“It’s supposed to be a home!” Esther screamed into the phone receiver so loud that she could her own heart pounding.
“You know what? I DON’T CARE!” she retorted, slamming down the phone violently.
She sat down on the bed breathing very hard, as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She leaned back resting on her arms looking up at the ceiling.
“Why do we always have to fight?” she said aloud. Only silence responded.
“Why can’t there be a time when I say what I feel, he say’s what he feels and there’s not an eruption of anger?”
Still there was only silence. She stood up and walked to the mirror and looked at what was now in her mind an aging woman. She rubbed her hand across her curls smoothing them back into their pattern as if to make that stray hair obey. She pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her eyes.
“I’m not supposed to have all the answers” she said. “And I don’t think that I do; but I do have an opinion, why can’t I express it?” she looked around the empty and poorly decorated room with her arms outstretched as though she were expecting the chair to answer her.
She walked to her overnight bag and began to put away her toiletries.
“Shampoo, deodorant, body lotion, body splash…” She looked around the room curiously.
“Where’s my bottle of perfume?” She said crawling around the bed.
“Typical!” she exclaimed the hotel bed was on a pedestal so there was nothing under it.
She stood with her hands on her hips scanning the room.
“Where could I have put it?” Maybe I didn’t bring it she began to think to herself instead of talking aloud; a sure sign that she was beginning to become calm again.
The phone rang, and she hesitantly walked to it. It rang again do I want to answer? She thought. I know its Michael and he’s just going to talk me into coming home, and I don’t want to this time. I don’t want to “forgive and begin again.” That’s what pastor Bob had said at their last counseling.
The phone rang for the fourth time and her hand went towards the receiver; but quickly she drew it back, turning her back to the phone. It rang again and she placed her fingers in her ears.
“I won’t answer you!” she screamed
“As a matter of fact I can’t even hear you!” she shouted childishly.
“Hello?” she said very shyly with a question in her voice.
Home is a dwelling place it’s not always perfect; but it is where you live. That means that sometimes you will be happy, sometimes you will be sad, sometimes you’ll feel anger, and sometimes you may even feel like running away; but away is just that, where do you return to? Everyone has to have a place in which one’s domestic affections are centered. A core, place where roots are established, headquarters.
For homes with more than one person, all people involved have to add and subtract from themselves in order to make everything fit. Sometimes the additions or subtractions can be painful as one practices the act of morphing. But when the sacrifices are made equally by all involved; home is where the heart is.
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