desperately wished she could’ve changed things for May. Even though she didn’t know her, she liked to imagine that she was here, watching the sun sink down behind the vast lake before them.

Stella felt Ray squeeze her hand, the slight breeze nip at her skin, a breeze whose scent was lovely and welcoming. She closed her eyes and soaked it all in.

She finally felt what her father had in Chicago all along; a sense of home. The lake had called her home.