Major change is emotionally charged. Transition is transformative. Growing up puts into perspective how small she really feels.
She's going to college in three months, but when her parents leave on a week-long trip, her emotions are a storm and her fears are a monsoon. Homesickness looms on the horizon and every fear she ever had creeps up to the surface within day one.
It's not much fun to go it alone.
She comes home to an empty house, and the cat greets her at the door. An uneaten dish of food in the corner. Even a primal feline acts out, because something isn't right. No lights are on. The blinds are all closed. There's no music playing in the kitchen, the TV isn't tuned to the sounds of Dad's hockey game, and the grating screams of heavy-metal don't seep through the floorboards from her brother's den down in the dungeon.
She doesn't like the empty house. The deafening silence. The overwhelming quiet.
At least dorm life will be overwhelming with others and noise. This is too lonely. This is too motionless. Dark. Numb. Her footsteps sound on the floorboards. Her breaths whisper in the vents. She is alone in the house and for the first time in forever, books are not the adequate company she seeks.
Where are the comforting sounds of kitchen rummaging? Where is her mother's embrace in the morning? Where is her father's tentative expression of "I'm proud of you" from the office? Where are the together dinners and the fights for chores at the end of the night? The routine TV shows in the living room, together, and the hugs and kisses for the late-night turn-ins?
She misses family, when they're not even gone. She misses her parents when she's not even alone. Her hope in herself, for survival, is dim. If this is change, she wants no part of it.
Don't cry. You're okay. I swear.
And you know they will be home soon.
She's homesick, and she hasn't even left her home yet. Home is family, and when family is away, the loneliness settles to stay
stay
stay.
