Forsaken; Transfigured

“Do not forsake the gifts of your God.”

The words rang over and over again in her head, she almost thought perhaps she should see a psychiatrist about it. She buried them in her heart, buried them in her mind and did her best to throw away the key.

She avoided the churches, the Christian smiles. She avoided the crucifix and all things referring to stars and crosses. She just wanted a normal life, simple and uncomplicated.

The complications found their way despite, but nothing she felt she couldn’t handle.

But she always felt empty. She found sex, she found drugs, she found the devil and had her fun. But she couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror.

She only saw the maniac her mother always told her to stay away from on the streets.

She hated the cross, she hated the stars, she hated everything.

So she wept, she got on her knees, she cried out in pain and all anguish.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you stop me from becoming this?”

At first, there was nothing. She felt the urge to simply take a long walk over wrestling waves, but just yesterday despite her pleading she witnessed her father do the same.

Her father left her, and she was too stubborn to die.

So again she cried out in anguish and in pain. She cursed this life she had made. She cursed herself for letting it get this way.

“Why didn’t you tell me I would become this way?”

Then the tears came, tears she had not shed in such a long time.

They burned.

They scorched her eyes and felt hot on her skin. They stung as they washed the dirt away from the palms of her hands. Then calm came to her.

She wanted to worry, but the calm would not let her.

She wanted to cry, and cry she did.

I was here. I always was.

“I’m sorry...” She could not find the words. “I’m sorry!” It was the only thing that came to mind. “I’m so sorry for everything that I have done!”

I know. Come home.

And so she did. Like the miracles she never witnessed, a woman came to her that night. “I don’t know who you are, but I was told to take you home.”

She said nothing, just sat amazed. Across from her a woman who had given her a few dollars everyday. Her little crucifix hung in her car window. Her smile drove whatever darkness she had accumulated over the years away in an instant.

“I’ve strayed so far, I don’t know the way.” She said as she gathered into herself, hugging her knees. The woman merely took out her phone and opened up a map.

“Do at least remember the address?”

Oh. Right.

So she told her, and they left for a place she ran from when she was 16 and there on the porch was her mother waiting with open arms. “Mija, where have you been?”

“Forsaken, mama. On the streets on a whim.”

She and her mother thank the woman profusely but turned to see no one there. She thought she saw some lights in the distance, but it was the middle of the day.

She dreaded walking into the little hallway of her mother’s house. There hung a mirror, and she dreaded what she would see. As she turned the corner with every intention to hide her face in awe she gasped at what she saw.

It was her, a little rough around the edges, and in desperate need of a shower, but it was her.

She hadn’t seen herself in such a long time. So she bathed, she brushed her teeth, she cleansed herself of the garbage she lived in most of her life, then followed the scent of her favorite meal into the kitchen.

Her mother had already set the table and waited with clasped hands for her to join. She sat in her usual spot and did the same, and undeniably she heard it. She really really heard it for the first time in her life a deep most beautiful voice that she had forsaken for so long say:

“Welcome home.”

orsaken; Transfigured

“Do not forsake the gifts of your God.”

The words rang over and over again in her head, she almost thought perhaps she should see a psychiatrist about it. She buried them in her heart, buried them in her mind and did her best to throw away the key.

She avoided the churches, the Christian smiles. She avoided the crucifix and all things referring to stars and crosses. She just wanted a normal life, simple and uncomplicated.

The complications found their way despite, but nothing she felt she couldn’t handle.

But she always felt empty. She found sex, she found drugs, she found the devil and had her fun. But she couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror.

She only saw the maniac her mother always told her to stay away from on the streets.

She hated the cross, she hated the stars, she hated everything.

So she wept, she got on her knees, she cried out in pain and all anguish.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you stop me from becoming this?”

At first, there was nothing. She felt the urge to simply take a long walk over wrestling waves, but just yesterday despite her pleading she witnessed her father do the same.

Her father left her, and she was too stubborn to die.

So again she cried out in anguish and in pain. She cursed this life she had made. She cursed herself for letting it get this way.

“Why didn’t you tell me I would become this way?”

Then the tears came, tears she had not shed in such a long time.

They burned.

They scorched her eyes and felt hot on her skin. They stung as they washed the dirt away from the palms of her hands. Then calm came to her.

She wanted to worry, but the calm would not let her.

She wanted to cry, and cry she did.

I was here. I always was.

“I’m sorry...” She could not find the words. “I’m sorry!” It was the only thing that came to mind. “I’m so sorry for everything that I have done!”

I know. Come home.

And so she did. Like the miracles she never witnessed, a woman came to her that night. “I don’t know who you are, but I was told to take you home.”

She said nothing, just sat amazed. Across from her a woman who had given her a few dollars everyday. Her little crucifix hung in her car window. Her smile drove whatever darkness she had accumulated over the years away in an instant.

“I’ve strayed so far, I don’t know the way.” She said as she gathered into herself, hugging her knees. The woman merely took out her phone and opened up a map.

“Do at least remember the address?”

Oh. Right.

So she told her, and they left for a place she ran from when she was 16 and there on the porch was her mother waiting with open arms. “Mija, where have you been?”

“Forsaken, mama. On the streets on a whim.”

She and her mother thank the woman profusely but turned to see no one there. She thought she saw some lights in the distance, but it was the middle of the day.

She dreaded walking into the little hallway of her mother’s house. There hung a mirror, and she dreaded what she would see. As she turned the corner with every intention to hide her face in awe she gasped at what she saw.

It was her, a little rough around the edges, and in desperate need of a shower, but it was her.

She hadn’t seen herself in such a long time. So she bathed, she brushed her teeth, she cleansed herself of the garbage she lived in most of her life, then followed the scent of her favorite meal into the kitchen.

Her mother had already set the table and waited with clasped hands for her to join. She sat in her usual spot and did the same, and undeniably she heard it. She really really heard it for the first time in her life a deep most beautiful voice that she had forsaken for so long say:

“Welcome home.”