Many Homes

a fictional micro-story

Many Homes by Jawanza Barial-Lumumba

I exist within many homes – the houses of the past, the palace of futures, and my present tense abode.

The houses of the past anchor where I have come from, and though you may never have noticed, I have chained away the memories that reside in those old, dilapidated spaces. I never told you about regular emptiness of my house as my parents worked late nights or my brother reheating the same, shitty frozen meals every evening or the stillness in the air after our parents erupted in a fight or about my brother something out of frustration or the simple song of an unknown, echoing, whimper. I never told you that the coziest houses of the past would be my teachers’ houses when my parents couldn’t pick me up or my friends’ houses for holiday meals and rousing game night or even the crappy cabins at sleepaway camps where I lied to my peers about where I came from so I would take up less space.

My hopes always resided in the palace of futures – places I could be happiest, feeling settled amidst the unsettling present. The palace is grand, with open lands for my closest people – those who become the consistent, chosen family community that protect the entrance into this palace of futures. After my community, sensations dance across the courtyard, notions of ease, comfort, safety, and routine synchronizing movements, forming a harmonious motion to protect the palace entrance. And in tower, I see the me I aim to be, and beside them is—well, for awhile, I saw you, my Casey. At that time, my palace of futures was sculpted around you and me, until I realized that the palace I had built was to just to protect you, and nowhere in it, did I see me.

And that’s where I am now, in my present tense, in the same abode that I shared with you. Even though you are no longer here, your ghastly presence haunts these hallways, while the deep-seeded anxiety tied to thee rattles my soul every time I turn the key to step inside is very much alive in me. Never have I ever had a present tense abode that brings me ease – I’ve felt it though, at Kelly’s apartment with the flourish plants, the simple table cloth, and scattered stack of books and loose pages she’s scribbled on; I’ve seen at Janice’s house, the family photos up on the wall, the traveling trinkets that clutter the fireplace mantle, and the obscure concert posters layering the wall; and I’ve heard it, when Nahin puts her records on, when the laughter from her and her parent ripple through fill their abode, and when there’s a collective, “Hmmm!” during community dinner night. But scattered messes of clothes or books papers in our abode elevated our disarray while our refrigerator pictures highlighted our memories, many of which were years old, and all I ever heard was the buzz of tension building between us.

I exist within many homes – and now I know that to strengthen my present tense, I need to open up the houses of the past even when it’s shrouded in shame and I have to build a palace of futures for myself, allowing room for others, and only then can craft a present tense abode that brings a settled calm to my soul. And as our chapter closes, I know that the abode that you and I shared together, will now become another house of the past and—well, no. The shroud of shame is my own doing—I’m the one who placed it there. I’ll lift my veil on the houses of the past, unchaining them, and allowing safe passage for myself and those closest to me. I’m not here to dial my pain down or mold my future for others—I am here, to me whole me, and these dreams once your dreams have taught me the significant of just that.