Checking for the evidence

You tear out your room and down the stairs driven like a man possessed in nothing but your underwear and sleep shirt. You need to check the photograph. You need some confirmation that you aren’t going mad, that it's the world that’s changed and not you. You need to know. You have to know. You check every pocket, shaking your coat upside down until you watch the photo float down out of it like a leaf. You leap for it, grasping for it. You look at it. There’s you, your mom, and your dad standing in the back row. Then in the front row there’s Caroline, Max, and―

“Son?” You look behind you. There’s your mom. But so many things just seem off. From the way she carries herself; to the way she is holding her beer, which you are pretty sure she never used to drink; to the way she is looking at you, almost standoffish. Studying her for a moment you also notice that she has more gray in her head of brown hair then you remember.

“Hey mom.” You reply looking up. She seems just different enough that you only just recognize her as your own mother. You’re reeling still, not sure how to take all of the events of today together. You sigh and sit down on the floor in the foyer, thoughts swimming through your head

“What’s up? Why are you thundering around the house?” She asks.

“Oh,” you reply, flashing him the photograph, “I just forgot this in my jacket pocket, that’s all.” She steps over and looks at the picture, then stares you down for a moment, genuine concern flitting across her face.

“That’s a pretty beat up old picture.” She observes.

“Yeah.” You reply. She takes a sip of beer.

“You kept it the whole time you were away?” She asks.

“I did.” You answer, rubbing the fraying edge in between your fingers.

“Wow.” She replies, surprised. There’s a moment of dead air before she speaks again. “I didn’t get the chance to say this earlier, but welcome home John.” She says, motioning you in for a hug. You hug her without a second thought, your mind elsewhere still.

“Thanks mom.” You sigh as you let go.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you found your photo too.” She says, softly smiling. “Best get a move on before your father sees you walking around the house like that.”

“Like what?” You ask reflexively, looking down over yourself. You’re just wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, to your eyes there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong.

“Like―” Your mom pauses and frowns, seemingly unsure how to finish her sentence.

“Mom?” You hazard, and her eyes snap to yours.

“You know what, forget I said anything,” she chuckles, waving you off, “we’re just glad you’re home. Night John.”

“Night mom.” You reply, starting to walk away, left with more questions than answers.