I Missed That

Time moves forward, but I never thought home would move on without me.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long – to finally come home.

After all the years away from my family, I would finally breathe in the familiar warmth of home again and hear the real laughter – not the forced contentment of small talks.

I haven’t been home for over four years. Always work, deadlines, meetings… More deadlines, more work, more money… The endless circle of work and ambition depleted me. I kept running in this circle, until I morally hit rock bottom.

And here I am – finally, with the time and resources for a real vacation. No deadlines. No work. No meetings.

A gentle nudge pulled me from my thoughts as the sky slowly dissolved into the sunset. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t see much through the small porthole, but I could recognize an eye-pleasing, familiar horizon. Years had passed and here I was. After a long nine hours, I finally landed in my homeland. All that was left was to pick up my suitcase, check my documents, call a cab – and that’s it. Welcome home!

Sitting in the cab I kept looking out the window, admiring the evening twilight of the big city.

Here, I pass the circus. I remember when I was about 6 years old, I saw a horse there for the first time. I was very frightened by its size then, but now it’s my totem animal. Oh, no... they started building a shopping mall on the site of the circus. Now, kids don’t go to the circus anymore.

Here I am passing my high school. God, I made so many sad and happy memories there. I remember those anxious days before the tests, those sunny spring days before summer break, those birthdays we celebrated together as a class, and the prom I never made it to. Now other kids are there, and they are building their own, different, story in small pieces.

Here I am driving by the park. I remember when the quarantine started, I used to go out with my father in the evening to walk around it. No people, no dogs, no traffic noise... Just time for us and the evening birds. It’s strange that we only became so close when conditions forced us to see each other. What had stopped us from doing it earlier? The park is no longer mysterious and quiet. Now, there are kids running around, dog owners strolling, and social media-fueled athletes racing by.

This city didn’t freeze the moment I left. Things had changed – and they kept changing. I don’t know why I’m so surprised – I’ve changed, too. But that strange tightness in my chest wouldn’t let go. The streets felt the same but looked different. The stores had changed, the buildings had been repainted, but the air still smelled like home. I let myself enjoy familiar things, even though they seemed strangely distant – as if I were looking at an old photograph instead of stepping into reality.

There I was, pulling up to my house. It was an old, cozy neighborhood, where people built their quiet happiness. Everyone knew each other, was happy to help, but stayed out of each other’s business, they raised their children without the hustle and bustle of the big city. It was a clean area that smelled of harmony and freshly baked buns from the bakery around the corner. Oh, God, I missed this place.

I paid for the cab, picked up my suitcase, and turned toward the gray five-story building.

A step forward, and something inside tightened.

Another step, and my breath hitched.

I stood in front of the house I’d dreamed of seeing for so long.

I couldn’t get in.

For twenty minutes, maybe more.

Then I decided to go in.

When I entered the foyer, I breathed in the odor - it hadn’t changed. I missed it. I didn’t even notice how I got to the fifth floor; my legs carried me up the stairs, almost jumping over two steps, and my arms were hurting from the weight of the suitcase. Why had I taken so many things? Standing in front of the door of my apartment in the semi-darkened entryway, I felt like a fourteen-year-old girl again, coming home after a long day of stressful classes at school and extra clubs that had taken me around the city all day. I hesitated to open the door. In the end, I finally did.

One turn, second turn. Okay, now the top lock. One turn, second turn. All I had to do was push the doorknob, and I was home. My arm felt like lead, and my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t supposed to be greeted because I’d come spontaneously and as a surprise, but there still was a hope for a warm welcome.

I opened the door.

The cold hit me in the face.

Silence.

The dark walls, shrinking on all sides, seemed to whisper, “You were not expected here.” I walked inside. It was strange. No one home. I glanced at my wristwatch – it was about 8:00 p.m. Maybe they’re still at work. A family of workaholics. I walked fully in and closed the door. I was met with silence. Not just silence, but absence. A different kind of emptiness than I remembered. The air was still, unperturbed, as if nothing had changed since the day I left.

Throwing off all my belongings, I walked quickly to my room. Tears stung my eyes.

Nothing had changed – literally. Everything was in its place, hoping for my attention when I eventually would come back home.

Here was that view of the playground from the window. The kids have grown up, and the playground has languished - it looks more like a horror movie set now. But the memories of those who played there cannot be erased. I miss those carefree times.

Here stands a soft elephant toy looking at me with its button eyes. I remember buying it almost with my last pocket money when I went to summer camp with a friend. I miss our friendship that withered over the years.

Here are a bunch of certificates and awards from when I was an active athlete. I never went pro. I miss the feeling of winning and competing.

Here’s my first perfume, a birthday present from my godmother. It’s still in its packaging.

Here’s the dry aquarium. The fish is gone. I missed that.

Here’s a stack of my notebooks that I never used because they were too pretty. What was I waiting for?

Here’s my school bag - ready for tomorrow, for the ordinary life that never came.

The war came before the math test.

Adulthood came before I was ready for it.

I would have given anything to still be able to write that math test.

Here are friendship bracelets. I remember my friends and I weaving them at a sleepover on a warm summer day after the last day of the school year. I miss them.

Here’s a little baby rattle. It wasn’t here before. My brother became a father. I missed it.

On the wall hangs a high school diploma with honors and a letter of admission to university. My sister had completed a major life stage and had already taken the first step into a new one, and I wasn’t there to support her. I missed that.

Here lies a cat’s dusty bed. He was gone a year ago. I wasn’t there when he took his last breath. I missed it. Here…

I left my room. Crossing the hallway to go to my parents’ room, I automatically looked down and paused. The carpet was the color of the fur of the cat who liked to sleep on it. I had to lift my feet higher to avoid stepping on his tail. The tail was gone.

Walking into my parents’ room, dusk surrounded me. It was already evening outside, but the streetlights gave plenty of light through the windows. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what it was yet. There was no sound, no smell, no rustle. It felt like the room was frozen in one moment.

My attention was drawn to my parent’s bed. It wasn’t so much a place to sleep as a gathering point for the whole family. How many movies we watched on it, how many board games we played, and how many English words and books we read there in an attempt to find the best future anywhere but here.

Dad liked to sleep on the right side, Mom on the left. There was a nightstand by each side of the bed.

The right side of the bed was made up, the sheets were tucked behind the mattress as if in a hotel. There was an open book on the nightstand about halfway down – Dad didn’t use bookmarks, always remembered where he left off. I miss that.

There was a glass by the book. Dad liked to convince himself that it was good to drink water in the morning, so he put the cup by the bed in the evening. The cup was empty, the water hadn’t been there for a long time.

The door of his side of the closet was half-open, but nothing had been touched. His clothes hung as if waiting for him to reach them. But a thin layer of dust covered the shoulders of his jacket.

Something caught my eye. There was another painting hanging among the colorful drawings of my childhood. It hadn’t been there when I left. Black and white. Frozen in time. The eyes looking back at me were familiar. The same eyes I see in the mirror every day. The same smile I desperately hide from those around me. This picture wasn’t there before. There was a small black ribbon pinned in the corner of the picture.

The realization came like a heavy stone on my chest.

It became difficult to breathe.

And then...

The sound of a key in the lock.

The door opened.

Without thinking, I turned and ran to the front door.

Mom. Brother. Sister.

All dressed in black.

My chest tightened.

There wasn’t enough air.

I had missed it all.