Leaving Home
I don’t know where I heard the line, “Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in,” but it stuck in my mind. Not a very warm image of home but when I was younger I didn’t have very warm feelings about home. Home was where I had to live, not where I wanted to be. Arguments, yelling, sour smells and boring routines were what I associated home with. It was the place I was itching to get away from. I couldn’t wait to leave, not just the family and the house but the whole damn town. I knew too many people and too many people thought they knew me. I felt hemmed in. I wanted to get out, see the world.
I did, too. When I was nineteen I joined the army. My parents wanted me to go to college and I was tempted to do that just to get away. But I had enough of school and wasn’t about to sign up for four more years of it, even if I could get accepted. That’s not to say I was thrilled to be working at the convenience store. It was a dead-end job and I knew it. I guess that’s what made military service attractive. I’ll be frank about it. I didn’t join because of patriotism or any high-minded feelings about service. I didn’t have any qualms about going to war if I had to but the 80’s were relatively peaceful. It was after Vietnam and before Iraq. There wasn’t much likelihood of having to fight. Military service, at the time, was more of a career choice than a call to duty. At least that was the case for me. I signed up for purely personal reasons. I wanted to get away but had no place to go. If I didn’t break out I was afraid I might end up spending my whole life in the same confining environs where I was born. That scared me. I wanted to make some progress in my life and to some extent I measured progress by the distance I could put between myself and my place of origin. The military was a stepping stone. It was worth trading a couple years for a ticket to someplace else. It was a way to get out of a rut.
It worked out for me. For the first year I was stationed in Texas and life was different from anything I’d experienced before. It was a real change of scene and routine. Some of it was good, some not so good. I got into good shape physically and that was a plus. My self-confidence increased, too. Living cheek by jowl with guys from all over the place was an eye-opener and I learned a lot. I didn’t care that much for the military routine. Always obeying orders and doing what someone told you to do whether it made any sense or not suited some of the other guys more than me. But it wasn’t that bad. Not a lot of decisions to make. All you had to do was what you were told to do. When we were away from the base, we were out to have fun. That was understood. A bunch of us would go out together, get boozed up and look for girls. And when the break was over we’d go back to our regimented life style. The lack of personal responsibility was liberating in a way.
I was stationed in North Carolina the next year and by then the routine had started to wear thin. I knew that I wasn’t going to make a career of it. The good thing was that I received training in electronics and when I got out I was able to find a job right away. It didn’t faze me that it was in Omaha. There was no particular place that I wanted to be. Computers were appearing all over and it was a great time to be working in technology. There was no shortage of job opportunities for someone with a little know-how. In the following years I worked in Atlanta, Pittsburgh, Austin, St. Louis, Denver and Seattle. Sometimes I even got to travel to far-flung places like Amsterdam, Santiago and Seoul.
I went back home regularly, of course, to see my folks. Once I had broken away and no longer felt trapped, it was surprisingly comforting to go back to the old town. Everything was familiar. I knew every street. Mostly everything had stayed the same and if a new building went up, I could picture what had been there before. When I walked into a shop, people still greeted me by name. There couldn’t be a greater contrast between home and the places where I lived after leaving. Those places always felt temporary and alien. Because I traveled around so much I’d even confuse one place with another. I might search for a particular street or restaurant in Denver only to realize that what I was looking for was in Austin. In some ways my life in all those strange cities resembled the army routine. Instead of being on base most of the time, I was at work and so focused on the task at hand that I didn’t give much thought to anything else. When I got off work it was like being on furlough, taking a short break to relieve tensions and relax a bit before returning to the real world. No wonder I never put down roots or thought of any of the places where I happened to be working as my home.
It was on one of my regular visits back home that I met Carrie. Met her again, I should say. We went to high school together but I hadn’t seen her in years. I was at the diner with my folks and even before we sat down we were arguing, as usual. Arguments were our mode of communication. I was feeling cross and didn’t even look up when a waitress handed us menus. Then I heard my mother say, “How are you, Carrie? And how’s your Mom doing?” I raised my head and saw a pretty girl with a sweet smile. It took me a second to connect her with the teenager I used to know, and when I did, I asked her what she’d been up to. She pulled up a chair, seated herself primly on the edge of it and proceeded to tell me. Now that’s something different about my hometown from the big cities I had gotten used to. That kind of thing would never happen at the restaurants I normally ate at. The staff at those restaurants was too professional, if that’s what you call it when employees are expected to act like automatons pretending to be human beings. But folks were laid back here. Carrie wouldn’t get into trouble for sitting down at a customer’s table and chatting for a few minutes. Human relationships took precedence over other matters. It was something of a shock when that difference between my hometown and the other places where I lived registered in my mind.
Carrie told me how she had graduated from college back east and gone on to graduate school but came home to be with her mom when her father died suddenly. Before she rose from her chair and got around to the business of taking our orders, I had asked her to a movie that evening and she said yes. For the rest of that visit I spent as much time with Carrie as I could. I liked her a lot. She was smart and sweet and down to earth. When I went back to Seattle, my life felt kind of empty. The persistent rain and cloudy skies didn’t help. My work, which had been fulfilling up till then, seemed vapid and devoid of meaning. The memory of Carrie’s smile wouldn’t leave me.
We spent lots of time on the phone and I went back to visit as often as I could. The old town felt like home again – in a good way – and I begrudged every minute I spent away. I was in love with Carrie, of course, but I was also in love, in a way, with the place itself. It was all one package. When I went back to visit Carrie, I felt that I was home and my time on the job felt more and more like an onerous business trip. Our ridiculous long distance relationship went on for about a year before I came to the obvious conclusion that what I wanted to do was marry the girl I loved and move back home.
I never imagined that I would ever again live in the town where I was born. But once I decided that was what I wanted, it wasn’t so hard to work it out. I had some money saved up from past jobs. I could also do some work from home and if necessary go off for an occasional short-term gig to earn some extra income.
Carrie and I got married in ’97 and bought a nice old house within walking distance of Carrie’s mother and my folks’ house. Three years later our son, Tommy was born and two years after that came a baby girl we named Annie. With Carrie and the kids there, our house felt like the center of the universe to me, the only place I could imagine calling home.
Things were going well. We had a satisfying and pleasant life together. The kids were growing up and doing fine at school. We had plenty of friends and played an active part in the community. Not long after Annie was born, Carrie started writing pieces for the local paper and I got a full time computer-based job with a financial institution that allowed me to work from home. I didn’t have to do any more traveling except for family vacations, which I relished. There were problems and misfortunes as there are in every life, of course. Carrie’s mother, who had been ailing for some time, passed on. My parents died unexpectedly in an auto accident. Carrie and I had our spats and there were a few scary medical emergencies with the kids. But by and large we were happy and content with our lot. The life we had seemed to be just what it was supposed to be. Until a few months ago.
I’m finally coming around to the story I wanted to tell you in the first place. I intended only to provide a little background information and ended up giving you my whole life story instead. Oh well. What happened was that I lost the job I held for more than twelve years because of a merger and resulting redundancy of positions. Change is always hard, especially when you’re older and getting settled in your ways. Our financial situation wasn’t dire but the unexpected change disturbed our plans a bit. We needed to put money by for the kids’ education and we had been looking forward to a vacation in Europe. Carrie, as always, was a rock and told me not to worry and we’d figure things out and manage.
By coincidence, while we were working our way through this rough patch, I got an email from someone I used to work with. He had recently started his own company which was turning out to be quite a success. He needed a systems manager and thought I’d be perfect for the job. He urged me to consider making a move to northern California and joining his team. Had he contacted me a year or even a couple of months earlier, I wouldn’t have considered his proposition. I was happy in my home and had no wish to go elsewhere.
Now, however, I was tempted and it wasn’t just because of financial considerations. Losing my job, even though it was through no fault of my own, affected me adversely. Where I was once essential I was now no longer needed. I lost a little bit of my purpose in life, a bit of my identity. That was the real reason I found my friend’s offer kind of appealing. Carrie and I talked it over. I laid out the reasons why we should take the plunge. I’d make a lot more money than I had been earning and the work would be interesting and stimulating. We’d be moving to a better climate and a very beautiful area. The schools were rated higher and there would be great opportunities for the kids. Our life was getting a little stale and change would do us all good. Our parents were gone and there was nothing keeping us where we were. The arguments were plentiful and powerful and Carrie seemed to agree with me that the offer came at a providential time. It was meant to be. The move would be difficult because we had accumulated so much stuff over the years, but it was time to sort through our belongings anyhow and get rid of things we no longer needed.
We put our house on the market. The broker advised us to remove some of our furniture to make the house more appealing but I refused to live in a state of chaos until a buyer was found. She capitulated and said, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. I’m just warning you that some prospects will be turned off and won’t see the potential of the place that they might if it was more sparsely furnished.” I acknowledged that she was probably right but that it was worth a shot and if it didn’t sell quickly we could always try her approach later.
Even though Carrie and I were in complete agreement that selling the house and moving to California was the sensible thing to do, seeing the “For Sale” go up almost brought tears to our eyes. There was no way to say goodbye to the place where our whole life together was lived without thinking that we were about to lose something irreplaceable and that something important was coming to an end. But we had a lot of work to do and there was no time for sentimentality.
If you’ve ever sold a house, you know what an ordeal it is. People coming around all the time and looking in every corner of your house. It’s not comfortable. We were told to stay away whenever a showing was scheduled, and that was very disruptive and inconvenient. When two weeks had gone by and there were no bites, I figured the agent was right and we needed to start emptying out the house. But one evening when Carrie and the kids were out, I got a phone call. A guy who identified himself as a real estate agent said, “I have a client who would like to take a look at your property. I know it’s late but I wonder if we could come by this evening.” He apologized for the short notice and insisted that I stay home and not alter my plans on account of the showing.
“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Come on over.”
Not long afterwards the doorbell rang and I invited my guests to come in and look around. I showed them around the ground level, answered a few questions and sent them upstairs to explore on their own. Meanwhile I sat myself down at the dining room table with a nuked cup of coffee and a newspaper to while away the time as they went about their inspection. When they came back downstairs the taller of the two, the client, had a few more questions for me. I answered in as honest and accurate a way as I could and we stood chatting a few minutes longer. He was an affable fellow and I enjoyed talking to him, but didn’t expect anything to come of the visit.
I was surprised, therefore, when I got a phone call from our broker the next day and heard that an offer was made on the house. It was a little below our asking price but more than we actually expected to get. Furthermore, it appeared that the prospective buyer might be willing to offer more if some amenities and furnishings were included. I was delighted to hear that not only because it vindicated my idea of showing the house as-is but because I was fretting about how to deal with all our belongings. We hadn’t started looking for a new place yet and didn’t know what would fit in the house we would end up buying. The less we had to haul with us or try to sell at a garage sale, the better off we were, as far as I was concerned. It was a relief that the buyer was willing to take some of our stuff off our hands as part of the deal. Things were working out better than I expected.
Eli, that was the buyer’s name, returned a few days later to discuss what items he would like us to leave in the house. We assumed he’d want the appliances and maybe one or two pieces of furniture. Carrie set out come cakes and tea and we sat down to discuss matters. When we asked Eli what he would like us to leave behind, he said, “I just love this place. As soon as I walked through the door I felt at home. I’ve been living abroad and don’t own any furnishings of my own, so I need everything and would be happy to compensate you for anything you leave here.”
Carrie and I were stunned and didn’t say anything. It was too good to be true. We wouldn’t have the headache of moving our things but instead would get extra money for furnishing our new place in a suitable way. Our silence must have worried Eli because he went on to say, “No, of course I don’t expect you to just walk out the door and leave all your belongings. What I meant to say is that I like the way everything looks and whatever you choose to leave behind I’d be very happy to buy.”
“Do you think you’d like the sofa and chairs?” Carrie asked, pointing to each of the items in turn. “And how about the credenza?”
“Oh, definitely,” Eli answered without hesitation. “And the beds, nightstands, chests of drawers and desks too,” he added. “You see,” he explained, “I hate shopping and am terrible at decorating. It would save me a lot of time and energy to be able to move into a place that I already know suits me.”
“What about the plants?” Carrie asked gesturing towards some large pots near the dining room window. We knew we couldn’t take them with us. “Want them too?”
“Oh, yes, they fit in so perfectly and I would never be able to find the right plants for this house. They’re thriving here. I just hope I can keep them alive,” Eli said.
“Oh, they’re very easy to maintain,” Carrie reassured him. “I can jot down some instructions if you want.”
“That would be perfect,” Eli said. “Of course, I don’t want you to leave anything behind that you want to keep, just what you don’t want to take.”
Maybe it was a mischievous streak in my nature that made me want to push Eli’s complaisance to the limit and I asked, “I suppose you would like the bookcases.” He nodded his head. “And how about what’s in them? The books and knickknacks and all?” I continued.
Eli smiled and said, “That would be terrific. Leave it all except for the personal items you want to keep and I’ll increase my offer by $50,000, if that sounds fair. You can even leave the dogs and cats if you have any,” he said with a laugh.
Carrie and I laughed too. Eli was such a nice fellow we couldn’t help liking him. We couldn’t believe our luck in finding a buyer who would make our move from the house so easy. I had been dreading the thought of going through everything we had accumulated over the years and figuring out what to do with each item. I was also pleased that most of our possessions would remain intact in their natural habitat, as it were, instead of being dispersed to various and unknown locations. It would be sad to see things we selected for our home with love and care end up in a debased state disconnected from the context that gave them value. Now we could take whatever we wanted and leave the rest and get more for it than it was all worth.
A month later we had the closing and signed a batch of papers along with the stipulation that we would leave behind most of the furnishings and contents of the house. Carrie and I and the kids went out to the best restaurant in town that night to celebrate. I felt almost giddy about the transaction and Carrie seemed quite relieved at how things had worked out. The kids were less than ecstatic. They really weren’t happy about the move at all but that was only to be expected at their ages. They’d be leaving all their friends behind and would be the new kids in town in a new school. They’d never lived anyplace else. We tried to cheer them up. I said, “Sure, it’ll be a little hard at first but you’ll be right at home in no time at all and you’ll love it there.”
That night I had a rather unsettling dream. When I awoke I didn’t remember exactly what I had dreamed but remembered that in the dream I was invisible, like a ghost, and nobody could see or hear me. I felt powerless because I couldn’t affect anything that was happening around me. I got out of bed, went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. Everyone else was still asleep and the house was quiet. This would be our last day in the house. Everything was packed and in a few hours we would step out the door, close it behind us and probably never enter though it again.
The uneasy mood of my dream seeped into my thoughts as I sat there. Beyond the natural difficulty of adjusting to a major change, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss. I wasn’t relinquishing just some material artifacts but a part of who I was. I could imagine old friends and neighbors coming by and visiting as usual even though I was no longer there. They’d be visiting someone else who had assumed my place. Eli wasn’t simply taking over my possessions but in a way, my identity. He would, in a sense, become me. And then who I would be? I knew a few people who had to deal with identity theft and I understood it wasn’t just a matter of inconvenience and financial loss but the trauma of knowing that a stranger had appropriated your life. Eli didn’t steal anything from me. I voluntarily and even happily handed it over to him, but still . . .
I finished my coffee and tried to shake off my misgivings. I was headed toward a new adventure, a brand new phase of my life. I couldn’t let maudlin thoughts interfere with moving forward. I looked up and saw Carrie standing in the doorway. I guessed she must be feeling the same way I did and I went over to reassure her. I tried to put my hands on her shoulders and draw her to me but she fended me off. “I need to tell you something,” she said.
I waited without saying anything. After a long silence, she continued. “The kids and I have been discussing it and we came to a decision.”
“What kind of decision?” I asked, puzzled.
“We’re not going with you,” she replied and stood there looking down at her feet.
“What do you mean?” I stammered. “Of course you’re coming with me. Where else would you go?”
“Nowhere,” she said simply but firmly. “We’re staying right here, in the house. Eli wants us to.”
End