The journey to Happiness

Shameless Wonder

The faint rumble of the car trudging down the road lulled her boredom. The traffic was minuscule and the faint hum of the rain dripping from the sky further lead to her messed up mood. Ever since that night in Canada she hadn't been herself. Not even herself after Tokyo. She couldn't recognize anything, herself, the route home. Pulling  up her GPS as she drove streets she couldn't remeber ever driving; They couldn't be the same roads she's driven for months? The way her left hand gripped the shifter, how her right hand fisted around the sun faded leather of the steering wheel. Everything was so familiar: from the way her hair strained against the elastic rubber band, to how her bare feet shifted against the tennishoes, how the seatbelt cut into her neck- rubbing harshly against her hips. Everything was how it was supposed to feel but nothing felt right? She knew it didn't make sense. The computer was telling her she was on the right road and in 2 kilometers she would make a left followed by another left just a few blocks up the street before she would throw the car in park and make her way through her front door. 

She couldn't just tell people that her home wasn't home; even if they understood in their own way. The home sickness and the weight of constantly traveling and the pressure of your contract that could be cut at any time always weighed heavy. When she had mentioned it in the darkness of her room, Vanessa on the other end of the phone in her apartment in Los Angeles- Vanessa tried to get it. Really did, asking for further elaboration, how it was weighing on her, walking her through the emotions she felt. All before bringing up the dreaded question- Where is home?

Well. . . Where was home? It had stopped the Triade of thoughts even for just a second before bringing on a new level of questions. The next wave. Minutes ticked by as Vanessa hummed on the other end of the line. Waiting patiently for Jessie to mumble an answer that she thought would satisfy Vanessa. As the clock on the wall ticked and the numbers in the upper right-hand corner of her phone changed she scrambled to find something to suffice. "Where is home for you?" Vanessa had tried again softer, words coated in honey and sugar, how they flowed past her teeth and dripped off her tongue, pushed by heavy sleep lathered breathes.  In the darkness of her room, surrounded only by the pooling comforter pulled up to her ears did she mumble the only response that made sense "I don't know. . ." It was quiet and tired- but honest. Surprisingly it sufficed. 

Less than a minute from home but She felt so far from it. The pond on her right shown in the early spring warmth. Still dreary in London it didn't hold the same weight as it did in winter. With the weather warming and children nearing the end of school the park would fill and the pond would be swarmed by birds of all origins and families of all cultures. The useless noise filled the open space, suffocating Jessie in her thoughts.  That was the joy of Georgians bay. Very few people made it to the rocks when she was there. No human noises to fill the warm air. No schoolyardbanter or hushed arguments to be had around her, no children in search of a picture or wandering teammate to bother her. 

The question came up again- WHERE WAS HOME? Or properly WHAT FELT LIKE HOME? She could take the easy way out, say it was her mother's house in the winter, wrapped in the lavender smothered blankets and steaming coffee clutched to her chest; Maybe the warmth of Georgians bay in the summer time, the hot air surrounding her but not suffocating her, the creeping of the water up the rocks as her sister's playlist played behind her off her phone laid on a discarded shirt. She could say her apartment in London but that would be the biggest lie of them all. Nothing felt like home in the dust-coated apartment, the beer bottles tossed under her bed, the mess of towels pilled high against the vanity. Everything was there besides the emotions. 

Pulling into her spot she shut the car off and clambered the stairs. Counting each step before stuffing the key in the handle and pulling open the door. She didn't even seem like a real person in the moment. She could see herself walk through the door. Saw how her calf flexed in the sliver of light as she toed off her shoes by the door. She wanted answers and no questions. Wanted to know how she could see herself from the ceiling but not her feet from her eyes. How she could point out every wrongdoing of hers since conception but couldn't tell you what she wore to training, or how she made her coffee every morning. Troubling really when she thought about it.