Coming Home: Surviving the crash-landing.
A childhood dream of constant flight became a way of life. Pandemic ended that. Who am I if I am not in motion?
“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”
James Baldwin
A recurring dream:
I’m strapped into a rocketship. It’s small — a Calvin and Hobbs, interplanetary probe. Just me and the steering wheel. I’m ready to launch from the front lawn of my home.
My family are gathered to wave goodbye.
I’m impatient.
The rocket fires and I fly. Immediately I’m leaving the atmosphere, entering the darkness of space. I didn’t wave goodbye, so I look back. Home is a pinpoint far below.
I see Mum and Dad. They’re outside the house still, but not waving. They’re talking to each other as if they’ve forgotten me. Their life carries on. There’s no point in waving now. They’ve moved on. They can’t see me.
I turn back to the controls and look beyond them into space.
Indifference.
I’m never going home again.
I’m excited in the dream and also when I wake.
Wrapped in my rocket, I’m safe against the danger and cold. Secure.
