DISCLAIMER: Don't own them, yeah yeah yeah…
THE JOURNEY HOME – PART 2
It's finally time. I arrived at O'Hare Airport the required hour before my flight and have been sitting here in the terminal since then, waiting. I am very aware of the piece of paper folded neatly in my pocket and it's all I can do not to grab it, unfold it, and start reading. The hotel manager gave me the paper as I was leaving. He said that she had given it to him and her instructions were to give it to me to read on the plane. The way the manager said "she" so significantly that I knew it had to be Abby. For the first time, I understand the American expression, "It's burning a hole in my pocket." But I have to wait until I'm on the plane, flying away from Chicago, towards Croatia.
I am sitting on one of those hard airport chairs with my carryon bag in the chair next to me so no one sits down there. I don't feel like talking to anyone now, and I've had enough experience to know that people tend to get talkative in airports. Looking at me, I don't think anyone would pick up on my nervousness, but inside I'm a wreck. My calm façade is shattered as the attendant calls my flight. I am so lost in thought that I jump clear out of my seat. Here it goes, I think. I pick up my bag and follow the other passengers to the boarding tunnel. Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back. The phrase becomes my mantra as I force myself to keep walking onto the airplane. It's foolish of me to think that Abby would come, but somehow I know I was subconsciously looking for her during my hour-long wait. But I have to go through with this. And so I repeat it to myself: Don't look back. Walking straight ahead, I don't stop until I've found my seat on the plane.
The plane is cold. Or maybe it's just me. Whatever it is, I'm shivering as we taxi the runway. I barely pay attention to the safety instructions on the TV screens, so intent I am on keeping warm. Finally we are ready to take off. I clutch the armrests so my knuckles turn white, suddenly afraid. The woman sitting beside me gives me a sympathetic look, saying, "Your first time flying?"
I shake my head, unwilling to talk. It's not that I'm afraid of flying. But I can't shake an uneasy feeling about this entire trip. I have a window seat, and as I look over the receding lights of Chicago I think, what am I doing? I stare out the window until the lights of the city are tiny dots below me. Then we are above the clouds and I can see them no longer. I realize that I can read Abby's letter now. And suddenly I am hesitating. After all this anticipation, now I am losing courage? I shake my head at myself, exasperated. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the paper. With a glance to my right to make sure my neighbor isn't snooping, I unfold it and begin to read.
Dear Luka,
I'm not going to pretend that I'm happy you are going to
Croatia. Somehow I know that this isn't
just a friendly visit you're making. But, although I want to, I can't try to talk you out of it. Because there is something there that you
have to do, something you have to face. I know that you haven't been happy being in Chicago lately, that you
haven't been happy being with me. Because of this, I have to let you go. You need to be at peace with your past before you can start to live in
the present. Believe me, I know. I'm still trying to learn that.
You have taught me so much about that – being at peace,
living in the present – and I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you like
you have been for me. Thank you for
helping me like myself again, for helping me see that there is more to life
than the pain. I just hope that you can
come to see that that is true for you, too.
I love you, Luka. I haven't ever told you that, but it's true. I never thought I would love anyone else again, but I was
wrong. And so I will wait for you to come
back. I don't know if or when you will,
but I will wait.
Maybe I shouldn't write all this. I don't want you to feel obligated to do
anything that you don't want to or can't do. But I need you to know that I love you and will miss you. I hope you find what you're looking for.
All my love,
I am stunned. I read the letter over and over, marveling at how well Abby understands me. My heart swells with love and I consider catching the next flight back to Chicago at our layover. But just as swiftly as the feeling of contentment comes, the familiar doubts start creeping in. Danijela. Once again I have betrayed her. My heart sinks and suddenly I am exhausted. I can hardly keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is folding Abby's letter up and placing it in my carryon, next to the photo of Danijela and Jasna.
I sleep fitfully, my dreams filled with images of Chicago and Vukovar. Abby, coming to my hotel room to comfort me after I killed that man on our first date. Danijela, dying on the floor of our apartment as I do CPR on Jasna. Abby. Danijela. Abby. Danijela. The images are swirling around in my head and I wake, sweaty and trembling. I don't know how to react to these dreams. My mother always believed that every dream had a meaning, but what could this be telling me? I should give my love to Abby? I should honor the wedding vows I made to Danijela? For the remainder of the flight, I force myself to stay awake so the dreams don't come again.
Finally we are landing on the soil of my home country. Immediately as I step off the plane, I am assaulted by memories. Smells, sounds…I am shocked to hear so many people speaking in Croatian. We are ushered through customs and as the official stamps my Croatian passport, he says, "Welcome home." My head snaps up to look at this man, but he is already on to the next traveler and I am left to wonder at his choice of words. Welcome home. Is this even my home anymore?
As I wait by the baggage claim for my luggage, I watch the activity around me. So many reunions. Parents, children, lovers, friends…I hear "Tata! Tata! (Daddy! Daddy!)" behind me and gasp, turning around. It's been so long since I've heard that word. A man laughs as two young children and a woman run up to him. He scoops up the little girl and boy in turn, and then kisses the woman. I have to turn away before my emotions get the best of me. Years ago, that could have been me. Should be me right now.
Fifteen minutes later, the terminal has cleared out and I am left standing with my suitcase and carryon sitting at my feet. It seems that everyone on my flight was met at the airport by someone. Again I wonder what I am doing here. I slowly make my way to the outside door and get into the lone cab that's waiting. "Yes, I need to go to…" I begin in English out of habit and then correct myself, giving the driver the address of my father's house. For a fleeting moment, I consider the address of my old apartment, but I can't go there yet. I wonder if they've rebuilt. As we drive through the city, I stare straight ahead, not willing to search the buildings and faces of people for anything that would trigger a memory of my previous life. Then I realize how ridiculous that is. I am in Croatia, but don't want to be faced with familiar things? Crazy. And yet, I cannot make myself look anywhere but the road ahead of us.
All too soon, it seems, the cab is pulling up to the house where I spent my childhood. It hasn't changed in all these years. This is it, I tell myself, and get out of the cab. Since I forgot to change my money at the airport, I pay the driver in American bills, which he is only too happy to accept. And the cab is gone, leaving me standing alone in front of the house. I am suddenly nervous as I approach the door. I raise my hand to knock, but before I can, the door opens. "Luka?" My brother's shocked face appears from inside and he reaches out to embrace me. The next minutes are filled with a flurry of greetings, questions, and explanations as my brother, Alek, calls for my father, who comes running from the next room.
Later, I am overwhelmed as I sit at the kitchen table with my family: my father, Alek, and my sister-in-law, Melisa. My father, having gotten over the shock of seeing me again, is beaming. "It is so good to have the whole family together again!" he exclaims. An uncomfortable silence falls over the group as we realize that statement is not entirely true. The whole family includes my mother, Danijela, Jasna, and Marco. My father pretends not to notice the concerned looks that Alek and Melisa are giving me, and I take this opportunity to ask if I can make a phone call to Chicago. "I'll be fast, and I'll pay you back." My father nods and suddenly I want to take my request back. Even though I promised Abby that I'd call her, I have no idea what I'll say.
Picking up the phone, I dial the long number, my hands trembling a bit. It rings and rings and when the answering machine finally picks it up, I sigh, realizing that I had been holding my breath. "Abby," I begin, "It's Luka. I wanted you to know that I'm here. The flight was no problem, and I am at my father's house now. Ummm…I can't talk long because of the cost, so…goodbye." I hang up, relieved that I didn't have to talk in person to Abby, but kicking myself for sounding so cold. What is wrong with me? For what seems like the hundredth time today, I think, what am I doing?