Chapter 15 #2
Atlanta, and now it’s in practically every mall across
America.”
“What’s
a department store?”
“A place where
you can buy things such as clothing, shoes, and some other home
goods. I’ll take you to one and show you while you’re
here.”
“And you own
this entirely?”
“I share
ownership with my brother, Stanley. I’m the chief executive
officer, which means I pretty much run the company. Stanley,
unfortunately, prefers to spend the money we make rather than work
for it. His ownership is nominal.”
“And do Clint
and Cara work for the company?”
Randall snorts
loudly. “Hardly. They follow in their father’s footsteps
and pretty much live off their trust funds.”
I’m silent for
a while as I digest this. My first impressions of Clint and Cara were
not favorable. They seemed like frivolous people to me, both wanting
to discuss nothing more than parties and expensive toys. Neither one
of them would survive five minutes in the rainforest.
Not Moira, I
realize. She’s a very resourceful woman and, despite her lack
of caution while tromping through the jungle on the day we left
Caraica, almost earning her a snakebite, I expect if she was left to
her own devices to survive in that environment, she would ultimately
have no problem. This thought actually makes me proud of Moira. Makes
me respect her even more.
Before long, Randall
turns off into a neighborhood that actually looks similar to the one
that Moira lives in. The trees are a bit different looking, but the
houses are small and well maintained. After navigating through a few
streets, Randall finally pulls in front of a little, yellow house
with black shutters and a black front door. The porch is white, and
two rocking chairs sit to one side.
Immediately, I
recognize this as the house I lived in until I was seven. Emotion
floods through me as memories abound. I remember playing with little,
plastic toy soldiers, right there in the front yard. I know in the
backyard there’s a peach tree I used to climb, and my mom would
admonish me not to eat the fruit before it was ripe.
I swallow hard as
Randall turns off the car and opens his door. I go ahead and exit, my
eyes soaking in everything, right down to the little red and yellow
flowers that border the sidewalk that leads up to the porch.
Randall walks over
to me and holds his hand out. I absently reach outward, and he drops
a key in my hand. I look down at it, and then back up to Randall.
“Let’s
go take a look, shall we?” he asks.
I nod and head up
the porch, my feet feeling heavy. The key slides smoothly in the
lock, and I give it a turn. As soon as I step in, I recognize
everything. The tiny living room still has the same couch and
loveseat from when I lived here. It’s quite ugly now that I
think about it, in shades of brown and orange-patterned prints of
birds. The floorboards creak slightly as I walk further in, and I
swear I can actually envision my father sitting on the couch,
silently reading a Bible passage.
Turning to look into
the small kitchen, I see it’s still painted the same butter
yellow with white lace curtains over the window that sits above the
sink. I imagine my mom leaning down to pull chocolate chip cookies
from the oven while she hums softly to herself.
I can even see
myself running down the narrow hallway, calling out to my mom, “Look
what I made, Mommy.”
I handed her a
drawing done in crayons of a little stick figure boy with a small,
brown dog at his feet. “Can we have a dog?”
My mom laughed at
me as she looked at the drawing. “That’s beautiful, Zach,
but you know we can’t have a dog. We’re leaving next
month for Brazil, and there would be no one to take care of it.”
“ Uncle
Randall can watch it for us. I’m sure he’d do it.”
My mom ruffled my
hair and leaned down to kiss me. “I’m sure he would,
baby. But if you’re going to have a dog, you need to be the one
to care for it. Maybe we can get one when we get back, okay?”
Disappointment
filled me because I didn’t want to go on this mission trip with
my parents. I loved Jesus, and all of his teachings, but I didn’t
want to leave my home… my friends… Uncle Randall. I
loved it here.
“ I don’t
want to go,” I said petulantly. “I want to stay here with
Uncle Randall, like the last time you went.”
“ But we’re
going to be gone longer. At least a year,” my mom told me with
a confident smile. “We can’t leave you for that long. I’d
miss you too much.”
“ I don’t
care,” I told her angrily. “I’ll hate it there.”
My mom bent down
and picked me up, nuzzling my neck. “You won’t hate it
there, silly. But if on the off chance that you do, we won’t
make you come back with us again. How’s that for a promise?”
I wanted to cry
and stomp my feet in denial, but I knew it wouldn’t do any
good. This trip had been planned for a while now, and there was no
changing it. We had this conversation many times before. My mom set
me back down, giving me some warm cookies with a glass of milk.
Cookies usually made everything seem better, but not that time. That
time, they tasted like dirt.
I blink my eyes,
falling out of the memory hard. I had totally forgotten that I never
wanted to go to the Amazon with my parents. That I was bitter about
it, and that I wanted to stay here with my godfather. I turn slowly
to look at Randall, who is watching me with kind eyes.
“I never
wanted to go to Brazil with my parents,” I say stupidly.
Randall nods at me
with understanding. “No, you didn’t. But your parents
understood that. You were too young to share their passion for
helping to teach Christianity to the Indians. But they couldn’t
very well leave you behind. Not for the extended trip they had
planned. They loved you too much to ever do that.”
“Yet, they
ultimately did leave me… when they died,” I say with a
bitterness that surprises me. “They left me in a strange world.
They left me unprotected.”
Randall takes a few
strides toward me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t
be angry with them for that, Zach. They’re gone. You can’t
undo that, and you know they never wanted anything bad to happen to
you. They trusted they were doing the right thing.”
“Right for
who? For them?”
Sighing, Randall
squeezes my shoulders. “They thought it was right for your
family, and we can’t change that.”
I pull away from
Randall and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. My head is spinning
with resentment, and I’m ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I
would feel that way toward my parents, who are dead, and ashamed that
I’m actually having bitterness over having left this home that
I’m standing in right at this moment. It’s the absolute
same feeling I had not less than a month ago when I was told I had to
leave my home in Caraica.
Now, I’m
confused. I don’t know where my home truly is. I feel like I
belong neither here nor there. Every bit of sure footing that I had
seems to be sliding out from underneath me.
I peek inside of my
bedroom, and it’s exactly as I remembered it. A tiny twin bed
with Batman sheets and a blanket. Various toys are scattered over my
dresser, and a baseball bat and glove lay on top of a footlocker at
the bottom of my bed. Everything is very clean and without a speck of
dust anywhere. I assume Randall has been maintaining this house all
these years.
Turning from my
room, I walk across the hall to my parents’ room. Immediate
recognition assaults me as I take in their wrought-iron bed covered
in a pale blue and white quilt. Their dresser is covered with
photographs of our family, and I walk up to them to peruse, trying to
remain dispassionate as I take in the smiling faces and happy family
union. Closing my eyes, I swear I can even smell my mom’s
subtly sweet perfume, and a flash of pain and longing seeps into my
bones, replacing some of the bitterness I was feeling moments ago.
I open one of the
drawers, but it’s empty of clothing.
“I ended up
giving away all the clothing, but everything else I left the same. I
have someone come in weekly to clean the place.”
Nodding my head, I
take a peek outside the window and look out into the backyard. The
peach tree stands there, looking about ten times larger than I
remember, but it’s devoid of any fruit.
Turning back to
Randall, I clear my throat so he can’t hear the tidal wave of
uncertainty to my feelings. “Thank you for showing me this
today. But I think I’ve seen enough.”
“Sure,”
Randall murmurs. “I’ll take you out to lunch, and we can
just chat some more if you want.”
“Actually…
I’d rather just go back to your house if you don’t mind.
I’d like some time alone, if that’s okay with you.”
Randall smiles at me
with sad eyes and says, “Of course.”
I follow Randall out
of the house and get back in his car with utter silence, lost in my
own thoughts. He says this house is mine, but it’s not.
Not truly.
My true home is back
in Caraica. A longhouse I had built with my own hands, which sits
next to Paraila’s abode. My hammock provided me all the comfort
I needed, and the forest provided me food. I had friends… and
an adopted father that loved me like his own.
I have no need of
any of these things that Randall showed me here today.