Coming Home

“He should be coming down the stairs right now.  His plane landed thirty minutes ago so he should have had plenty of time to get here.  The airport only has ten terminals.”  I listened to my mother chatter endlessly while we waited for my brother.  Her need to be close to us was endearing, but also could be suffocating. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come home.  He had been talking for years about how smothered he felt while living under our mother’s roof.  Taylor had long since been tired of having to answer our mother’s phone calls several times a day.  He had spent the entire summer planting trees somewhere in Oregon and had told my mother there would be spotty cell service and he would call when he could.  I knew it was all a ruse to spend an entire summer free of my mother.  He had gone to Oregon and had planted trees, but that project only lasted for three weeks.  I knew he had spent the rest of the summer hiking and camping along the west coast.  He had been planning this trip all year out of our mother’s sight. 

Ten minutes later, my brother came walking out toward the baggage claim area.  He had lost twenty pounds and looked as happy as I had ever seen him.  I knew he would only stay for a few days before heading back to the wilderness.  This time, I was determined join him.  No matter what. 


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