This was it.
I sat on a bench in the fishing village I had found myself in shortly after arriving in Vietnam. My wallet was stretched open by my thumb and middle finger, and within it sat a single, lonely dollar bill. I flicked it idly and alternated staring at Honest Abe and his memorial. With a sign I let my wallet shut and jammed it into my pocket.
The United States had been my home since birth, Nebraska to be more specific. I’d spent twenty three years holed up in the middle of the country, isolated like nobody else. I would watch the Travel Channel and dream of the day that I would see Hawaii, or California, or New Orleans. Those places I imagined I would actually be able to see. Between the stress of my mortgage and daily life, I had convinced myself that I would never see the world like I wanted to. I would never see London, or Lisbon, or Barcelona. I would never look at the Pyramids from up close, or visit Jerusalem. I would never look out on the rocks rising like pillars in Ha Long Bay, Vietnam.
As I sat looking out over Ha Long Bay, I smiled. I had made it to London, Lisbon, Barcelona, El Giza, Jerusalem and every country in between. My shirts were a little worse for wear and my jeans had a few holes in them. All of the walking I had done were doing great things for my health. Thinking about it always brought me back to where I was two years ago.
I was sitting on my bed, idly turning the gun over in my hand. She had left months ago, and it was a reasonable split as far as breakups go. She took Buster with her; the dog had always liked her more anyways. I spent a couple weeks in shock as the world moved around me. Her clothes, her pots and pans, and her belongings started to disappear.
That left me by myself, which had never worked out well. I tried in the beginning to focus on my job and college, but could not juggle both and eventually dropped out of school again. I went to work, I punched in, I did something resembling work for eight hours, and I went home. I drank more than I ever had and wished the world would let up; that it would tell me, “Haha, just joking!” and everything would go back to normal. It didn’t.
That is, until I held that gun. It wouldn’t be my first time, and with my depression it probably wouldn’t be the last. I pictured the faces of my family, distraught at losing another son. I hoped they would understand my note, scribbled hastily as I prepared my last moments. I pressed the barrel against my head and pulled the trigger.
Click!
I dropped the gun in surprise and felt myself start to laugh. I had never loaded it. I realized in that moment that I had never purchased any ammunition. I hadn’t been able to afford it. As I laughed, I felt better than I had in months. The horror of what I had almost done crept in but there was also a feeling of relief.
I was glad to be alive.
Then and there, I started to pack. I sold the house, I sold my possessions, and I sold my car. Then I started the four hour walk to the airport.
And here I was, sitting in Ha Long Bay, staring at the pillars that reached towards the heaven. My beard had come in nicely from two years of travel and my entire attitude had changed. After all, I had fulfilled my bucket list at twenty five years old. I stood, still smiling, and went to buy a half-dozen sea snails. I munched on them as I stood out on the dock and took my cellphone out and powered it on. I enabled roaming and dialed the first number: Mom.
“Hello? Zachary?” I realized that she was twelve hours behind me. The sun had just set here, so in Nebraska it was 7:00am.
“Hey mom.”
The commotion on the other line took a moment as I knew my mother was trying to get my dad up. After two years of isolation, they were probably very worried. We spent a few minutes getting caught up. When the commotion finally died down I got to my reason for calling.
“Mom, I’m out of money. Could I get a ticket home?”
“Sure thing, sweetie. It will be good to see you again.”
I smiled as my mom droned on about all that had changed in two years. I guess you can leave home, but that doesn’t change where home is. I was inwardly excited about returning to my birthplace. I finally felt like I’d seen everything and could focus on just surviving, day by day.
I had realized during my trip that that was all anybody ever did: just survive.
MrZakGuy 