Home.

The bus careened up through the northern lands of upper California - nauseatingly fast and breakneck speeds. My seat mate - massive bulk of a native American stock in a jock like football player kind of way - shook and tweaked next to me handsome as can be. He didn't show any qualms of lying all over me - back of bus was crowded with noisy kids on their way to teenage concentration camp.
Night fell as we entered Sasquatch country and the aim of my quest - home. Well, the house of my parents, anyway. They say you can never go home, again. Well, they are wrong. Debarking the bus, surprise call to my dad with nervous trepidations.

Enter Home. I remember nothing - stare at pictures on the wall of people I do not know, do not recognize. Fifteen years was the last time I walked through that door, you understand.

Mother is there - ashen gray of old age and deteriorating from ill health but still has a smile for me. Her damn dog leaps up and licks me - I guess that was the official welcome.

I hunker down in my old room - dusty musty and used as storage of late - to find out and deliberate and think. I need to find out what the hell I am going to do - and that is the scariest most mind shaking thing at all...