Whatever Happened To Home

Today was the day — The day where I left it all behind. Why I would do such a thing? Well, I have yet to come up with a simple answer for that. It’s far more complicated than just one thing. It’s a buildup of pressure that has slowly been pushing for an escape. And the only escape I ever knew — was to run away.

I parked out on the road in front of my house. It was a cloudy day, just how I liked it. Days like this only happened a handful of times a year, which made it seem almost too convenient that this was one of them.

I stepped out of my car and took a deep whiff of that fresh morning air. It felt nostalgic as I looked at the exterior of the house. I haven’t been here in some time, and it kind of made it look different, even though I knew it wasn’t. I suppose I was just looking at it from a different perspective, is all. Instead of the usual inside-out point of view, I guess I was looking at it more outside-in. In a reflective way, that is.

There was a little path my father made years ago that cut through the grass. It was far more aged than it used to be. The individual bricks that he laid down as stepping stones were cracked and damaged by the sun. And as I walked over them, I almost feared they’d break under my weight, but they didn’t.

Once I got up to the front door, I made sure to keep my head down and try my best to not look up at our home security camera. I felt ashamed to show my face in this manner, like I was guilty of a crime I felt bad for committing. I knew my family would see me here anyways, but I just couldn’t bring myself to look them in the eyes, even if it really wasn’t their eyes.

No one was home, just me. No one would even know I was here until someone eventually saw me on the camera sometime later. I almost felt dirty sneaking in without letting anyone know. I technically lived here as well, all but recently, at least. I spent my whole life living here, but for my own personal reasons, I felt like I just didn’t belong here anymore.

I entered the house, trying to hold back my disappointment as I looked around. I was only here for a few of my old things, but I could feel myself getting lost in the moment. The house looked different from the inside for sure, different furniture, new pictures, freshly painted cabinets. I couldn’t believe how much it changed in the time I’ve been away. So, different. But just the same.

From there, I began walking up the stairs to go to my room. However, on the way up, I couldn’t help but stop and look at all the pictures hanging on the walls. Some old and some new, regardless, I wanted to look at them anyway.

The faces of family and friends all in one place. It was kind of daunting to look at, because all I really saw were the faces of the people I’ll be leaving. Not forever, but still, it didn’t feel right. I was doing it regardless, but I just felt awful looking at all of them. The people I grew up with, the people who raised me, looking at me as if they were judging my decision. I knew they were all looking into the eyes of the camera, so why the hell did it feel like they were looking at me?

I felt unsettled looking at all of their faces, so I quickly moved on to my room. My door was closed with a “Keep Out” sign on the front. I got it when I was a kid because I thought it was cool, but all these years later, I look at it feeling nothing but fear. Maybe not fear, but definitely nervousness or discontent. Part of me felt the need to heed the warning on the door and really just keep out. However, I proceeded forward anyway, opening the door to my room.

As I walked inside, I began to look around to see anything different. It appeared to be just the same as when I left it. I took a few more steps inside until I was basically at the center of the room. And from there, I let out a faint sigh and looked around at the place that used to be my home.

My shelves were covered with years of collecting Lego sets, still covered in the dust I refused to clean off of them. My bed was half made with a bunch of my childhood blankets lying on top. And my guitar was in the corner, propped up against the wall with the morning light shining over it. Everything was the same, all right — definitely the same.

I snapped out of my nostalgic spell and began collecting the items I was here for. I took off my backpack and started stuffing all my things in there one at a time. It never did occur to me on how much stuff I had, and how that might limit the amount I could actually bring with me. There were just so many things that all had different memories attached to them. However, as the capacity of my bag started to fill up, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take everything.

Eventually, once I was content with what I had packed away, I sat down on my bed to take a last moment alone in my room. This place was once my home, and now I’m leaving it, for what? I knew there was a reason behind it, but was I wrong for saying I didn’t know? Was I wrong for telling the people I loved I didn’t know? I wanted to be at peace with something, with life, I suppose, but here — here just doesn’t give that to me anymore. It hasn’t given me a sense of home ever since my mind and soul escaped it long ago. I knew this day would come, but I always felt like it was just a feeling that would blow over in a certain moment. But here I am, running away from everything I ever knew.

I looked across at the guitar my father once gave me. I never learned how to play it, really. Just the basics, is all, but that never stopped me from trying to play something decent. So, on a whim, I walked over to pick up my guitar before sitting back down on my bed. The guitar was slightly out of tune, even I could tell, but instead of trying to fix it, I just started to play an old verse I used to know. I played it as softly as I could, expressing my reluctance in leaving my home. It was a pretty but sad verse, one that reflected my decision. And when I was done, I set the guitar back in the corner and took one last deep breath while in my room.

From there, I began my path out of the house, walking out of my room, and then closing the door with the “Keep Out” sign on it. After that, I made my way past all the staring photos of my relatives, heading downstairs, and walking out the front door.

And as I locked the door and turned around to walk away, I stopped abruptly before leaving. It was then, I decided to turn around, hesitantly facing the outside camera. I looked up at it, removing my ego, as I stared into the eyes of the camera. I didn’t make any gesture or any noise for the camera to pick up, I only stared. I stared, knowing that my family would be staring back — Knowing, my first ever ‘home’ would be staring back. But now, as I looked away towards my car, I knew it was time for me to take ‘my home’ — somewhere else.

© 2025, John Henry. Published by WhisperPublications. All rights reserved.

— John Henry