Wayfaring Traveler

seven

「 For @youthly, an impeccable writer who could definitely have a New York Times Best Seller in the future 」

s e v e n

It was a question and answer session at a convention, she asked just about everything and anything. I answered it all, what my favorite color was, what I liked to eat, and other basic questions usually asked on first dates.

It wasn't until after we ordered a pizza and devoured it that she started asking more serious questions that were harder for me to answer swiftly.

"Where are you from?" she asked me, taking another slice of pizza from the box with her legs crossed and herself now changed in one of my large t-shirts.

"Like where was I born?" I countered, needing clarification, myself constantly moving around since birth.

She nodded. "Portland, Oregon."

Oregon, the place I felt was anything but home, Oregon was the place I was first hurt.

"Did you grow up there?" she asked, wanting to know more of my childhood, something I couldn't say I exactly had.

"No, I moved to Chicago shortly after," I answered.

"Your parents had a job transfer?"

"No, my mom gave me up to her aunt, she was only eighteen and wanted to continue living her life of freedom. My dad bolted upon news of my mom being pregnant so he was out of the picture too," I replied, myself taking pauses every few seconds because of the inability to quickly say it all.

She didn't say anything and so I continued, "However, my mom's aunt had quite the drinking problem and died of alcohol poisoning when I was nine and I was put into the foster system because her husband seemed to have the same problem with alcoholism. I never really got out of the foster system, I sort of made sure I didn't. When I turned eighteen I immediately packed up my few things and began traveling, looking for a permanent home that could be mine of choosing. And now I'm twenty-one and in Seattle."

"I had no idea, I'm sorry," she told me and followed with her next question, "Have you ever thought of looking for your parents?"

I took a moment and thought, the thought never crossing my mind. The anger I had for them both never allowed the idea to come up. I seemed to blame everything wrong with myself on them, two people who couldn't be the parental figures in my life I needed.

"I haven't, I mean they abandoned me," I replied, honesty pouring out.

"You're angry at them, but they're still your parents and I bet you are a bit curious on as to who they are. Like where they went to school, how they met, and what they look like," she rambled.

"I suppose," I shrugged off.

She shifted on the bed and laid down, looking up at the ceiling.

"How is it that you're Mr. Ezra Banks then, where did your name come from?" she questioned.

I hesitated, my name the one thing I knew the origin of, "Well, Ezra is Hebrew for the word 'help,' my mom supposedly said minutes after giving birth that I would need all the help in the world to live a life of normalcy. My last name my father's."

She closed her eyes and pulled me down to lay with her, she took my hand into hers as if she was saying that she was there for me.

"It's a beautiful name," she said quietly.

We laid in silence hand in hand until she broke the concentrated silence.

"I want to see the world through your eyes. Where have you been?" she finally asked, sitting back up.

I too got up and fetched my backpack that held a map marked with messily drawn stars on every place I had stayed and gone through. The map was now tattered and showed age, her eyes glued to the map. She searches with her eyes every little red star I had marked off.

Chicago, New York, Atlanta, Dallas, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Seattle.

Seattle having a red star initially, however, it being traced over in blue.

She traced my path with her fingers, finally landing in Seattle. I explained to her how I would catch the train and large state-to-state buses to each place on the loose change I had made in each city, jumping city to city like it was my full-fledged job.

"How come this one is blue now?" she asked, looking over at me with big doe eyes.

"I think this could be home," I replied, looking straight back at her.

She gave me a large smile and continued to examine the map.

"I really haven't traveled much, this is absolutely incredible. You've traveled to some of the most renown places in the United States and you like Seattle the most?"

I nodded.

"Each other city had excruciating flaws and brought out variations of myself I didn't particularly enjoy. I went to each place and saw no signs of home, each just seems like another place to deem improper for settling down. Los Angeles too crowded with tourists, Dallas too hot, and New York horrible for my anxiety. Each place felt like I was being trapped and confined in a box, I felt anything but welcomed. Seattle the first place I felt welcomed, you welcomed me with open arms and a cheery smile," I explained, her eyes indicating that she was truly listening to every little word I spoke.

She asked to see the world so I showed her it; all of its glory, grace, and sadness. I continued speaking of my experience in each place, not bothering to leave out the simplest of details and horrors I saw.

And she cried, not because various pinned places on her map ended up having their flaws, ruining the perfect images of what she dreamed, but because I had seen and traveled through a world of despair.

In that moment she shed a dozen tears, the feelings that had been stirring in my chest were confirmed and I realized.

I was madly, foolishly, and hopelessly in love with her.