Fear To Live For (Wattpad Edition)

Chapter 8

Yesterday, after landing in Seattle

This isn’t my home. Nothing’s the same! My mind kept screaming at me even as I met up with my mother. She looked beautiful as always, with her black hair pulled tightly in a bun. With only a bare touch-up with makeup, her appearance even in the grey non-descript business suit was turning head. Sickening, I know. “Hi, Mom.” I smiled at her, a completely genuine smile I didn’t think I could give.

“Hey, Jonah. How are you honey? You must be tired from the flight. Let’s get your luggage and on our way so that you can rest. I have a spare room prepared for you to decorate however you want it too.” She speaks as she kisses my cheek. She is genuinely happy to see me here but in the blue eyes I got from her, I can see that she is trying to hide her pain and fear. Dad’s comments of their splitting up being the cause of all this must have hurt her badly too. As I look over her once again as we wait to get my luggage, I realize that aside from her black hair and blue eyes, I got almost nothing from her in my physical features. My olive-complexioned skin, my tall height and my well-defined facial bones were all from my Dad’s side. Even granny had said that if I coloured my hair brown and closed my eyes, I would look exactly as my Dad did at my age. Mom’s heels make a clacking sound as she waits and realizing once again that she was in work outfit, I ask, “Mom, where are you coming from?”

Surprised by my sudden question, she takes a moment to answer, “I was just at work, dear. I took the rest of the day off so that I can help you settle down properly and have a nice relaxing bath myself.” Considering that she was a member of a team in advertising agency, thanks to her skill in coming up with suitable visualizations to the clients’ requirements, it was a big thing for her to take a day off. I felt a little relaxed at this, comforted that she cared enough to take time off her job to help her ‘disturbed’ son settle. By now my luggage was in sight so I just said a thanks to which she replied, “Anything, son.”

As soon as we stepped out of the busy airport, my mind once again whined that it wanted to go home. I faked a smile at my mom, which she probably saw through but didn’t comment, as we got in her car,     Mazda CX-5, a car quite common in this city, it seemed. More things that make me fade into another of those faceless beings we pass on the streets without taking notice of. The ride to the house was silent as she didn’t speak anything to interrupt my deep thinking expression while my mind continued pointing out how everything was different in this place. By the time we reached her apartment, even I was sick of my whining. And depressed as this whining only pointed out that I had to leave home indefinitely because no one wanted me back there. Even the people here on the streets seemed too busy to notice anything outside of their own little worlds. No one needs me anywhere. They won’t even notice if I am gone.

The doorman greeted my mother when we entered with my luggage. It wasn’t much stuff, only one travel bag, and even that was lightly packed. Mom’s apartment was on 14th floor of the 18 floor building and considering my suffocating thoughts, even the elevator couldn’t get us there quickly enough. After we settled in, Mom gave me a small tour in her newest house. She had bought this one just a month after my last stay, about eight months ago. It was a simple one with three bedrooms, a kitchen and a large balcony. The view was just perfect. I had the second largest bedroom of the house, which presently held only a bed with sheets, a table, a chair and a table lamp. It was nice to see that she gave me my own space to decorate. But it is not home. It just doesn’t have that feel.

After a nice relaxing shower and a long sleep to get rid of the jet lag, I woke up to see that it was already dark outside. And being in one of the busiest areas of Seattle, the street down below was full of cars. And the buildings in the distance shined like diamonds. I loved the view but I didn’t feel anything good or inspired by it. I still wanted to just sit down somewhere and lay down as if I were a rock. And I could count the words I had said to my mother since I woke up on one hand. I felt bad about being ungrateful and unhelpful while she cooked but at the same time, there was a feeling to let things happen as they are and just do nothing. Even during the dinner, I kept pushing the food around as the thoughts of how all this was so different from home. Physically I had left the place but mentally, I was still there. In every inch of that place, I felt at home. And I wanted to go back.