The Way Home

The Way Home 

Part 1 

I wanted a divorce. I was so unhappy with nearly every aspect of my life. I wanted to leave this place and never return. It was far from the perfect life that I had dreamed up with Jack when he and I were young. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children, ten-year-old Billy and twelve-year-old Sarah. And my husband, Jack. Goodness, how he tries. I know that he means well. But sometimes, more often than not it seemed, that just was not enough. 

I stood at the sink washing dishes after a mediocre supper, (I was never that great of a cook,) in our unimpressive kitchen. My lame brunette hair kept partially shielding my vision, obnoxiously. The children had gone upstairs to their room to play. My husband remained at the kitchen table. I could feel his gaze studying my demeanor. As if he had more bad news to deliver on this rainy evening, and were trying to create a way for the oncoming freight train to resemble a Porsche. 

“I got laid off today,” he said, in a flat, hushed tone. 

My reaction was non-existent, seeing as how being tossed into bleak situations has recently become the norm’ in my life. First, my son brings home another disappointing report card from school. Due to our already lack of funds, his tutor stopped coming over to help with his studies. My knowledge on such matters had left my brain ages ago. I had also begun to witness my daughter losing confidence in herself, as she had not been cast in the play in which her school teachers were producing for the students to perform. I could sense her feeling left out. Then, quite recently, my husband has been spending fewer hours “on the clock” at his job, as the ‘Bots don’t mind working for free. This resulted in even fewer funds for the household. And now this let-down. 

“We can get through this, Vanessa,” said Jack. “Just have faith.” 

Another day had finally reached its end. Nonetheless, I was lying restlessly in bed. My sweet, yet struggling husband lay asleep next to me on our outdated mattress. That’s when I saw the light. 

It was a glimmer at first, in the middle of the room, and then grew into an intense glow. One would assume that a person would be frightened at this mystical sight. I, however, felt pure intrigue. 

I sat up in bed, in my ratted nightwear and worn sheets that draped over my body. A man appeared out of a frosted-looking type of mist. Part of me believed that this was a dream. But as if he had read my mind, the man said to me in a voice of such grace, “You are not dreaming. I have come here to assist you with your ART.” 

I did not know what to think. Still somehow unafraid, I responded, in a low voice as to not awaken my husband, “I am not an artist.” I felt so bewildered. 

The man smiled a beautiful smile and replied, “Everyone is. They just have not explored their talents.” 

I was deeply interested. “What do you mean?” I cautiously asked this mysterious man, who was surrounded in that captivating glimmering mist. 

The man began to explain: “There is a utopia to where I can guide you. As you have openly expressed, you are not satisfied with your current circumstances.” 

I asked, “There is a perfect place away from here where you can take me?” 

“That is correct.” 

“How long will I be? Where is this place?” I was truly intrigued. 

“Once you are there, its location will prove evident. If you choose to join the utopia of ART, we will eliminate any memory of your current life here, and will replace that space with whatever life you would prefer to lead there. However, once you are in the Alternate Reality Therapy existence, you will have no recollection of your choosing the new life that you have chosen, in which you will be placed. You will remain there. Forever.” 

Part 2 

As I sat across the dining table from my husband, Peter, and our two ten-year-old and twelve-year-old girls, Chloe and Bowie, who were so perfect that they never even seemed to need mothering, I poked at the peas and carrots on my plate. I looked up at my husband through my blonde, somewhat eye-covering bangs. He has always found bangs attractive on me. “Do you ever feel like something in life is missing?” I asked him. 

He looked up at me from his peas and carrots with the most confused of expressions I had ever witnessed. “Something like what?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, and dropped the topic. 

The next day I was sitting on a park bench, outfitted in one of my many a beautiful ensemble, watching children carelessly engaging in play. They appeared to be happy. However, I could not tell for sure. The sun was high and bright, as usual for that time in the afternoon. My children were playing on the swinging station. My husband was seated next to me on the bench. He was reading a magazine. The weather was usual. Unchanging. Predictable. 

Suddenly, I picked up on a woman’s voice from behind say, “This can’t be all that there is. I feel like I am missing out on something more.” My eyes widened and I quickly turned to find the speaker of these, oh, so precious words that had fortuitously fallen upon my lucky ears. I spotted the woman. She was seated on a nearby park bench alone, seemingly muttering to herself. I recognized her. She was a neighbor by the name of Stacey. 

Without a second thought, I rose from the park bench. “Where are you going, sweetie?” My husband called out with stunted interest. 

“I’ll just be a second,” I replied, barely aware of his question nor my response to it. 

I approached Stacey and said to her, “I couldn’t help but to overhear that comment that you just made.” Her soft facial expression transformed into confusion. I added: “About there being something more?” 

With a forced giggle and poor lying ability, she responded with surprise in her voice, “Oh! I was just talking to myself.” She clearly felt uncomfortable. She fidgeted for her park-outing belongings and stood up from the bench behind the one that Peter and I were occupying. “I must go,” she said. As she walked quickly away, she whipped her head over her shoulder and gave me an unusual look. A look that read curiosity and fear simultaneously. 

It was late into the evening. Peter and the girls were sound asleep. I could not understand my feeling of disconnect with my children and husband. It had always been there before. Of this, I was certain. But as of late, it had ceased. 

Although the new and costly bedding that Peter had recently purchased was cozy, all I could do was toss and turn. What I overheard from Stacey rang deafening over and over in my mind. Hearing this idea from another individual lit a fire inside of me. And so, I could not suppress this idea as just simple self-insecurity. I now saw a reason to explore this phenomenon. 

I slipped out of the house for an investigative stroll. Headed in no particular direction, a force from within was leading me to a most certain of destinations. After countless miles walked and forgotten turns, I happened upon a simple, square building located within a little and unfamiliar clearing. A small structure, it seemed, from the outside. Where am I?, I wondered. I had never seen this space in all of my years living in this neighborhood. I remember Stacey’s off-putting yet comforting words. And so, the urge to enter this peculiar premise proved impossible to fight. I placed my hand on the handle of the little door, turned it gently, and entered the room. And a room was all that it was. One massive, cold, quiet, bare room. How could it look so small from outside yet so enormous from within? 

At the far end of the room was a single chair atop a pedestal, in which sat a tall man. Upon noticing my presence, he looked disturbed for a moment. This expression was nearly immediately replaced by a look of complete understanding. He spoke boldly, yet at the same time, in a tone that felt comforting. “What are you doing here?” 

I so wholly wanted to tell this man everything right away. I wanted to tell him how I had been feeling during these past awkward few days. I wanted to express to him my concern regarding my mind seeming to have been poisoned in some way. I wasn’t sure how to convey to him the emotions that had been swelling. I mustered every fiber of strength in my being. I stating to the man, “I feel as though something in my life is missing.” 

After what seemed an eternity, the man offered, “I am Arthur.” 

My voice shaking with trepidation, I asked, “What is this place?” Unsure if I truly wanted to know the answer to that question. 

He spoke with such confidence. “I am the creator of Alternate Reality Therapy; ART. You chose to leave your original life behind. Your original husband, your original children, and everything you’ve built, to reside here instead.” 

My mind started to swim. I had always known that there was something lacking about this place. After what seemed like a lifetime of searching for what it was, I now feared that I was about to find out. Part of me wanted to forget the entire discovery of this man and this building and his secrets. Part of me wanted to go back to my home and to my family. What have I gotten Peter, Chloe, and Bowie into? 

However, a bigger part of me was pulling me away from the place. Pulling me toward something in which I needed, but of which my mind just could not place. Hesitantly, I asked him, “What are you talking about?” 

“You are in a place of permanent therapy. Here, there are zero issues. Zero conflict. The perfect life with all of the things for which you could ever want. Here, everyone can simply enjoy their life. There is zero stress.” 

My mind raced. I felt my eyes dart uncontrollably around the empty room, searching for answers on the walls which stood bare, in the floor which was bland. As I began to comprehend, I shook my head in doubt. “No,” I uttered in a voice too shrill to have come from my throat. But as tight and dry as my throat had been out of the panic and shock over this outlandish information, the word had, in fact, escaped my lips. I looked back up at the man sitting in the chair. I said, “I have not come from some different life.” The last of my confusion converted into anger. My next words came through an unintentionally raised voice. “I would never abandon my own family.” I stated. “How can an entire life’s worth of memories be forgotten? Why hasn’t anyone ever spoken of you? No! This just does not compute!” 

“If you choose to be sent back, then the system will eradicate all memory of your ART. However, if you do choose to do this, you will be prohibited from returning to this, our permanent therapy program.” 

The feeling of ambivalence seemed to hit me like a freight train. I pondered for several moments. I wondered if all of this would be worth it. To leave Peter and Chloe and Bowie just to settle this feeling of absence? Within those moments of question, that vacancy inside of me suddenly began heightening, and was soon too massive to contain any longer. My heart was racing. As my eyes wildly scanned the room, my sights fell upon a familiar face just outside of the door to the room, which I had left unclosed. It was Stacey. She was wide-eyed, petrified. She hastily turned and ran away. I looked back at Arthur. “Yes!” I exclaimed, tears of joy and sorrow now streaking down my face. Sorrow for losing this family that I have loved for my whole life. Exultation to fill the colossal void that I was feeling. Again, I shouted, “Yes! Send me back!” 

Part 3 

I walked into my home, clothing flawed, brown hair a tousle. There was my husband, sitting on our sofa. I could sense his forlornness. Likewise, as if he could feel my presence, he looked over at me, standing there in our doorway. A look of shock took over his face for many moments. The room was silent as we stared longingly at one another. His eyes filled with tears; tears of relief. He stood up slowly. His lips quivered in awe as he said, “Vanessa.” 

I nodded my head slowly. My voice was shaky and cracked when I answered, “Hi.” 

An open-mouthed smile came over his face. We crossed over to each other. I embraced him like I never had before! 

I heard the voices of our children! Their little feet ran to their father and me. Oh, how happy they all were! My daughter, so much I wanted to show her in life! My son, so much I wanted to teach him! We hugged each other tightly. 

Jack said through choked tears, “It’s been days! I didn’t think you were coming back! We’ve all missed you so much!” 

And that is when I realized that this is what life is all about. Having debts and learning from all of life’s ups and downs. Recognizing imperfection and appreciating it as non-mundane. Navigating through difficult times with the ones whom you love in order to more enjoy the high times together. This is what life is about. Experiencing the pits to cherish the peaks. Not just having material items and being around people, but having loved ones as yours. 

With hard work and encouragement, Billy was excelling in his classes again. Sarah got the lead role in the school’s new musical. As for Jack, his former employer decided against the all too fragile and faulty machines in the workplace, and offered my husband his job back. Unfortunately for his former boss, Jack found work that has a much finer and inclusive collegial atmosphere. 

While we all sat at our proudly earned supper table, we shared stories about our day and laughed over how different each of our day had been between one another’s. And my family absolutely loved the new recipe that I decided to try out. 

Why could I feel sensations that people in ART couldn’t? Why could I remember bits and pieces of being wherever that was? Sometimes I wonder if Stacey is still ‘enjoying’ those peas and carrots. To these questions, I may never discover an answer. Is my life perfect? No, it is not. But it is filled with everything that I need. And I believe the reason for this revelation is due to a special someone telling me to just have faith.