Destination Unknown
Maya Kachra
I walk to my front door, push it open, and step through. As soon as I seal it between me and my family, everything feels quiet like the middle of winter. I step away and stumble down the front steps. Turning around to take a final look at the house floods me with the many memories it holds: Christmas cookie decorating. Reading on the little swing set in the backyard. Grueling fights. Silent dinnertimes. The magenta front door has a large brass knocker at the top, and meticulously placed around the porch are potted mums and tall grasses. A stack of white, plastic chairs sit to the left, ones we haven’t used since my sister’s ninth birthday party. My mother’s garden gnomes are strewn about, too, and windchimes clutter the trees to make a web of metal and string. The place looks like a yard sale.
I stare for a while longer until it hits me again: I have to leave. I pick up my duffle bag up, turn my back, and walk away.
Further down the street I catch a bus and pay using spare change I found in the laundry room. It’s quiet for a Wednesday morning. Normally people are rushing about to their various jobs, but today there are lots of spots to choose from. I walk to the back and take a grimy seat next to the window. Condensation covers most of the glass, providing me the perfect canvas to draw on. I watch the passing houses and muddy roads through the blurry window. The occasional student walks by lugging their backpack, reminding me I’m supposed to be sitting through a biology class listening to my teacher drone on about cellular structure right now.
I write my name on the cool glass before walking into the train station and purchasing a ticket at a booth to Toronto, where my older brother lives. Dario always makes me feel better. He’s the only one in our family who ever listens to me, and that’s what I need right now. To be heard and understood.
Inside the station the air feels cool, and I make my way down the smooth cement stairs. I glance at all the advertisements pasted against the walls and read ones about real-estate agents, McDonald’s, and pet stores. Everything is so clean, dull, and perfectly organized in straight lines and right angles. The opposite of my house. I wonder what Dario thought of this place when he was here. I wonder what my family would say. I think about how they’ve always criticized and manipulated each other in a cycle I felt I couldn’t escape from unless I left.
The train will arrive on platform nine, and I head there to wait so I don’t miss it. It isn’t supposed to come for another hour, so I find a seat on a bench and sit quietly with my duffle bag, contemplating whether or not I’ve made the right decision. Leaving means I’ll have to eventually change schools, and my sister will probably never talk to me again. On the other hand, I’ll no longer feel trapped and unwanted, and I can find a new place where I belong, where I’m heard. My sister doesn’t really talk to me now, anyway.
I look up at the many people walking by; all of them seem to know where they’re headed, as indicated by their brisk but steady paces. Other people have a bounce in their step or take short, loud ones, yet strangely they all seem to carry a sense of confidence. Its funny how much of a personality is contained in a walk. I watch as a tall blonde woman struts by in black high heels. She pulls a suitcase that is so large she nearly crashes into an older man reading a newspaper. I roll my eyes. Walking the opposite way is a short, stubby looking man. He wears a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants, and he complains loudly to someone on his cellphone.
The more I watch, the more I notice how many kinds of people there are. Some wear dark clothes, others bright and patterned. Some wear headphones and hats or walk by laughing with friends. Many of my teachers have told me I’m observant. I have this interest in other people. Watching and learning from strangers fascinates me. Watching my family, however, does not.
I used to spend time observing my family, but I quickly learned I didn’t want to be like them. I didn’t want to learn too much because I was scared I’d start being like them. One morning, while I was in grade eight, my parents argued from the time I got up until I left for school. Yelling. Swearing. Ignoring. I watched them while silently eating my cereal, and I noticed how much energy they spent not loving each other. This happened a lot, but on that day, I got so tired of observing the same pattern that I decided to walk to school even though it was raining, so I got up and left. Nobody noticed. After having a horrible day, my mom picked me and my sister up but wouldn’t listen to me explain my day at all. She didn’t even try. I felt so powerless, I fell silent, put my headphones in and sunk into my seat. I always have my headphones on when we’re in the car now.
I lose track of time watching the other passengers as they wait, and soon enough my train arrives. I take my duffle bag and shuffle through the doors along with the rest of those waiting on the platform. I take an empty window seat across from an elderly man, whose skin is well tanned and his scruffy hair spreads across his chin. The woman sitting diagonally from me looks completely different, with a dark purple dress and heavy makeup covering her skin to the point it could be mistaken for plastic. She holds herself in a regal way, as if her outer image is her sole pride. Thinking about these people’s personal lives reminds me of all the thoughts I’ve bottled up for so long. I often wonder why I am not good enough for others, and sometimes the anger I’ve kept quiet for so long makes me feel like I’ll explode. I suddenly become self-conscious and fiddle with the drawstrings of my gray hoodie. My ripped jeans and stripy socks, paired with my scratched-up shoes, make me feel even more like my scraggly fifteen-year-old self. I tie my curly hair into a loose ponytail and settle into my seat.
My family is a complicated and messy thing that has been central to my life. My sister, Jamie-Lynn, is only interested in Facebook and hanging out with her friends. When we were younger, I was only the annoying little sister she never wanted to spend time with, unless she needed something. Now, the distance between us has only increased and developed into a one-sided relationship. Dario, my older brother, has always been there for me growing up, like a steady rock in a river. When he turned eighteen and moved out to Toronto, we grew more distant, but he was still the only one who ever listened to me. He calls me on my birthday every year and we talk about random things for hours. One time he even agreed to have a Skype call on his only day off work because I had a tough day and needed somebody to vent to. Mom and Dad on the other hand, are always arguing, especially about me and how defiant and uncontrollable I am. When they fight, I walk to the quite park an hour away and sit on the cold swing set and let my mind wander. I’ve never fit in with people my age, even though I’ve tried. Often before I would fall asleep at night, tucked under my covers, I allowed warm tears to trickle down my cheeks. But only then.
“Miss, are you all right?” the man across from me asks.
I’m so startled to hear him speak that at first I don’t even realize he means me. I slowly nod, and he asks me where I’m headed. I’m not used to strangers talking to me, and I don’t want to tell him too much.
“I’m going to visit my brother,” I reply. He nods and returns to his novel.
As I sit in my seat and wait for the train to depart, I begin hearing other people’s conversations. A man two seats over is frantically talking on his phone and keeps repeating that him and his lawyer had no idea what was happening. His voice rises as he reassures whomever he’s talking to that he never meant to hurt anyone.
“Honey, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He pauses and scowls, listening to the response. “Can’t we meet up and talk about this? You’re being ridiculous, we can sort through this together.”
It must be a bad breakup, I decide, or a divorce. He seems desperate, like depending on how the conversation goes, he could end up losing everything. I only hear his side of the story, though. Does he actually deserve to be left?
What if Dario lets me down? I think suddenly. What if he can’t help me? What if he doesn’t even listen? What if he’s too busy and I am not worth the time?
Another girl around my age is slouched against the seat across from the man on the phone. She wears a yellow raincoat, her auburn hair looks damp, and her high-tops are scuffed at the toe. She’s pretty, but it looks like she carries her sadness with her. She looks unreachable, like she’s at a loss of what to do. I wish I could comfort her. I wouldn’t tell her everything would be okay and go back to normal; I know that’s never true. I would tell her how strong and independent she is, and that she will pull through eventually. Even if it seems as if everything is lost, it isn’t, there is still hope. I think if I were to talk to her, I actually wouldn’t talk at all. I’d listen, and that would be enough.
The train starts to move and I sink back into my chair. I know I shouldn’t be staring or eavesdropping on other people’s conversations, so I brush away those thoughts and focus on the passing scene outside my widow. The brightly coloured leaves and dark autumn clouds blur into one beautiful, abstract picture. Contrasting shades of dark and light keep my eyes curiously following the view. We pass a cluster of houses, and while it was only for a brief moment, I notice that the tallest house has white plastic chairs stacked on the lawn, just like my house.
After watching the view for a little while longer, I begin feeling sleepy, so I lean against the glass and let my eyes flutter shut. I dream that I’m in a grassy field approaching a river. The sun appears to be a pinkish-orange and beams down on me. The humid air warms my skin as I slowly wade into the river; it is so brown and murky that I can’t see anything below the surface. I stumble over something and splash into the cool water. After resurfacing, I am I’m face-to-face with a massive set of jagged jaws. An alligator. I quickly scramble to my feet and start running in the river, the alligator chasing me down. I can’t move very fast in the water, and I let out a curdling scream that I don’t even recognize. The alligator approaches with its mouth wide, and everything goes black.
I wake to the attendant’s voice, her squeaky tone announcing that we’ll be arriving in Toronto within the next twenty minutes. While I gather my stuff together, I get a text from my dad, then one from my mom. They begin frantically messaging me, one after the other, demanding to know why I haven’t shown up at school. They say they’ve contacted everyone they know and that they’re out looking for me. My stomach begins feeling queasy, but I don’t respond. Dario’s name pops up on my screen right before I close my phone, and I click open his messages.
Hey, what’s going on? Dad told me you aren’t home or at school. please talk to me.
A pang of guilt shoots through my chest, but I grit my teeth and force myself not to respond, even thought it’s Dario. I tuck my phone away, pick up my stuff, and leave my seat.
When the train doors open at Union Station, I grab my bag and step outside with the other passengers. It takes me a minute to orient myself inside the station’s main concourse and to locate the right door to exit through. I can’t really remember where my brother’s building is, so once I get outside, I just pick a direction and start moving. I figure I’ll walk until I recognize something. I move quickly along the busy streets, and look up at the tall buildings and billboards. Everything seems so much bigger than in my hometown, and I struggle to use the map I have open on my phone.
I walk for a long time, until the buildings get smaller and the sunlight shines down in the opposite direction, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. I glance up and notice a billboard with a large painted finger, which points back toward the station. In bold pink letters, it reads: change your plans and head this way for the best burgers in the city! I became a vegetarian when I was around seven, but the sign still makes me laugh. My phone goes off again.
Tegan, are you there? please tell us you’re okay!? what’s going on!
My fingers begin lightly tapping the illuminated screen as sweat trickles down my temples. I write and delete. Write. Delete. I have to stop walking in order to clear my head and focus, but when I do the guilt in my stomach feels like it’s engulfing me. I decide not to respond and put the phone back in my pocket.
I cross the street and walk along the sidewalk, lost in my thoughts, when a hand taps me on my shoulder. I jump before turning around. It’s another girl, and she asks me where the train station is.
“It’s in the other direction,” I tell her. “If you turn around and head straight, you can’t miss it.” She thanks me and hurries away.
I keep walking past yield signs, blinking lights, and dead ends. I doubt myself even more now and question if going to see my brother was the right idea in the first place. I haven’t spoken to him in months. What if he tells our parents where I am?
The wind grows stronger as I wander through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Nothing looks familiar as I struggle to brace myself as the wind lashes my hair around my face like a whip. It’s loud, but I can still hear a faint ping in my pocket over the noise. I ignore it. I hear it again, and this time my curiosity wins.
I’m surprised to see a notification that Jamie-Lynn has tagged me in a picture — she never does that. I tap on the image and enlarge it to fit my whole screen. It takes me a minute to recognize the faces before a fuzziness fills my chest. The photograph is from four years ago at a Halloween party. My dad was dressed up as Fred from Scooby-Doo, and my mom wore a Beetlejuice costume. Jamie-Lynn and I were bacon and eggs, and Dario insisted on dressing as a baboon. We stuffed ourselves with so much candy that night that when we got home, we felt so sick and all we could do was lounge on the couch and watch movies until the next morning.
Looking at the photo, I begin laughing and crying at the same time. I remember that night; we all looked so different, and we were the weirdest family there by far. I miss that, feeling like a family. While my eyes glaze over the screen, Jamie-Lynn sends me a text asking where I am, and my heart jumps a little. While I stand on the sidewalk, soaking everything in, my phone pings again. It’s Dario.
Tegan, please talk to me, are you OK? where are you?
My eyes well up, and I quickly type back.
I’m here in Toronto. I left. I can’t take it anymore. I feel guilty and angry and hurt all wrapped in one. I don’t know what to do.
He responds with gentleness.
I know it’s hard, but I’m here for you. You will regret leaving. I know it might sound like a good idea, but it only distances you for a brief bit of time. Trust me. I made that mistake. I don’t want you to make the same one.
I pause for a moment, and then type: But I feel like leaving is my only option, can I really stay somewhere like that? You know what it’s like. I want to be somewhere I actually matter.
It’s up to you, he responds after a minute. But running won’t do what you think it will. About a week after I left, I wanted to go back, but I was too ashamed and the time that had passed just made it harder. Whatever you’re feeling right now is valid, but running won’t change that or fix anything. going home will.
I nod, even though he can’t see me. Deep down, I know he’s right.
Can you come get me?
I’ll meet you at the burger place in 20 mins.
