Welcome Home

 A social race, shoved into a box, unable to make eye contact with each other, zooming through tunnels under their made up dwellings, so they could cross distances their ancestors would faint at the thought of. How natural was this? Were we really meant to be so cowed? So scared of our surroundings?

The song on my phone changes. So does my train of thought. The energy drink is wearing off. The crash is coming. In about three hours, I would spiraling down for the evening in a chaotic roller coaster of broken philosophy I'm not smart enough to fully comprehend.

I want to go home.

The train jolts gently to a stop. The guy guy who had been playing some game that reflected in the window, quickly shoved the phone out of sight and hopped up to vanish behind me, and presumably, out the door behind me. He is replaced by a small boy and his father. The boy looks scared.

I raise my hand to try and wave to him, ease some of that fear. The boy cringes away, not having expected the movement. He turns to hide his face in his father's side. My spirit falls with my hand, and my eyes wander back to the window.

I want to go home.

The next time the train lurches to a stop its my turn to vanish out the doors. The concrete steps up to the street is a sea of heads, hoods, hats, and someone with an umbrella. I wonder why for a moment while pausing to get my ear bud untangled from the pull string of my hoodie. The sound of the crowd and the train pulling out vanish, muffled by rubber and rock music.

The crowd is nothing new. I put my hands in my hoodie, wrapped around my phone and keys. I pat my hip, make sure my wallet is intact. It is. Head down, I move into the stairway, cluttered with all kinds of people. I watch my feet carefully, following some guy with a bulky backpack that was uncomfortably close to my face. But, the lady just behind me, who doesn't seem to understand personal space kept trying to speed me along.

I want to go home.

At the top of the stairs, the crowd finally parts ways as though they hadn't just spent irreplaceable time breathing the same air, and sharing the same space. As though they hadn't spent precious moments of their fleeting lives avoiding eye contact awkwardly together. What strange creatures humans are.

It wasn't too long of a walk. I keep myself to the side of the walkway, hands still stuck in my pockets. A couple is being too affectionate in a window archway, displaying exotic tourist clothes. I've walked past it at least five a days a week for a little over three years, now. I've never been inside. I don't care to change that. Hell, I couldn't even tell you the name of the place. I don't even care to glance back at the sign and read it, even when that unfamiliarity occurs to me. It would mean looking over at the couple again. What if they noticed that and got the wrong idea?

I realize the stupidity of the fear as I round the corner and go down the next street. The thought, and anxiety, died down the moment I acknowledged them, like a friendly ghost in an old attic.

I dodge to the side as some boys on bikes come tearing down the sidewalk. I accidentally lock eyes with a boy wearing an orange helmet, and we both quickly snapped our gazes elsewhere. The unspoken mistake.

I want to go home.

The thought throbs, like a painless headache.

I look to the sky and reason that its light enough to take the shortcut between the buildings. The neighborhood was, by no reasonable means, 'bad.' But we all wordlessly locked our doors and questioned little during the witching hours. And that itching distrust ate at the back of my head. It had no reason to. I've never been assaulted.

A group of girls with skateboards are sitting to the side, passing a glass piece and a lighter around. It smells of soil and skunk. That cheap ditch weed that barely gets you buzzed. My earbuds are still in, and I really don't care to remove them. I just watch the step in front of me. But one of the girls is getting to her feet and waving me down. My throat tightens with no thought to justify it, and I yank my cord to pop the earbud out.

“Hey, you live around here, right? Jess. I live in the apartment there, I see you around sometimes,” she said, pointing to a window by the fire escape.

“Yeah, couple buildings down,” I reply quietly. I'm too tired to think of much else to say.

“There's been an orange tabby around here. We see him darting from spot to spot. You know anything about him?”

“Oh, yeah. Missing fur on his side, rope collar?”

“Yeah,” she agreed quickly.”

“Collar has my cell on it,” I explain. “Dunno when he got hurt, but it's healed. He hangs out with me at night.”

“So he's yours?”

I stare at her with a blank expression for a moment too long. “Yeah, I guess... I guess so. Just likes to wander in the day, but he's cared for.”

“Good to know. Thanks.”

The interaction was spent, as so many are. She waves and goes back to her circle of friends, and I put my hand in my pocket again and continue home. The interaction left an unexplained hollow feeling in my chest. Like my soul was too small for my body. The elevator has been broken for two weeks now. The stairs are only just now becoming the new normal.

I want to go home.

I ignore the mild ache of my feet and begin the climb. The front door is like a rush of familiarity, and the lock is just one more puzzle before a comforting burst of warm air.

My shoulders unwind, a pulling sensation in my neck eases. As I shrug off my backpack, the weight of the world comes off with it. I turn the lock shut as I step out of my shoes on my way through the doorway.

It's a small studio apartment on the second floor with a bed and no couch. Half the place is taken up by a drafting table, filled and overflowing with papers of half finished drawings in pencil and pen. The bed is unmade, tossed into a chaotic pile of blankets and a pillow. I fall into the desk chair and let out a long breath. There's no one else here. It's just me, and my thoughts. No one is going to tell me to do the dishes, or ask me how my day was. It's so much simpler this way.

The chair spins lazily until I'm facing the small window. The sun is going down, and the apartment is getting darker. But I can still see an orange ear poking out from behind the fire escape, clear as ever. I can't quite reach the window with my hand, and don't feel like leaning forward. Instead, I lodge my big toe under the lip and push up, just high enough for the orange cat to let himself in. I let it fall shut when I'm sure his tail is clear.

“You're so social now. You know, I can get in trouble. I'm not supposed to have pets.”

He pads happily across the table, right over all the drawings, never caring if the pencil ones smudged. His tail hung happily in the air, the top hooked into a question mark. He nudged his cheek into me to force me to lean back farther, then pads onto my chest and quickly gets comfortable. He's so warm, and soft, and vibrating with happy purrs while his paws flex and relax lazily against my jacket. The fur on his side had been burned away by something, but it was before our paths had crossed, and long healed over with health, pink skin. He doesn't like it when I touch it, so I pet him on the cheeks instead.

“Well, I guess you're mine, now,” I mumble to the air above him. “The neighbor knows. Ought to give you a name...” I let my eyes wander shut. The silence and warmth envelopes me. The purring cat on my chest is like a reminder to undo all the tension of the day.

“I'm home,” I realize belatedly, melting into my chair.

“Mrrap?” It was a very clear question to me. What?

“Home,” I say petting him and smiling. “You're Home. And I'm home. Welcome, Home.”