The Long Walk Home

My walk home was long, quiet, and lonely. All I had with me were my thoughts and a dozen or more questions about everything that happened and everything I didn’t know. That and the looming doom that the dawn would bring had me feeling more down possibly than I had since I’d woken up in this body and realized what happened.

God. To think this all started because I was a little lonely on my birthday. And now I was so deep in over my head at this point that it wasn’t even funny.

Closer to enemies and further from friends. Mysteries abounding in the darkness and worst of all, maybe, trapped in a body that I could barely make heads or tails of with longings and urges that were leading me down paths that, however pleasant in the moment, only made me more confused in the end.

I wish that things were simple, but that was a ridiculous thing to wish for. A simple trip back in time? A simple journey in a body that didn’t belong to me? How was anything that complicated and unprecedented, supposed to be simple?

Celebrations for the start of the school year hadn’t ended at that party, or any of the other no doubt numerous ones scattered about the place, but rather had spilled out across campus. Not in big ways perhaps but there were signs of them littered about here and there.

Crumpled red plastic cups and ripped condom wrappers. Little discarded scraps of forgotten clothing that showed the true lengths that people went to, so much farther than I had.

Because I’d gone far further than I was willing to or absolutely should have, but I didn’t really go that far in the end. This was college, a time of excess and letting go and indulging with reckless abandon. Experiences were oversized here, caution thrown to the wind and all that. Compared to some, I was downright demure.

I didn’t and I do not regret anything that I did. It felt good, far better than I ever thought it could, to do what I did. To get closer to Rachel, give in to pleasure with Blake, and to finally speak my mind with Eddie after all those years of guilt. The morning would bring contemplation and second guessing, but tonight I was more than content to walk home with a bit of a smile on my face.

My house or Lucas’ house or whatever it was, it was just off campus. I crossed the border mostly without questioning and the bigger buildings and open spaces gave way to suburbia, neatly ordered little homes with little lawns and darkened windows.

It was late now. Not late by college standards but by the standards of adult decency, certainly too late for most people to be up. I was looking forward to a long shower and an even longer sleep and some actual peace and quiet, no need to speak to others or pretend to be Emily anymore tonight.

But the lights on the ground floor of the home told me Lucas was awake still and I knew that going in through the front door would mean talking, would mean having to have a conversation. I didn’t know if I had it in me to do that right now.

Quiet as a mouse and twice as meek I slipped around the side of the house and quickly mounted the stairs up to my attic apartment. I slipped the key in the lock and opened the door, sliding down into the darkness of my room and letting it close and lock behind me.

And I slid off my shoes and let out a long slow exhale, searching through boxes and clothing to find my towel, my shampoo, my soap and everything else I’d need.

If I was quiet. If I was careful. I could get a shower in and get back up here without having to speak to Lucas.

And that was what would be best tonight, because I’d had so many encounters with so many people I thought I knew and had so many new experiences that I honestly don’t know how I would react if I had any more.

One more, even just one more, might be too much for me.

One more, even just one more, might be enough to break me.

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