Where Home Isn't | ✓

Tainted Soul

Finn opens his suitcase; the traveling piece of home. Scanning its contents, he sees bits and pieces of himself.

There, stuffed in the corner, is a t-shirt he bought with his older brother at one of their favorite stores on their last shopping trip together. In another corner are his favorite beanies that he wore on cold snowy days in England.

He pulls out the flannel he had worn on the first Savages's concert ever.

He looks at it with wonder. It's as if he has never seen it before, but, at the same time, he has. Rubbing the material between his fingers, his mind flashes back to that day.

At eighteen, his band had taken off. Signed to a big record label, Finn and his best friends were excited. They felt on top of the world.

"Our dreams are coming true, Finnegan George," said Danny, the bassist, as he swung his arm around Finn's shoulders.

"Hard work does pay off," Henry, the lead guitarist, said.

"You mean, skipping school paid off," Ben, the drummer, joked.

"All the same," Henry said, waving his comment off.

"And tonight, we play our first gig as a signed band," Rian, the other guitarist, said.

"'Blossoming Savages' in bright letters. I can see it," Danny said.

The other guys nodded in agreement.

"Let's just rehearse first, guys, so we don't screw this up," Finn said.

"Right. We don't want to be famous for fucking up on their first go," Danny said.

"Don't worry; we'll rock," Henry said.

And they did. The crowd was wild as the night. The feeling was incredible. The excitement of the night felt like it could last forever, but, as Finn now knows, it didn't.

Finn's enthusiasm began to fade and was replaced with a feeling that could not be shaken. Slowly, he began to unravel. Pieces of him left in different countries as new characteristics began to form.

Move he commands himself.

He decides to just wear the shirt he is holding onto and randomly selects a pair of jeans.

Who really cares if I match or not?

Deciding that no effort would be made into his wardrobe at all, he pulls a black beanie onto his mop of light brown hair.

"There," he whispers to himself, "At least I look like I sort of tried."

He walks around the hotel room twice to make sure his belongings are all packed.

Finn stands by the doorway; the suitcase handle in one hand, his phone in the other. He stares back into the room filled with household items, but never feeling like home. He takes in each object; hoping to remember the room to feel at home, but it's impossible.

Nothing can fill the void of home. No one can replace his parents. No dog can be like his Molly. No where in America can it smell like the drizzy England. Nothing is home.

He shakes himself from his thoughts again and walks out the already foreign place.