4-5-12 The prompt: There are four points of the compass A fifth point is possible in some Asian cultures.
30-minute writing, fiction
I headed north from Chelsea, knowing the destination. All of my fears followed me. Some even led. Funny that it seemed like time slowed. The footsteps got smaller. The noise of the traffic faded a bit. I felt yanked along, with Ma shouting in my ear to “Keep up!” That’s what it’s like with the homecomings.
I circled the block, heading east past the mafia restaurant over to Sixth Avenue, then down again, south to 18th, west to Seventh. I had to go in sometime, but remained reluctant. I was tempted to go back and dive down into the subway, but knew there was going to be no easy way out. Maybe just once more around the block.
I surrendered, and went up the stoop, let myself in and climbed the 54 steps to the third floor. Knocked, stepped back a bit when the door flew open and nieces and nephews flew out to greet their favorite Uncle. From the kitchen, I heard Kathy yell out “Ma, he’s here!”
Dragging the hoard with me, I stepped back into my mother’s heart.