Cracking Zeenath

December 1st, 2015: Set in Stone

"Home is where the heart is set in stone,

It's where you go when you're alone,"

~"Home", Gabrielle Aplin

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Thanksgiving holidays went along fine.

I took the three-hour drive home, saying goodbye to my dorm and Clara that afternoon. I hadn't seen Damian all week.

The second I saw my home, all-too familiar, with it's dying rose bush out in front, wood painted a muted green, I smiled, relieved. Home. I was home. And tired.

I stuck the key in the lock, twisting it and pushing the door open with a small squeak. The keys jingled. I looked inside as I walked in, dropping my bags off in the hallway.

"I'm home," I called, hearing faint noises from further inside the house.

A baby squealed and my mom's face appeared around the corner. She smiled when she saw me.

"Zeenath! Assalaamu Alaikum!"

I nodded, shooting her a smile back. "Walaikum Assalaam."

Hello, in Arabic. Or really, "may peace be with you."

My family wasn't the most religious, but we had the basics down, I guess. I stretched, pulling my arms over my head and yawned as I ambled over to the staircase.

"Go get fresh, Zeenath! We were waiting for you. It's almost dinner time." My mother smiled again and disappeared back into the living room.

I ran up the staircase and pushed open the door to my room, grinning as I recognized the light green walls. I flopped over on the bed, sighing as my body sank into the covers, closing my eyes. This. This. Feels so good.

Eventually, I got up and changed my clothes, pulling on a pair of loose pajama pants and a clean T-shirt. I washed up and walked back downstairs, spotting my dad on the couch. I grinned at him, saying my hellos. He shot me a bright smile and got up, rustling my hair and giving me a pat on the shoulder.

"Welcome home, kid."

A childish excitement filled my veins and I rushed into the living room.

"Yaah! Where'd he go?" I swung around the corner, scanning the living room.

A ten-month old baby smiled at me, drooling as he waved a toy in the air. I picked him up.

"Hello babybabybaby Yunus!"

"Careful Zeenath!"

"I am, mom," I said, bouncing him around in my hands. I took him over to the plastic highchair and gently guided his legs through the holes, placing him into his seat by the dinner table. I poked his nose and he gurgled. I smiled. How cute.

After dinner, I went back upstairs and plopped down on my bed, popping in headphones and closing my eyes. I was tired, my arms and legs aching.

      I studied the ceiling and walls. How many days did I spend here? How many nights were spent studying? All those hours sleeping, staying up late, reading, writing, listening to music...crying...all within these walls. The glitter hearts I'd made in fourth grade were still stuck to the wall. The bookshelf. Narnia. Peter Pan. Wizard of Oz. Alice in Wonderland. These were the stories I grew up with. The books that kept me up at night, and kept my company when none of my friends could come over.

      My parents were always home late. I barely ever saw them, growing up. Ever since I was old enough to stay home alone, they disappeared, leaving the house early, coming home late. Dad was a civil engineer, mom a doctor. No one to kiss me goodnight. No one to come home to. The house was empty, cold. At least for those first few months. Cold dinners, alone. Bed times with the lights on. Keep the house locked up, Zeenath. Don't open the door to strangers, Zeenath.