02: Home Sweet Home?

II: Learning to Differentiate

Intoxicated, I say nought,
bewitched by the magic potion.
I cannot differentiate
Between my drunk and sober state.

Rumi

05: Home Sweet Home?

We are all strangers in a strange land,
longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is.
We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner,
and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity
that vanishes almost as soon as it comes.

Madeleine L’Engle

Entering the hole in California, Peg found herself in a familiar location, though she was a bit stuck. Long ago, too afraid to risk experimenting, she’d pushed her bed against the wall blocking access to the one in her bedroom. The other one was in an unused side of her closet her mother kept putting things in that she was terrified of retrieving.

Now, she found herself halfway inside her room with her legs dangling out the other side. Scampering onto her mattress, she rolled over and lay on her comfortingly welcoming bed and sighed at being home once more. Her adventures were hardly over, still needing to explain where she’d been. But at least she was somewhere she knew; however uncomfortable it might be.

She considered her latest jump. She’d wanted to escape, knowing no good would come from the policemen’s help. The only reason she could imagine why she returned here was that she was seeking safety. It felt anything but, so maybe she sought comfort or simply a familiar setting she knew how to handle. The questions were almost overwhelming. Were the destinations random, could she choose them—and hadn’t figured out how—or was she reading too much into it? She’d been prepared to go anywhere, as long as it didn’t involve answering questions. So, what brought her home from that specific hole? However, trying to connect the puzzle pieces together was exhausting.

She glanced around the room. Most everything was in its place. The few small teddy bears were where she left them on pillows against the headboard, her favorite books on their shelf. The only thing amiss was... “My diary!” she gasped.

Leaping up, she crossed to her dresser, the bottom drawer sitting open. Checking under her few sweaters, she discovered her precious journal was gone—undoubtedly confiscated by her mother. Knowing her mother always searched her things, she never confided much to print. She learned long ago to keep secrets. Other than the few embarrassing confessions, there was nothing compromising in her tiny book. However, it was something else she had to explain, so she needed to determine what she’d say before she was asked. While they’d likely accept the truth about the boys in her class, they wouldn’t about what lay behind the holes they couldn’t see.

Peg tried explaining to her mother why she avoided certain spots when she was younger. After telling her, Melinda hadn’t responded well: dragging her father in to speak with her, forcing her to recount her story, before they both lectured her. They also discussed sending her to a psychiatrist, which broadened into a discussion over whether they could afford it, which hadn’t gone well. After a few more one-sided arguments, Peg learned her lesson and said she’d only been playing. She always danced around the same locations, but never again said why, and her parents never pressed the point.

The kids at school regarded her as weird. While she never mentioned the holes, their reactions spoke volumes about how much they’d accept. Just as her family might reject her if she admitted what she observed every day, her friends would dump her in a heartbeat. The holes were one of many things she never talked about.

Now that she realized they weren’t as dangerous as she’d feared, she was still terrified of telling anyone. Unable to prove what she knew, they’d continue treating her as unstable, someone better kept in an institution than at home. Everyone took her refusal to open up as further signs of a mental imbalance, marking her as more damaged than she already was.

She may be young, but Peg had seen enough to know how others responded. Two kids were exposed as gay at school—though she wasn’t sure what it entailed. One was beaten and both transferred, claiming the school they attended for years wasn’t safe. Another girl confessed she liked girls and ended up living in another state with her great aunt. She’d observed how parents reacted whenever a child questioned their moral teachings. Countering something everyone believed was not well-received, and this was much more difficult to explain than liking someone.

Having resolved that, she considered their nature. Learning each hole led to different destinations, she was interested in experimenting, but didn’t want to risk getting lost again. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she realized she had a unique opportunity. While she could extend a hand into the holes, once you stuck your head in you seemed to be committed. She couldn’t determine their depths, though she was aware of being in them before exiting, but didn’t continue walking.

The transition was instantaneous, yet she had time to consider each. She needed to explore where each went and how the feeling determined its destination. She’d discovered the holes led to multiple places, but didn’t know whether each was random or could be controlled somehow.

Now, kneeling on her bed, she could lean in without entering this one. While it might unbalance her while standing, her body counterbalanced her head. She could also hold herself stationary using the wall to preventbeing sucked in.

She leaned in, putting her face near but not touching it. Feeling the nature of the hole, it felt familiar. Imagining the feel of her last trip, she braced herself and thrust her head in.

She was right. Peg was back in the California police station—or her head was—but it wasn’t like before. It was darker with fewer people, occupied with other things.

“Holy Crap! Is that the missing girl?” someone muttered. She saw an officer in the corner gawking at her. Not wanting to expose herself or alert anyone to her hidden abilities, she pulled back. But she’d proven she could control whether she entered it entirely.

Back in her room, she considered the hole again. She tried to imagine someplace peaceful, but without any people. The feel changed, so she repeated her previous action and found herself leaning over a dark, expansive ocean. The atmosphere was cold and damp, waves cresting around her, the water seemingly extending without end and the view lit by moonlight. Glancing up, she saw threatening storm clouds, highlighted by isolated moonbeams slicing through their gloom. The moon didn’t seem like the one she was familiar with, though she wasn’t sure why. It was a fuller, but appeared to be in the wrong position. Despite the lapping water surrounding her, she pressed against the walls on either side of her head and eased herself back.

Realizing she needed to carefully select her destinations, she tried again. This time imagining a sparsely populated area, she found herself peering into a public park. Like her previous trip, it was vast, stretching far into the distance. There were several people, but none anywhere near her, and a large lake surrounded by rocks and trees lay on the horizon. She pulled back before anyone noticed her.

Peg realized that simply imagining a destination wasn’t enough. She needed to know what the hole leading to such a location felt like. She now felt she could differentiate between this park or another somewhere else. Secure with what she’d learned, she drew back and considered what she might do with it. Rather than fearing them, they now felt familiar. While they often led to dangerous places, they at least came with warnings alerting her there was some danger. It was her responsibility to quickly identify its nature. Reflecting on it, she realized her initial discomfort over returning to her room reflected her mixed feelings about her home: both comforting and disquieting.

Her stomach growled, and she held her tummy. She’d missed both lunch and dinner and was unsure of the time. While the one cheeseburger helped, she was still starving. Sliding off her bed, she removed her shoes but left her socks on and slipped out the door and into the hallway. It was something she learned long ago when moving about the house.

Not noticing anyone, she made her way to the kitchen. She picked up a peach, poured some orange juice and was putting peanut butter on celery stalks when someone gasped.

“Peg!” her mother exclaimed. “When did you get here? Where have you been?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I was out playing and forgot the time.”

‘Uncle’ Frank—though they weren’t related in any way—appeared behind her, his mouth gaping as his eyes widened.

“We were told you were in California?”

Peg giggled, glancing back at her sandwich so she wouldn’t need to face them. “How could I ever travel that far and return again, all on my own? I’ve been here the whole time. I just lost track of time.”

“Those damn cops.” Frank swore. “I knew it was nonsense that she was across the country. There’s no way anyone would take her.”

“We should still tell them,” her mother argued.

“I won’t make things easier for them, Mel. They screwed up a simple identification, and can figure it out for themselves.”

“Still, we need to alert someone. If not them, then at least the local police.”

“We don’t owe them anything either,” Frank said. Peg turned, paying attention. This was something new.

“Maybe not, but they’ll likely call to investigate the missing boy. If we don’t—”

“Someone’s missing?”

“The Eddings, who were visiting the Jensens, haven’t been able to find their son. They called, asking whether we’ve seen him.”

“Jason?”

“Yes,” her mother said, turning and placing her hands on her hips. “How do you know him?”

“We played for a while,” Peg admitted, glancing down, her voice barely audible.

“Excuse me?”

“We met outside and spent some time playing.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“Uh ... no. He ... we saw some men staring at us, so I left. I don’t know what happened after that.”

Frank glared at her, raising his brow, but didn’t say anything.

“We need to call the police then.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” he stated. “She didn’t see or witness anything.”

“Still, she was the last person to see him. That has to mean something.”

Frank was never one to say much. He always warned against trusting the cops, saying they were always after something. How if she talked, they’d take her away and put her in a foster home. Peg didn’t know why he distrusted them, but his words influenced her. Combined with her other secret, she wasn’t eager to answer questions.

“We only talked a little.”

Her mother turned to her. “How long were you with him?”

Peg glanced down again, breaking eye contact. “Not long. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Still, you can identify the men lurking nearby. I’m calling the family. They’ll undoubtedly call the police, so either way we’ll talk to them.”