When I Came Back: A Short Story

When I came back, none of them knew what to make of me. I would walk along the familiar corridors, and they would watch me as if my very stride could give them some indication. A lot of cautious smiles, studious glances, awkward attempts at conversation, decaying trust, and lost connection. I tried to convince them I was still the same me. But none believed me, and rightly so. What I was trying to say was, “I want to be that girl we once knew. I’m trying.” But between my pride and their blatant distrust, I didn’t know how. 

I would sit there stubbornly silent with a defiant, wary look in my eye that said, “Interrogate me again and see if you can get anything out of me. Try me.” It had a variety of effects. My mom would look at me with a sternly gentle gaze and leave with a sigh. My stepdad and Lydia tried to make me act normal by their casual routine questions and invitations. One glance, and Rebecca and Tim lifted their chins in annoyance and tried to rattle me into giving in. 

I really shouldn’t have antagonized Rebecca during that family dinner. It was the first time we all formally gathered since I came back, and it was painfully awkward. Everyone was hurt, trying not to look hurt, but only succeeding in looking constipated, all of our emotions wrapped up in the tight cord that was pinching our cheeks together and making our eyes wide, but deadened.

I was making sly comments to Tim about his secret rendezvous with Kat in Budapest. Which I shouldn’t have been doing either, but Tim had been sitting across from me all night with a sanctimonious sneer, commenting on my extended absence and what he assumed I’d been up to, which wasn’t at all pretty. So I exposed one of his secrets out of bitterness, and by the end of it, Rebecca was seething. Not because of Tim’s indiscretions, but because I was close enough to know what Tim was doing, but I never reached out or even told them where I was. Or maybe she was angry because she had always been the first person I told my secrets to, and here she was learning it at the same time as everyone else. The chasm had grown too deep, and the thick thread that had sewn our hearts together was raveling at the seams, so she dug in her fingers and ripped them apart. 

Her laugh was devoid of any humor and she said, “So you’re saying you were in Budapest, within a mile of where we were staying, and you didn’t let us—your family—know you were there?”

I assumed it was a rhetorical question, so I just stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue.

In exasperation, she flung her hands up in the air and asked, “Why?”

With a sigh, I replied, “Becky, I’ve already told you a million times why I didn’t tell you where I was and why I didn’t come back. I needed answers, and I couldn’t find them here.” My response only made her angrier. Her expression might have been funny if I wasn’t so intimidated by her anger. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth was almost twitching as she tried to control her wrath. When she didn’t say anything, my tone deteriorated into slight desperation as I cried, “What do you want from me, Rebecca? I came back, didn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t have come back if we hadn’t found you and dragged you back!” Lydia winced at Rebecca’s raised voice, my mom put her head in her hands, and Tim sat back to watch the show, perhaps a little relieved that my self-isolation caused more anger than his relationship with Kat. My stepdad, Rob, looked on with sorrowful eyes, but he also knew that Rebecca had every right to say the things she was saying. When he looked back at me, his eyes told me he agreed with her. 

“If we hadn’t watched you like a hawk ever since we dragged you back here, you probably would already be gone!,” Rebecca continued.

I should have said, “Rebecca, you’re right. I’m sorry.” I should have given a better explanation. Instead, I huffed out a breathy laugh, and dismissed her entirely, turning to Rob and asking, “Can you pass me the wine, please?” My tone and expression sardonically communicated, “I’m gonna need it.”

I heard Rebecca breath in sharply, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her get up abruptly and reach across the table as if to grab at my throat, perhaps to wrangle a confession out of me. Instead of drawing back, I lifted my chin to give her a clearer shot. She winced at my motion, withdrew her hand as if I had slapped it, and ran off. 

After she left the room, the silence was deafening. I sat with my hands in my lap, taking deep breaths through my nose, and trying to maintain a neutral expression. I blinked away any expression in my eyes, and glanced at the head of the table. I never thought of my mom as old, but she looked old right then. Her undereyes sagged, eyelids drooped, her mouth was downturned, and wrinkles I’d never noticed before stood prominently against her skin.

An unexpected pang tore through me, and I abruptly stood and followed Becky’s example out the door. I turned corner after corner, trying to find a place an appropriate distance from any memories. 

*********

You found me on the ledge of the third landing. I heard you coming up the steps, and I knew it was you by the way your feet fell toe to heel, softly, like a Native American who grew up learning stealth, always checking the balance of your feet. You could have approached silently, but you wanted me to hear. You didn’t want to startle me, and I appreciated that.  

I glanced at you as you lowered yourself next to me, adjusting yourself so your feet dangled next to mine. Your face was a serene mask. Out of everyone, I had the hardest time figuring you out. Instead of my mom’s gentle sternness or Tim’s mocking scorn, you would watch me with a studious, but unreadable expression. I couldn’t figure out if you had helped them find me out of respect and gratitude towards my mom, or out of lingering love for me.

You didn’t look at me as you leaned back with your arms supporting you. We both looked down at our feet, and after a few silent seconds, you said, “They should really put a railing here.”

I nodded in agreement. The staircase bordered the wall and led up to the only door to the attic. There was a railing on the stairs, but the landing was bare, and it could be a bit dangerous backing out of the tiny attic with a big storage bin onto a ledge with no rail; nothing to stop you from tipping over the side. 

“I might build one for Tina,” you continued absentmindedly. I had noticed the fact you were on a first-name basis with my mom, and I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

I didn’t say anything in reply, and we both lapsed into silence. We watched our dangling feet, the silence lingered, and I forgot myself enough to feel comforted by your presence. You always made me feel safe. You exude strength and security; your build, your manner, even your eyes when they look at me. How your gaze could make me so uncomfortable, but so safe, I’ll never figure out.

When you finally spoke, your voice breaking the silence made me jump. 

“Did you miss us?” 

The question startled me. When I thought about this moment later, the idea that you might have used the extended silence and resultant comfort in your presence to catch me off guard made me angry. But in the moment, I considered your question thoughtfully, staring at the far wall as if all the answers were written on it.

“Yes. I missed you. I missed all of you,” I replied softly, hesitantly.

You turned to study me. 

I saw the question in your eyes, exhaled, and admitted, “This may sound selfish, but… I don’t know who I missed more: you guys, or myself.” I turned my body slightly toward you, wanting to face you, wanting to communicate through body language that I was being as honest as I knew how. “I wanted to come back because I thought you all would help me find myself again, but I also didn’t want to come back until I found myself. And then I wasn’t sure who I was searching for, because of how much I had changed.” I finished and bit my lip, wanting to take the vulnerability back, but also willing you to understand.

You met my gaze a moment longer, and then you looked back to your lap as you sat up and brought your hands forward to rest on your thighs. You fiddled with your fingers as you ruminated on my words. You eventually spoke cautiously, weighing each word carefully, “People rarely change, Mia. They only grow.”

Here you glanced at me with your head low and upturned eyes. You noticed my skeptical look, and added, “And suffers setbacks,” nodding as if telling me through the movement of your head to wait and listen before jumping to conclusions. One side of your mouth took on a small, gentle smile which said, “hey, I’m no expert, but I care for you, so please accept this advice.” You continued, “You can only take this setback and learn to grow from it. You can’t go back. You can never go back.” He nudged my shoulder with his own, “It’d be a digression.”

I stared at him, letting his words sink in, and a tiny flame of hope rising in my chest no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. There was a question on the tip of my tongue, just begging to be asked. That flicker of hope spoke for me, coming through above the cynical bitterness in the tone of my voice, “So you wouldn’t have appreciated me coming back exactly the same? You don’t miss the old Mia?” 

The small one-sided smile appeared again, this time more thoughtful and amused. “No. I’d be too busy trying to figure out what you were hiding.” 

He leaned forward so our foreheads were almost touching, and I almost lost my breath. “And you are the same Mia. You still laugh at all of Lydia’s jokes, even the ones that aren’t at all funny. You still engage in spoken swordplay with Tim. You still try to protect your mother, even though that’s her job, and you still respect Rob so much that you’re intimidated by him.” 

You sit back and take on a more serious expression. “Whatever you went through while you were away, it affected you. It made you irritable and cold and unapproachable. It made you start to lash out at dinner tables and make up lies about the past year.” I started to recoil, and you leaned forward again to make up for the additional space and quickly added, “But any version of you that wouldn’t do those things is a fake you. I want the genuine Mia.” You reached up to remove a strand of hair from my face, and your fingers brushed against my forehead. My mouth parted and I felt a rebellious blush rise to my cheeks. You looked deep in my eyes and seemed to pause, as if questioning whether you should say whatever else you wanted to say. In a moment you decided, and said, “I would consider it an honor if you let me help you through this, Mia.” 

It was said with such self-conscious, genuine emotion, that I felt my eyes well with tears, and out of habit, I dug my fingernails into my thigh to try to will them back. I glanced down at my hand that was laying between us, but I looked back up again to catch a sudden grin. I gasped inwardly and my eyes widened ever so slightly as your entire face lit up into your signature confident smirk that I first fell in love with, but hadn’t seen directed at me ever since I returned. My tears were effectively checked.  

Your eyes danced as you said, “Imagine how strong you’ll be once you get through this.” With that, you lightly brushed my cheek with your thumb and got to your feet. You ran down the stairs, your light steps defying your broad shoulders and muscular build. A small smile appeared on my face as you bounded away. 

You left me alone on the ledge, smiling alone on that ledge. After a moment, I got up, brushed off my jeans, and set off to look for Rebecca.