Friday, September 3, 2010
The Long Way Home
Chapter 2 You Can’t Go Home Again
The twisting, winding road into Bayou Grove is full of fear. The road less traveled is what it should be called. Very few people ever leave Bayou Grove. Those who do never come back to the mystical swamp.
A beautiful picture can hide many faults. The road to Bayou Grove is that picture. A beautiful scenic view of the Bayou is painted by the mossy weeping willows as the sun or moon reflects off the swampy bayou. In the heart of the road just like man is a darkness that envelops those who chose to leave or return. In the heart of Bayou Grove lurk those who embody the darkness. They are the road that can and often does journey to your soul.
I have traveled the road twice in my life once when I left and now that I am coming back home. Home. The words are like ambrose to the gods.
Home may be where the heart is but it is also where my mind finds unrest and no peace. I am a drifter, traveler without a place to call my own. I am simplicity for the sake of being honest with one’s self.
Parking my car in the circular drive way I take a few moments to catch my breath.
I ‘m scared.
Breathing slowly I reached deep inside trying to find a place to calm myself. I exhale releasing the fear, the dread. Unspoken nausea calls me to expel the fear inside of me. I need to gain control of myself. The erratic beat of my heart is testament to the power of fear.
Fear cannot take control. I will not let fear win. Get the behind me fear! I scream and shout! You will not win this battle. The words leave my lips as I began to regain control of myself.
Touching my heart I remember leaving Bayou Grove behind 21 years ago. I slump forward my head touching the steering wheel. I wanted to cry, scream, and run.
Panic is setting.
I squeeze my eyes as uncontrollable, tears are unleashed, overwhelming me like a hurricane.
Closing my eyes I exhale as much fear as I can. Why should I be scared? I have done nothing. What is there to be afraid of? Slowly I opened my eyes and looked at my parents’ house.
The two story plantation styled house painted white trimmed in green. Before air conditioning my grandparents would open all the windows to let the air flow and circulate. The over sized windows give the house a classic look.
The wraparound porch complements the house with six huge rocking chairs and over sized hanging ivy baskets.
I smile looking at the green screened door. How many times had my dad yelled at me for slamming it or letting flies in. This was my home. This was the place that I loved to run to each afternoon when Alvin Meadows would chase me trying to pull my pigtails.
The fear is subsiding. If home is where the heart is why mine feels so heavy.