The Lotus Effect
A story about a homecoming.
It began as he was driving home.
It was the first time Chris had been back to the town in three years. He was driving along the familiar streets towards his father's house when suddenly he began to feel uneasy. At first it was just a minor annoyance; a flickering shadow in his peripheral vision. But as he got closer to home memories shimmered over reality, and the town began to seem surreal and oddly distorted. A building that had always been just there, on his right, was now gone. On some streets traffic lights had grown in his absence. One entire block had been devoured by a new car dealership, with a giant inflatable bull out front.
As he drove, his heart began to beat just a little too fast and his chest was suddenly just a little too small. His hands began trembling on the steering wheel, and air came in short, sharp breaths. Everything around him seemed suddenly hostile and alien, stalking him behind a guise of familiarity.
He pulled over into a quiet street, killing the engine. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the cool leather of the steering wheel and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.
His parents had separated when he was young, and shuffling back and forth between homes quickly became the norm. By the time he was thirteen, he had moved house more times than he had lived years. Schools changed less frequently — for stability, his parents had agreed — but each change meant discarding old people and places for new.
He learnt early on that it was easier to let go of the past if you didn't hold too tightly to the present. By the time he had learnt the layout of a new school or house it was as though he had been there his entire life. He settled in quickly, becoming part of the background, and thought rarely about his old life.
Chris had once watched a video where a man had poured first water, then honey, on a lotus leaf. The leaf didn't absorb the water; the droplets of liquid had danced around the leaf like mercury. The honey rolled around much more slowly, but even it couldn't stick to the leaf. Eventually it ran off the side, leaving the leaf untouched. The lotus effect, the man had called it.
On the rare occasions where Chris did think about the past, he thought of the lotus effect and imagined he was similar; a human lotus leaf.
So then where did this feeling come from?
In the town, he had thought he had been separate, apart. An island, like no man was. When the choice had come between staying or leaving for the city — bigger, friendlier, more vibrant and exciting (and with a good pay cheque to boot) — the choice had seemed obvious.
But once he arrived, he suddenly felt separated and cut off in a way he had never felt before, at least not since his youngest days when he had been moved from parent to parent, house to house, school to school. He caught himself thinking more and more about the past; the hangouts and hideaways, the friends and family he had left behind, about home.
And that was one word which he had never dwelt on before. Home. He may have had a dozen houses before, but he had never thought of them as home. Now, all he could think about was home. His chest ached, an empty nostalgia that wrapped around him like a cold bandage.
He opened his eyes and leaned back in the seat, squeezing the steering wheel one last time. Hands still quivering slightly, he started the engine and began again towards his father's house.
Not once while he had been away had he came back, not for holidays or a visit or even the occasional wedding or death. He told himself he was too busy, he had no time. But really, the thought of returning home filled him with such a desire that he was worried that if he set foot back there again he would never leave.
Everyone had showed up at his father's. Everyone he had thought about and missed while he was gone. He had to blink and hold himself steady against the side of his car as they all poured out onto the front lawn to greet him. Seeing all of them there, cheering, made him nervous and strangely lonely. It almost made him sick.
They all smiled and hugged him and treated him like a lost family member returning home. To them he was one of them, and the feeling of acceptance made him excited and giddy and nervous. They all wanted to hear about his life in the big city. It must be exciting!; Look at that car! What's a hotshot like you doing hanging out with us?; I've always wanted to live there…
Chris didn't care about that. He wanted to know what had happened while he was gone, what had changed. But whenever he asked, he was met with a shrug. Nothing much has changed; Same ol', same ol'; Oh, you don't want to know about that; Haha, we're not as exciting as the city...
Occasionally the group of people he was with would start talking about something he should have known, but didn't. The stories they told seemed disjointed and odd, as though there was something implied that he was missing that would make sense of the whole story. And when they realised he was lost; oh, you know she's married now? He didn't. They would smile that too big smile and stop the conversation to bring him up to speed, and for some reason every new bit of information revealed this way made him just a little bit more uncomfortable.
As welcoming as everyone was, he still felt odd and out-of-place, a jigsaw piece that didn't quite fit. Despite what they said, everyone had changed. It was as though a large company of actors had studied all his closest friends and family, perfecting them almost to a tee. All the actors were here now, each playing one of his friends flawlessly, except for one minor thing.
His father was just a shade too fat. His best friend had a new mannerism – it suited him, but he'd never done it before. His sister seemed just a little taller and a bit more serious than usual.
The more he studied everyone, the less he recognised them. The smiles were more than a little forced, he realised, and the welcome was strained. They were trying so hard to make him feel at home, make him feel like he was one of them… but surely that wasn't necessary? He was one of them, wasn't he?
But then, why did they have to try so hard?
As the night wore on, he began feeling numb as the cold bandage began winding itself back around his chest. He was tired and lonely and sick of seeing everyone around him talking about things he should have known but didn't. He quietly crept upstairs and lay on his old bed. Below, the party continued. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but it suddenly seemed more relaxed, as though it had just lost the one person that had been making everyone else uncomfortable.
He sighed and tried to sleep. He thought this would be his last visit home. He couldn't bear to return again.