The long walk home

I used to have a reoccurring dream, where I was always trying to find my way to my mother's house.  The details would be different, but the general idea was always the same.  Just as the tiny house was always there, ever present.  As I got older, the friends who would accompany me on my voyage would change, but still I charged on.

Once it was a male friend and instead of the gently winding driveway, the house had been dropped in the desert and instead of trees, there were horrific, giant snakes – Cobras, to be exact.  We fought the off, but I didn't make it to the house.  I never did.  

Another time, the house was in the ocean, sitting on a tiny, house-shaped island, and I in a boat.

This series of dreams plagued me off and on for several years.  What I was looking for, I don't know.  And since they bother me no more, I can only assume that I found it, or it gave up on me.

When I was younger, my bus dropped me off at the head of our neighborhood, and we walked the rest of the way; down a long straight stretch, a left turn and up and over a hill.  At the base of the hill was our driveway.  My sisters were old enough to go to school when we moved into that house, so I know they were there with me everyday, but I still feel as though I made that journey alone more often than not.

I remember once wearing a particularly fluffy, layered skirt, and as I walked, tried to tuck the bottom layer under so that I was wearing a single layer MUCH shorter skirt.  I succeeded, although I am sure I ended up with a rather lumpy waistline as well as creating a very interesting show for anyone who looked out their window.

During my life, several of those trips stand out in my mind.  The one where I found my pet rabbit, tortured by a neighbor's dog, at the crest of the hill.  I ran the rest of the way, knowing in my heart of hearts that there were no wild albino bunnies in our neighborhood.  

Then there was the time when we were walking TO the bus, and my youngest sister lagged behind.  In an effort to 'teach her a lesson,' we went on without her.  Mind you, she was twelve, but also slightly handicapped.  The bus came, and she had not yet made it.  I went back, promising that I would arrive with my sister at the end of the road by the time the bus had circled around and gotten back.  

I walked back, retracing my steps.  No sister.  I made it all the way to the house without running into her.  It was locked and she was nowhere to be found.  My keys were on the bus.  I ran to a neighbor's house.  They had not seen her.  I called my grandparents who lived up the street.  They had not seen her either.  

At this point, the bus had long since driven by my intended pick-up spot.  As a last-ditch, we called the school.  They had seen her walk by earlier, she was there.  I demanded they go get her.  She answered the phone just as sweetly and excited as ever and informed me that she walked to a house where some other kids lived and rode to school with them.  

It's amazing what can happen during your life when you are simply getting from point A to point B, without even realizing it.