All Roads Lead Home

“I’m-I’m letting all this go, and I’m just going to figure it out. Pray about it, I guess. I just-I can’t do this anymore, Jack.” I look down into his eyes. Cerulean in a pool of red wine. When’s the last time he slept? Or maybe he’d been crying.

“Ok.”

“Ok? Jack, I’m sorry I-“

“We’ll mail your last check. Don’t worry about comin’ in. Have a good one, Em.”

I should be happy he’s not going off his rocker, right? But I’m angrier than anything. I’m the best employee this company has had in years. He should be on his knees right now, begging me to stay. It’s the office rumor that he’s good on his knees anyway. I guess he doesn’t want to flaunt.

Jack lifts both his huge hands, places them behind his tiny head, and leans back in the creaky office chair he said he wanted to get rid of five years ago. He’s still staring at me. Emotionless. And I’m still standing in the middle of his office with innumerable coffee stains on the carpet (or at least I think it’s coffee) with my kitten heels, pencil skirt, and anger running up and down my legs.

I want to lurch at him, grab him by his stupid, stiff collar, shake him and say, “Tell me you’ll miss me! Tell me good luck on my journey. Ask me why I’ve decided to leave in the first place. Ask me how my mom’s death affected me. Ask me why I’ve been losing so much weight. Tell me you care.”

But instead, I let the rumbling anger walk me right out the door, down the dimly-lit hallway, through the light rain to my car with both headlights out, out of my car, through the heavy downpour, up the staircase with blinding lights overhead, through my apartment door.

I throw down my bag with a plop and kick off my heels. I’m feeling dramatic. Like any minute, I might pour a glass of red wine and slide down the wall with tears springing from my eyes.

“Well, you’re home early,” Pete says, coming from our bedroom. His hair is a tousled mess, and his clothes are barely clinging to his body. He’s a wild sleeper but my goodness.

I sigh. “Yeah, Pete. I am home early. And I might be home for a while. I just quit today,” I say with a huge grin on my face, but tears starting to form in my eyes. I’d been so consumed by my melodrama that I hadn’t noticed the woman clutching my blanket to her bare body in my bedroom doorway. I also hadn’t noticed how much Pete was sweating. I feel the anger working its way all the way up to my hands. I’m shaking uncontrollably. My eyes pan from her to him back to her.

“Emily, I-just let me explain,” Pete says, moving toward me. My world turns black, and every sound I can hear sounds like I’m deep under the waves of the Atlantic. My head feels warm, but my feet feel cold. Am I dead, or did I just faint?

Then.

Suddenly.

Everything becomes clear.

I’m back in my body, I think. Pete has his phone in his hand, probably calling 911. I have no idea where the woman went. I’m on the floor next to my bag, but I still can’t hear anything.

I scream Pete’s name (that’s a first), but he isn’t responding. I’m not even sure my mouth is moving. Wait. There’s a woman on the floor. How did his mistress get on the floor? Did I lunge at her in a violent rage?

I step closer and realize that woman is me. Pencil skirt still tight on her body, her hair tousled all around her head. She doesn’t look dead. I mean, I don’t look dead. I try to kick her, but she doesn’t move an inch. Pete runs over to my body, frantic with tears in his eyes. He slaps me a couple of times (rude), but I didn’t seem to move. He doesn’t see me.

Maybe I am dead. But what realm am I in right now? I start to wonder if I can glide through walls. But just as I am about to try flinging myself into the kitchen partition, I’m choking on air. I’m coughing profusely. I feel Pete’s hand on my forehead.

“Emily! I thought you died. The paramedics are on their way”, Pete says, peering down into my eyes. His face, the color of red wine.

“Pete,” I say as I regain consciousness.

“Yes, love.”

I get a chill in my right arm and a deafening ringing in my ear. Then I hear a voice say, “Don’t do it.” I knew it.

“I’m fine. I’m leaving, and don’t try to convince me otherwise. I’ll be back tomorrow to get my stuff.” I get up as quickly as I can without tumbling backward. Still a little woozy, I grab my purse off the floor, pop back on my heels, and walk through the door.

I don’t even remember the walk back down to my car, but I’m soaked. I sit in the driver’s seat and stare blankly out the windshield like I just saw a ghost. And maybe I did. Or at least I heard one. I shake my head profusely. This is all too much.

I decide I’m going to the park across town. I always go there when my head is cloudy with a 99.9% chance of dangerous thunderstorms and a mental breakdown. I feel almost numb as I gently press the gas pedal. I guess it isn’t too horrid feeling numb. If only for a moment.

It takes me thirty minutes to get to the park. The rain is pretty much clear on this side of town. Come to think of it; I can’t ever remember it raining here. But I know that’s geologically impossible. Maybe I just hadn’t been here when the clouds were crying. It is my happy place, after all.

I read about this technique called ‘Earthing’, which is basically walking barefoot outdoors to connect with Mother Earth. It’s supposed to help ground you or something when you're feeling overwhelmed. At this point, spikey grass needles and random dog poop would feel better than these heels that are two sizes too big now. I have cotton balls stuffed in the toes to make them tighter. My grandma taught me that trick.

I park in a stall closest to the restroom just in case I need to escape and fall into a heap on the bathroom floor, covered in tears, sweat and regret. I grab the old blanket I keep in my trunk that I haven’t washed since I’ve gotten it. It’s covered in grass, and who knows what else.

I take a moment to look around to find the tree I’d like to contemplate my life under. There’s a huge one in front of me, but that seems so theatrical. A woman underneath a big tree, barefoot, looking like she just got dragged through the mud. She is wild, but she is free.

I scan a little more. Even though I come to this park a lot, there’s only one tree I like sitting under, and that’s a random pear tree that’s near the outskirts, far away from the restroom. I can see the top of it at the bottom of this hill. Maybe I should stick with something familiar and safe.

As I get closer to the pear tree, I notice an old man laid out beneath it. Great. Did he not see into the future and see me needing to use this tree for security? How rude of him. I decide I’m going to just walk past him and sit at the tree a few feet away. I might side-eye him a few times on my way there, so he might get the hint.

But I start to get an eerie feeling as I get closer in proximity. I decide I’ll save my angry looks for another day and just get settled under my tree. That’s when he calls my name.

“Emily.” He’s lying on his back with his eyes closed; He hadn’t opened them once.

A normal person would be completely creeped out. But I am not normal. I am as unorthodox as they come. I always have been.

“How do you know my name?” I ask suspiciously.

He chuckles. His eyes still shut.

“We are all one. So your name is Emily, but it is also Peter. My name is Peter, but it is also Emily. Sit down with me, dear. We have some things to discuss.”

I sit next to him as the warmth of the sun dries my wet, stringy hair. I’m in awe. I’m mesmerized. Something takes over my body. A sense of calm washes over me. He sits up and opens his eyes. Cerulean in pools of red wine.

“How have you been coping since your mom passed? Why’d you quit? Why have you gotten so skinny?”

The answers flow out of me so freely. It doesn’t feel like my lips are moving at all. It feels like an acid trip so lovely that all the swirling colors and images halt just to hear my story.

I talk about the cancer spreading to my mom’s liver, my inability to keep any food down with my anxiety, the inability to have any food to keep down with my eating disorder resurfacing and lastly, why I quit. He’s listening the whole time with a neutral expression. Until I get to the reason I quit my job.

“I was overwhelmed with work and stuff.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, dear.”

“I know I have a higher calling in sales or something.”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m dying. I have a few months to live. I wanna explore the world. The closer I get-” I pause and take a deep breath. “The closer the day comes, the closer I feel with the deceased. I’ve always had a connection, just not as strong.”

“I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“I know you were angry. I’m glad you didn’t do it. The knife Emily. I’m glad.”

I look down in shame. Just the thought of actually hurting someone to that extent sends shivers up my spine. But at that moment, I was so enraged. I had no other thoughts.

“Peter?”

“Hm?”

“Who are you?”

“Your mom’s first boyfriend”, he chuckles.

Even though the sun is resting heavily on my back, I get shivers. “Her-“

“First boyfriend, yes.”

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Am I-

“Underneath a pear tree talking to a dead guy? Yeah. You are very much alive, though.”

“Nice. Well, can I ask you for some guidance then? You must know a lot. Ya know, being dead and all.”

“Sure.”

“If I live longer than a few months, I want to make an impact on the world. I wanna be the woman everyone remembers as having done something so badass, so wonderful; no one can ever forget it. But I don’t know what that is. Do you?”

Peter lays back down underneath the fragrant pear tree. He puts his small hands behind his large head and smiles. He closes his eyes then says, “You might devote your life to helping stray dogs or the homeless. Someone else might live their life gathering handbags and fancy cars. And then there’s me. I lay down in this spot on the grass and stare up at this peach tree and watch it change colors each season but never eat the fruit. All roads lead home, Emily. All roads lead home”.