This Could Be Home
Stacey isn't sure if she actually knows the woman.
I mean, she thinks she does; the way the woman smiles at her and nods, like they are old forgotten friends who once shared intimate tales of lives lost and dreams forgotten.
A melancholy, forgiving knowing.
It is that specific.
A radiating beam of I See You streaming full blast in Stacey's direction.
Of course, Stacey's default is a reflexive mile-wide smile.
Full body warmth emanates from her every iota.
She has to stop herself from running in for a bear hug as she suddenly realizes they may have never met. In fact, this middle aged black gypsy woman with her headscarf tied in an elaborate fashion singing scat versions of christmas carols perched in a director's chair at the bottom of the subway stairs could be a complete stranger.
These moments are the hardest for Stacey to comprehend.
Her body vibrates, her intuition takes over her intellectual reasoning and she acts impulsively.
Stop.
Breathe.
Step back.
Watch.
But this woman- she feels like home.
Family.
Stacey has no family, none that survived her.
None that look like this one, that's for sure.
Maybe there are secrets, long buried, deep seeded family secrets Stacey has no knowledge of.
A secret family, half siblings in another country living other lives, a family just waiting, wanting, longing to find their missing link of a much loved and lost daughter.
Sister.
Family member.
Since the operation her memory's spotty.
Vacant in places, entire swaths of time wiped clean.
Things bubble up, occasionally spill over and cause Stacey overwhelming anxiety.
A flash of memory here, a sound reverberating in her head, smells that she sees in colour.
Fragments appear, interlock then dissolve.
When she hears this voice, echoing off the ceramic walls, bouncing from the glass doors directly into her chest Stacey knows.
This is familiar, this woman feels like home.
I mean, she thinks she does; the way the woman smiles at her and nods, like they are old forgotten friends who once shared intimate tales of lives lost and dreams forgotten.
A melancholy, forgiving knowing.
It is that specific.
A radiating beam of I See You streaming full blast in Stacey's direction.
Of course, Stacey's default is a reflexive mile-wide smile.
Full body warmth emanates from her every iota.
She has to stop herself from running in for a bear hug as she suddenly realizes they may have never met. In fact, this middle aged black gypsy woman with her headscarf tied in an elaborate fashion singing scat versions of christmas carols perched in a director's chair at the bottom of the subway stairs could be a complete stranger.
These moments are the hardest for Stacey to comprehend.
Her body vibrates, her intuition takes over her intellectual reasoning and she acts impulsively.
Stop.
Breathe.
Step back.
Watch.
But this woman- she feels like home.
Family.
Stacey has no family, none that survived her.
None that look like this one, that's for sure.
Maybe there are secrets, long buried, deep seeded family secrets Stacey has no knowledge of.
A secret family, half siblings in another country living other lives, a family just waiting, wanting, longing to find their missing link of a much loved and lost daughter.
Sister.
Family member.
Since the operation her memory's spotty.
Vacant in places, entire swaths of time wiped clean.
Things bubble up, occasionally spill over and cause Stacey overwhelming anxiety.
A flash of memory here, a sound reverberating in her head, smells that she sees in colour.
Fragments appear, interlock then dissolve.
When she hears this voice, echoing off the ceramic walls, bouncing from the glass doors directly into her chest Stacey knows.
This is familiar, this woman feels like home.
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