Running Home

I slammed my head down on the hood of my car, a lump of smoldering metal that at the moment was about as useless to me as a rock. I couldn’t believe that I could mess up something as simple as running away. No, not running away- that sounded so childish. I was…taking a break. A much needed break. And I refused to give up now, two days after leaving home. With a groan, I pulled out my cell phone. Maybe the local AAA would be able to lend me a hand.

Thank you for using Verizon Wireless. The number you have dialed cannot be reached right now. Please try again later.

Damn! I looked around desperately for some sign of life. I felt like dropping to my knees and praying, except I didn’t want to get my jeans dirty- I had only brought a few pairs, and it didn’t look like I’d be getting a chance to wash them anytime soon. According to the road map, a gas station was just a mile up the road, but that had also been true an hour ago when I started up this godforsaken mountain. My only other option was hitchhiking, but apparently all of the native mountain folk were wise enough to stay off these back roads, because there hadn’t been much traffic. I sighed and headed down the road, figuring I might as well start. If anyone passed me later I could always thumb a ride then.

I had walked maybe half a mile I saw a driveway- or at least, that’s what I assumed it was. The only thing that marked it as anything other than another back road was the rusted mailbox which was perched at a precarious angle, giving it a sort of happy-go-lucky appearance. With a quick prayer that the owner of the mailbox also possessed a telephone, I turned onto the gravely road.

The driveway, like the road that it was attached to, twisted around so that from the bottom you could not see the house. If I had been able to I think my decision to stop and use the phone might have been quite different. Lime green mailboxes and plastic roses were the least of this home’s eccentricities. I appeared to have stumbled upon the place where the lost and unwanted or broken objects from every household in the world were collected and stored. There was a little garden, bordered by a rotting picket fence. Amidst the dandelions and Queen Anne’s Lace, more refined flower’s could be seen poking out of the ground, such as tulips, daffodils, and roses- all made off a stiff plastic. Little woodland creatures lounged like fat happy puppies on the from lawn, the paint fading away so that on a few only the off-white shade of fake wood remained.

The bits and pieces around the house were items for which the word ‘stuff’ had been invented. Collectively, there was no better word for it all- it was indescribable as a whole; no words or adjectives could elaborate upon the mess. The front porch was decorated with loosely strung colored Christmas lights, and a large, colorful rug that seemed to be sprouting mould was draped over the side. Signs announcing “Enjoy Coca-Cola” and BUDWEISER hung from the side of the house. Pinwheels of many different shapes and colors spun frantically in the wind and gave the entire structure an almost mobile appearance, as if it hadn’t been built so much as landed here, and as soon as the propellers could get started the entire thing would just take off and soar away to the North Pole or wherever it really belonged.

The house emerged from under this mess looking a little shabby, but not particularly strange. Perhaps the fact that such a nondescript house would lie without protest among such a display was odd in itself. It was a small house, very square in shape, and painted a light bluish-gray. The windows were placed symmetrically, acting as a counterweight for the abstract way everything else had been arranged. I walked a few steps closer, trying to peer into one of these windows to get a glimpse of the inside of the house.

The entire building seemed so intangible, so outside the real world that it came as a shock to me when the door opened. I jumped up guiltily, as if I’d been about to take one of the woman’s many odds and ends. “I- my car broke down, you see,” I stammered, “And, well, I was wondering if I could use your phone?”

The woman had red hair that I could tell used to be brilliant but was now dull and streaked with gray. She was a wearing a T-Shirt that read, “Smile, You’re on Candid Camera.” She peered at me with small eyes that glinted in the sunlight, and the color of her hair seemed to cast a devilish light on the dark sparks. Her face was tanned- from working in her garden, I am sure, and contained the wrinkles of a middle-aged woman. Her age surprised me- I had imagined this to be the home of some ancient soul, mostly because it seemed like it would take more than a lifetime to collect all this junk.

“You pick any of my flowers?” She questioned me, her eyes still flashing in the sun. The voice was rough in a way that suggested that it hadn’t been used for a while, but wasn’t exactly unfriendly.

“Um…no, ma’am, I left your flowers alone. Uh- do you think I could use your phone?”

“Last kid who came by picked some o’ my flower’s and y’know what I had to do?”

“No ma’am…”

“I had to give her my last good vase. Now all I got to hold my flowers is some old cups.” She laughed, and her laugh was just barely short of being pleasant. “You kids. If I got a dollar for every one of you that came by pickin’ my flowers…”

“Um, ma’am, you see, my car broke down while I was driving up this road, and I was wondering….”

“Name’s Lucille by the way, not ma’am. Oh, and not Lucy or any other nickname neither- you can call me by my true birth name.”

“Well, um…Lucille…” I paused, my tongue hesitating to come to a first name basis with this stranger quite so soon. “I was wondering if you had a phone I could borrow.”

“Yup.”

“Um…yes, you have a phone?”

“Yup.”

“Well…could I use it? Just a local call, I promise. Its just that my car broke down and I need to call my friend…”

“Nope.”

There was an awkward pause. “Well…um…I guess I’ll go then.”

“The phone don’t work. It’s broken or somethin’. Keep meanin’ to call them phone fixers or whatnot but its been kinda hard to get in touch with them.” She laughed again, and this time I detected the cynicism that kept the laugh from being pleasant. “You can come in and dry your feet for a moment though, if you want.”

I hesitated. My feet weren’t wet, and this woman reminded me of the kind of people my mom used to refer to when she told me not to talk to strangers. I was ready to decline the woman’s invitation and head back down the mountain when it suddenly dawned on me what a failure I was turning out to be. I had run away from home and yet I still wasn’t independent enough to be able to make a judgment call without my mother’s help. I shook my head. “I guess I’ll just rest a little while before I head on my way again.”

“Well then, sweetie, just follow me and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.” I followed the woman into her house, stepping over a worn doormat that read “Home Sweet Home” and under a large sign that read “Jesus Loves You.” I braced myself for what was to come inside.

There was another mat on the inside of the door that was the mirror image of the one outside. An empty coat rack stood forlornly in the corner, staring across at a bench at the other end of the room where the coats had taken residence. “You can hang your coat up there if y’want but don’t worry ‘bout your shoes,” she told me absentmindedly. I wasn’t wearing a coat, so I headed after Lucille into what seemed to be the kitchen.

Pots and pans hung from nails on the wall and odd angles. The cabinets were thrown open and I could see mismatched plates performing a delicate balancing act. Tall wine glasses stood towering above short, squat mugs. Some of the cups were chipped, and one lay in fragments on the counter. From the ceiling hung bouquets of dried flowers- real flowers, I was surprised to notice, and I wondered if she had a more traditional garden somewhere in her backyard.

Lucille caught me looking at the bouquets as she lit the gas stove under the teapot. “You got to hang them upside down like that. They dry faster.”

I nodded. “My mother does the same thing.”

Lucille laughed in that way that was becoming strangely familiar now. “So you’re not so far from home that you don’t still ‘member things.”

I stared at her. What was that supposed to mean?

“Some kids come through here who refuse to ‘member a thing. They think they’re all alone. Don’t ‘member nothin’, don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the real world.” Lucille lifted the teapot and poured steaming water into two of the chipped mugs. I continued to gape at her.

Lucille noticed my expression as she brought the cups to a small card table in the corner, and gestured at one of the cushy lounge chairs beside it for me to sit in. I obliged.

“So what was your reason?” The woman asked gruffly.

“How- what do you mean?” The more this woman spoke, the less I seemed to understand.

She stared at me, her eyes burning into mine. “Why’d you leave home. Why’d you run away.” She held up a hand as I opened my mouth. “Don’t ask how I know. I get a lot of you kids up here on this mountain, since I’m the only house around for miles.”

“My map said there was a gas station nearby.”

“Yup, it went out of business ‘bout three years ago. None of the people who write those maps come up here, though, so they don’t know yet.” She grinned. “Don’t you go avoiding my question, now. Why’d you run away?”

I glared at the woman. “For your information, I did not run away. I am taking a break. Without parental permission. And don’t think you can change my mind.” I set my mug of tea down and stood up. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, but I really should head out if I want to make it into town before dark. I guess I’ll just have to hitch a ride from there.” Smiling tightly, I turned and began to stride towards the door.

“Look ‘round, child,” Lucille murmured softly, but I heard her all the same. “Is it really any different here than your own home? Is it really going to be any different anywhere?”

I didn’t move. Time seemed to freeze around me. I heard in the distance a clock chime- one, two, three, four o’ clock. In front of me, the “Home Sweet Home” mat twisted into the letters “Welcome”. Through the front door the Christmas lights wound themselves up and placed themselves neatly in a box in the basement. Plastic flowers wilted and died, and in their place sprung up neat rows of real daffodils and tulips. Lucille’s treasures fell apart to dust and a soft wind carried them away with the pinwheels.

Without turning around, I could see the pots and pans in the kitchen straighten themselves out. Plates rearranged themselves by pattern and size, and cups repaired themselves and sat obediently in the counter. The card table moved aside for a larger dining room table, and the lounge chairs retreated to an unseen living room. The dust on the counter was wiped away by an unseen hand.

Suddenly, the strange house didn’t look so strange. In fact, it looked strangely familiar…

A loud beep sounded from my pocket, jerking me back into Lucille’s home. I could not move. Tears were streaming down my face- I didn’t remember starting to cry. My entire body felt weak, but I stood completely still. My cell phone beeped again.

“Didn’t realize you had one of them buggers,” Lucille’s husky voice spoke from my right shoulder. “Y’know, my property is the only spot on the mountain where they work. If you want to call your insurance company…or someone to pick you up.”

I turned around and smiled at her. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Lucille shrugged and grinned at me. “You’re welcome, child.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and began dialing home.