Who Wouldn't Want To Be Me

“Wow, it’s good to be home,” I sighed as we got out of the car. I stretched, before taking in the familiar sight of my childhood home. Becka got out of the backseat, stretching as well while my mom was bustling to carry bags into the house. The large front yard needed to be mowed – mom had stayed with me for about a week – but other than that it looked the same as when I’d left. The soft blue-grey color of the siding hadn’t changed, nor had the white wrap-around porch with the bench swing sitting on it, just feet from the screen door. I grabbed my bag out of the backseat, and walked up the four steps to the deck, and paused at the door.

I took a deep breath before walking in, and just as I had suspected nothing had changed. There was still shoes lined up by the door – my rubber boots sat next to my mom’s, and a few of her other pairs of shoes sat there as well. It felt like my stomach twisted when I saw my father’s rubber boots were still in the corner, where they’d always been, as well as his steel-toed work boots. I kicked off my shoes and nudged them into the line, before taking another breath and continuing into the house. Again, nothing else had changed, except for a few new pictures on the mantle; a media shot of me after scoring my first goal as a Penguin, and a copy of the picture of Jordan and I with my first goal puck. I smiled as I saw them, proudly on display at the front of the mantel, next to the one of my dad and I the first time I’d been skating.

“Becka’s mom just came and got her; she said she’ll be over later,” mom said as she walked in, and I noticed her sad smile as she saw me looking at the pictures.

“It took me forever to find that picture of you,” she walked up beside me and picked the media shot up off of the mantel to hold while she examined it. “When I finally did, I couldn’t believe how much you looked like your father when he was young.”

I choked on a sob as my eyes began to water. Mom looked up at me, her eyes glistening with tears as well.

“I still miss him so much mom, it was so hard…” she nodded, replacing the picture and pulling me in for a hug.

“I know sweetheart, I feel the same way. Every morning I wake up and still somehow expect him to be down here drinking his coffee and reading the paper, ready to burst with news about your game from the night before,” she admitted, and we both sank to the couch, holding each other and glad to finally have each other’s company again.

When we managed to get ourselves under control my mom began finding ways to busy herself – trying to decide what to make for supper, tidying, that sort of thing. I walked upstairs and went to my bedroom, noticing that it was untouched as well when I opened the door and flicked on the light. I set my bag down on the bed, and walked over to my dresser. Pictures of me and my family, of Becka and myself, and pictures the first NHL game I went to covered the edges of my mirror and filled frames that surrounded the edges. The dresser that I’d built in shop class in twelfth grade was painted black with gold edging – Penguins colors. I smiled before opening the drawer and looking through the T-shirts that were there. One shirt didn’t look as familiar as the others, and when I pulled it out realized it was one of my dad’s. I kept digging, and came up with a few of his old jerseys, and sweaters from the team’s he’d been on or coached – ones that I used to wear on a regular basis before he’d gotten sick. I lifted the fabric to my nose, and felt the tears start up again when the slightest hint of his scent was still there – the Old Spice body wash he used to wear, the after-shave, and the laundry detergent my mother used to use. I slipped into the sweater, and curled up on my bed, closing my eyes and once again feeling like the seventeen-year-old hockey-crazed girl I’d been three years ago. I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in those three years.

“Sweetheart? Are you ready for dinner?” Mom asked quietly as she took a small step into my room. I nodded, slowly getting up, and following my mom downstairs to the kitchen. We ate quietly, before going into the living room and curling up on the couch with a movie. That had been our routine before I’d started playing hockey away from home, and it felt more than natural to fall back into it now.