10 Going Home

I stared at the homeless man with the certainty that he had visited the same lake and ramshackle house. "You've been there?"

"Yes. Just over thirty years ago." With joyous laughter, the man slapped his knee. "I didn't think I'd ever meet someone else who had taken the path of the bluebells. How much time did you lose?"

"What do you mean?"

"From when you left till now?"

I pulled the blanket tighter over my shoulders. "A little over a year. You?"

The man sat back, surprised by my news. "Only a year? I lost forty."

My eyes widened. "Forty years? How long did you spend at the lake?"

"About one year in their time. That damn woman didn't warn me about the difference in time." The homeless man became subdued almost as quickly as he had become excited. He sighed and said, "She wasn't happy when I told her that I wanted to go home, especially since she told me her real name."

"Mary?"

The man gave me a confused look. "Ekko. Who's Mary?"

"The Sioux Indian woman."

The man's brow arched upon recognition. "Ah. I knew her as Laila."

I chuckled nervously. "Sorry, she still goes by that. Mary is just something used between us. What's Ekko's real name?

The man wagged his finger at me, smiling. "I'm not going to tell. I may have left, but I will never betray her. Besides, they have quite the temper. If I remember correctly, Laila had an even fiercer one."

"Ya, they're an emotional bunch. Laila was the one that took me to the lake."

"Did she share her real name?"

"No. I only stayed for 10 days. Laila had planned my visit and warned me of what I might lose. She told me that she didn't want to ruin my life if I should decide to return."

"Wish they would have warned me." The man scooped up a spoonful of soup. "But I have no regrets. I'm still glad I went."

The cold night air continued to nip at my exposed skin, reminding me of my current predicament. I asked the homeless man, "Why do you live here?"

The man shrugged as he swallowed his soup. "When I returned, I didn't feel as if I belonged anymore. My last living relative had died a year prior, and I knew no one would believe my story. Worse yet, if they did believed my identity, I could have been tried as a deserter."

"A deserter?"

"I was in the army you see, during the war."

Doing the quick math, I guessed, "World War Two?"

"Yes. I was a prison guard here in Minnesota. Many of the German prisoners were spread across the country with some ending up here in Minnesota."

"My father told me that German prisoners planted many of the scenic pine trees that we now see along the highways up here."

"That's true. The government gave them chores to keep them busy, to keep them fit. That was when I ended up deserting, not on purpose, not really."

"What happened?"

"We were out having the prisoners plant trees when one of the men went missing."

"He escaped?" I asked.

"No. There were only a dozen or so true escape attempts from Minnesota. Mostly, the Germans wanted to stretch their legs when they wandered off. They didn't want to go back to Europe and fight. Some even stayed here after the war. This particular prisoner loved the landscape and would often go looking for a lake to go swimming. That afternoon, when he didn't return, we assumed that he had gotten lost, so a couple of us took a truck and went searching. We had stopped at a known lake to stretch our own legs when I heard whispering from the woods. When I noticed faint movement in the shadows, my two fellow guards thought it to be a deer, but I wasn't so sure and went to investigate. About 100 yards in, I again heard whispers, but this time, I saw something moving swiftly through the trees: a tall woman with the strangest eyes, wearing close to no clothing."

"Ekko?"

"Yes." Fully recalling the encounter, the man licked his smiling lips. "She took my breath away. I asked if she was lost or needed help, but she just stared at me with those stunning eyes. When she didn't respond, I began to feel self-conscious for staring at her and turned away, apologizing. She asked me—in that funny accent of hers— if I liked what I saw. When I peeked over my shoulder, I saw that she had removed the rest of her clothing. As she approached, I stood there paralyzed, unsure of what I should do. That is when she said, 'How about start with a kiss.'"

"Because she was reading your mind," I said.

"Yes," replied the man. "She later told me that she knew that she liked me, that she had learned everything that she needed to know within seconds of looking inside my head."

"Did you kiss her?" I asked.

"Damn right I did. I would have done anything that woman wanted right then and there. It was love at first sight; the shock was so great that it felt like being struck by lightning. Afterward, she took me to a more secluded lake where we washed up by skinny-dipping. When she asked if I wanted to go away with her, I said yes without hesitation."

Studying the homeless man's face in the dim firelight, I could sense we experienced many of the same things. "Why did you come back?"

The man's smile quickly faded. "The war. I was damaged in the war and had to come back. A piece of me will forever be anchored to this world."

Unsure if I should ask, I sat silently and turned my gaze to the fire.

"You see, I was wounded in North Africa in 42. I took artillery shrapnel in the shoulder and neck." The man pulled the collar of his jacket and shirt to one side, revealing his collarbone. "The scars used to run from my chest to my ear. I healed up nicely in hospital, but my shoulder was never 100%, so the Army made me a prison guard here in the states."

In the dim light, I failed to see his scar. "I don't see anything."

The man smiled once again. "That's because the fairies fixed me up. They applied some kind of tonic to the scars and made me wash in that lake every evening. Within a couple weeks, the scars had healed completely, even my shoulder; however, there was one thing they could not fix." The man tapped his temple. "They could not undo the war."

I could never truly understand this man's torment, but I now had a basic understanding for his return. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. I was still very appreciative to have full range of my shoulder once again. Plus that neck scar was not attractive."

"I noticed that some of fairies had scars," I said, holding my hands closer to the fire. "Hiero had a scar."

"Those are probably scars of honor. They don't erase those. They wear them with pride, like tattoos. Had you been there longer, you would have learned that."

"Oh." Staring into the fire, I fondly remembered the fires on the beach.

The homeless man asked, "Why did you come back?"

"I have a daughter. I want to see her grow up, if I can."

"Ah." The man nodded, returning to his soup. "That makes sense."

"My friend Laila said she would visit me the next time she comes to our world."

The man's voice softened. "Ekko promised to find me on her next visit, but she never did. They are the most wonderful people who understand what's truly important in life. They love and play earnestly, but they can hold a grudge if you anger them. It's as if all their emotions are hopped up on steroids."

"Are you saying that I shouldn't expect to see Laila ever again?"

"No. I would never want to say that. Each one of them is different. Maybe she will look you up during her next visit. Then again, she may not be able to visit if the door between our worlds remains shut for a long time."

Thinking of the bluebells, I gasped. "I think the door is still open for a little bit longer. Those blue flowers are still in bloom. You could go visit Ekko."

The man shook his head. "You cannot simply follow the flowers on your own; you have to be with someone that knows the way. Besides, I would not go even if I could." The man again tapped his temple. "I'm right where I want to be. I have fresh air to breathe, live in a nice small town, and get plenty of exercise by walking about and collecting aluminum cans. I'm happy, unlike those people who return to their cluttered houses after a long day of being trapped behind a desk, getting fat and old from the unnecessary stress. I don't envy them at all."

"That's what I'm going to try to do: return to my house and boring job, to sit behind a desk until retirement."

"You must really love her," said the man.

"Laila?"

"Your daughter."

I smiled. "Yes. I lost a year of her growing up. I don't plan on losing anymore."

"Good for you. Too many parents give up too early."

Do you miss her, Ekko?"

"Every day."

The thought of never seeing Laila again caused my head to sag.

The man could see my despair and tapped my shoulder. "It's not easy coming back, but there is a reason for everything—even if we are too dimwitted to understand it. The fairies say that only love can bring you back, and so it has, but what those suckers don't tell you is that you can never go home."

Despite a cheerful night of shared stories in front of a warm fire, sleep did not come to me in that tunnel entrance. At first light, I began my preparations to leave. Using an old nail found amongst the trash, I found the gold pliable and undid a couple links from the chain. I delicately left a pair of links atop the homeless man's cooking fuel can so that he would easily find them upon waking. Without making a sound, I left my friend to his blissful slumber.

I next took two more freed gold links to the local pawnshop where I received enough spending money for a few days' meals and a bus ticket back to southern Minnesota. The remaining gold chain would remain around my neck until I could properly assess its value.

After the most monotonous bus ride, I finally reached my home street in that evening to find a new family already living within my home. The 'sold' sign in the yard indicated that the house had been foreclosed property, probably sold in auction just weeks prior.

Two hours later, on the other side of town, I reached the home of my only friend.

When Dee opened her door, she stared at me for a long moment without saying a word.

Feeling the tension, I said, "Hey, Dee."

My friend hugged me before pushing me away as she angrily slapped at my shoulders until tears burst from her eyes. She then again hugged me tightly. "We thought you were dead."

"No. Just went away to a hippie commune for a year."

"What? Where?" Dee wiped at her tears. "The police looked everywhere for you."

"Um, Canada."

"Fool, why didn't you tell anyone you were going?"

"I didn't know I was going."

Dee's eyes narrowed with doubt.

"A woman invited me, and I went on the spur of the moment."

Dee punched me on the shoulder.

"Ow."

"Why didn't you call or email?"

"They didn't have electricity."

Dee punched me again. "How do you survive a Canadian winter without electricity?"

"Wood fires and blankets."

Dee punched me again.

Rubbing my shoulder, I took a step back. "You can punch me all night if you want, but can you punch me inside, out of the cold?"

"I thought you liked the cold."

"I'm sorry, Dee. I didn't plan this. I had no way of contacting anyone."

Dee glared at me until her resolve began to melt. She stepped forward and hugged me once more. "Get your ass inside before I change my mind."

As Dee reheated leftovers from her recent dinner, I sat at her extended kitchen counter and shared my story—of what could be believed. I told her about Mary and the peaceful 'commune' in Canada, divulging the ramshackle house and farm, even the peaceful cabin located in the peaceful valley, confessing at the end that I had come back for my daughter.

Just mentioning my own daughter's name caused me to jump up from my chair. Without me having to ask, Dee gestured to a small desk in the corner and said I could use her computer, which I immediately did for the next hour.

My ex-wife—always willing to show her displeasure—did not disappoint, for her disdain for me had greatly increased over the past year; however, despite all this, she let me see my daughter on video chat.

My daughter's minimal vocabulary had grown slightly, but verbal communication still remained impossible. And since signing with hands never grew past the same handful of words learned at an earlier age, we did what we always did: we shared smiles as she showed me her favorite stuffed animals. She would hold up a toy and say something in gibberish, and it took everything within me to hold back my tears. My heart swelled with joy at seeing her, but her speech delay gave me immeasurable pang. I would have traded anything, even my life, to give her the ability to communicate, to free her from that isolation.

Later, Dee returned from her laundry and joined me on the couch. "How did it go with you daughter?"

"The same," I replied. "I need to go see her in the Philippines."

"And do what?" Dee sat back, crossing her arms. "The only thing currently different is that you cannot hug her. What would you do for work?"

"I could find a job there. I could do hospital billing over the internet."

"You hate the heat, and you know your ex will make your life unbearable."

"I know, but I have a responsibil—"

"Stop." Dee briefly held up her hand. "I know you love your daughter, but you have to get your life back on track here before you do anything."

"Perhaps. My head is stuffed full of indecisions right now." I sipped from a cup of tea that Dee had prepared for me. "Firstly, I have to visit the bank in the morning and see what happened to my mortgage and finances."

"My brother has some clothes left here from his last visit. Feel free to take any of them. It will be chilly in the morning. He has an old fall jacket hanging by the door that you can use."

"Thanks, Dee."

"What did you wear to survive the Canadian winter?"

"Um, big animal skins with big furry boots. You know those wacky Canadians."

Dee elbowed me in the arm. "Just tell me if you need to borrow some money."

"I have enough to get through a couple more days. And tomorrow, after I visit bank, I'm going to sell part of this." I reached under my collar and pulled up the gold chain, letting it fall upon my shirt."

The sight of the jewelry caused Dee to spin in her seat. She held the chain between her fingers and whistled. "This is very old."

"Ya. I sold a couple links for the bus ticket back here. After visiting with my daughter on video chat, I looked up the value of gold on the internet."

"Be sure to visit two or three dealers to make sure you get the best price."

"I will." Not a particular fan of opulence, I tucked the gold back under my shirt.

With one brow raised, Dee asked, "Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift. Someone in the commune realized that I had lost everything when I followed one of their flock to their farm. They insisted that I take it since they're self sufficient and cashless."

Dee's look became more suspicious. "A gift?"

I shrugged. "Canadians."

The following morning, I ventured to the bank and learned that my house had been foreclosed and sold by their subsidy mortgage company. The automatic house payments first drained my limited checking, then depleted my savings—which had already been priorly depleted by my ex wife when she returned to the Philippines. The bank did make a small profit from the sale of my home, but other outstanding debts tied to my name used up said profit, which resulted in the freezing my banking accounts. When the police inquired with the bank about my disappearance, the bank informed them that my last account activity had been that day I biked through the woods. I then asked for my accounts to be reactivated, and after much waiting, had my checking account returned to me with a simple $20 cash deposit.

Needing more funds, I left the bank on foot for a gold buyer to begin pricing my chain, but within a few blocks of the bank, a large black sedan pulled up next to me. A man and woman, both dressed sharply, exited the vehicle with what appeared to be police badges in plain view. Both cordial and polite, the two promptly stood on either side of me.

The woman held up her identification badge. "Mr. Clarkson?"

"Yes."

"May we have a word? I'm Detective Christine Pederson."

"From the city?" I asked.

"Yes." The woman slid her identification back into her pocket before gesturing to her colleague. This is Detective Robert Nicks. We were assigned to your missing person's case."

I felt my face flush. "Oh, right. I was going to call you today or tomorrow. I just got back last night." Feeling uneasy from the unexpected attention, I nervously bit my lip until I felt compelled to say, "Sorry."

Detective Pederson patiently smiled. "May we ask; where were you?"

"Oh. Um, would you believe me if I told you that I followed a girl to a hippie commune where they had no phones or electricity. The commune is on a tiny farm remote in the woods?"

The male detective shared a look with his partner before returning his attention to me. "Must have been some woman for you to abandon your cell phone and car in the forest, not to mention your job."

Thinking of Mary made me smile. "Yes, she is. But it wasn't perverted or anything. She simply became my best friend."

Removing a notepad, Detective Pederson prepared her pen to write. "What's her name?"

"What?"

"What's her name? The city and the state of Minnesota spent a large amount of resources looking for you. We are obliged to follow up and make sure no foul play has been committed."

"Ah right. Her name is Mary."

"What is her last name?" continued Detective Pederson.

"Um..." In the cool morning air of early autumn, I suddenly felt very warm. I debated inventing a last name, but immediately realized that the detectives would follow up and not find her, false name or not.

"Is there a problem?" asked Detective Nicks.

"No, sir" I said. "I don't know her last name."

"Don't know her name?" he repeated. "You don't know the full name of your best friend?"

"Sorry," I said. "What can I say; the hippies didn't believe in conventional naming. To them, names where restrictive to the spirit."

"And where may we find this commune," asked Detective Pederson.

Shit, I thought. "You cannot visit it."

The female detective's friendly demeanor began to turn cold. "Why not?"

"It's in Canada."

"I see." Detective Pederson slid her notepad into her jacket pocket. "We still need to close this case. Would you be willing to come to the station to help us do so? All completely voluntary on your part."

Seeing the open door offered to me, I thought best to pass through it in the most cooperative manner possible. "I'm currently unemployed. Would now be a good time?"

Detective Nicks opened the back door to the sedan. "Now would be the perfect time."

I presented my hands to Detective Pederson.

She looked at them briefly and smiled. "Cuffs are not needed. You are not under arrest."

"Ah, good," I said, sliding into the back seat of the sedan.

The female detective slid in next to me and asked, "Would you be willing to submit fingerprints so we can be assured of your identity?"

"Yes of course. My friend Dee and my former boss can attest to my identity too."

"Good. We may ask them for an official statement."

"Will I be punished or fined for disappearing?"

"Only if you did it in malice," said Detective Pederson.

"I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just got swept up." Nervously twiddling my thumbs, I asked, "How did you know I was back?"

Detective Hicks pulled the sedan out into traffic. "We told the bank to alert us of any activity on your accounts. They contacted us last night when you tried to use your credit cards."

The female detective seemed to be studying me when she said, "The bank called us again when you met with a banker this morning."

"I see." I took a calming breath as I glanced out the passenger window.

"What did the bank tell you?" asked Detective Pederson.

"That I'm broke," I replied, shrugging nervously. "I've incurred some debt from neglecting my finances, but nothing I can't fix once I get back to work."

Continuing to eye me, the female detective asked, "Are you going back to your former job?"

"Don't know," I replied. "I will return to my old job if my boss will have me."

The detective driving glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Was she worth it?"

Clutching my hands together, I took a moment to ponder the question. Staring out the passenger window, I smiled and replied with a soft-spoken, "Yes."