EXPLORING FICTION WEEK 1 HOMESICK EXERCISE NATASCHA MACIEJEWSKI

Isle of Bute

Standing at the window, my breath fogging up the glass, I watched the cars speed by down
on the autobahn; so fast and so many that they all blurred into each other like an out of
focus photograph. I let another fat teardrop run down my cheek unchecked, feeling it slide
from my chin down to my neck. I refused to wipe away my tears; I wanted them to remain,
in rivulets streaking down my face, a beacon of my despair.

I closed my puffy red eyes and pressed my hot cheek against the freezing glass, taking some
kind of unhappy pleasure in the icy sting. My longing for home was physical, like a throbbing
ache seeping into my bones. I missed everything; the streets, the houses, the graveyards,
and the churches with the bells ringing out clear and loud on Sundays; I missed the castle
with its crumbling walls and perfect grass, encircled by a moat with ducks swimming
haughtily on the green murky water; I missed my long walks past Loch Fad and through
Achamor Wood; through lanes and over streams, past farms and through fields filled with
cows, that pungent stench saturating the air, squelching through mud that was mostly dung;
climbing over barbed wire and jumping over drainage ditches; climbing up Barone Hill and
leaving a wishing stone at the top amongst other peoples wishes; peeing behind a hedge in
a field when I couldn’t hold it any longer; collecting frogspawn in jam jars; catching fish on
the line, sitting freezing on the rowing boat, shutting my eyes tight so I wouldn’t see the fish
being clubbed over the head; rowing back to the harbour with numb faces and freezing
fingers.

I missed my grandpa with his booming voice and pale blue eyes the colour of the Caribbean
Sea, and his little Yorkshire terrier Isla, with her yap, yap, yapping. I missed our bramble
picking expeditions, our fingers stained purple, and the jam he made from the carrier bags
full of berries we collected, bubbling in a big silver pot on the hob. I missed my friends and
laughing so hard that my cheeks ached and tears trickled from the creased corners of my
eyes.

I missed those hills that seemed painted onto the skyline like a watercolour, in shades of
purple and green and brown; I missed the woods with those naked December trees, the
carpet of leaves and moss underfoot, and that wet earthy smell suffusing the air. I missed
that dark grey sea, with the fishing boats in the harbour, oil floating slick and colourful in
patches around them; the gulls overhead in the hazy sky, calling out in brash argumentative
voices. The black and white ferry that came in once an hour, looming large and menacing
over the other boats, Caledonian Macbrayne printed across the side; the same ferry that
only 48 hours earlier had carried me away from my home, as my friends stood sobbing at
the edge of the pier, singing “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when...” in

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EXPLORING FICTION WEEK 1 HOMESICK EXERCISE NATASCHA MACIEJEWSKI

husky broken voices. I waved from the upper deck, watching the life I loved grow smaller
and smaller until it was out of sight, weeping as my heart broke hard and loud in my 12-
year-old chest.

I opened my eyes and my island vanished. The electric blue lights from the garage across the
street shone harsh and bright into my new bedroom; the din from the traffic irritating my
ears. Everything was awkward and wrong; the chocolate tasted funny and the television
spoke German. My father couldn’t understand why I was so sad and would leave the room
when I cried – he didn’t want to get his hands dirty with the mess of my grief. My mother
tried to comfort me, telling me to cry if I wanted to cry, promising me that the hurt would
get easier to bear, that each day my heart would feel less heavy and one day I would wake
up and I wouldn’t want to cry anymore. She hugged me tight and I rested my head on her
chest, my wet face against her green knitted jumper, feeling the scratchy itch of the wool on
my skin. She stroked my hair and whispered that we had to give it a chance - this new life in
Hamburg, and even as I wept for everything I had lost I understood.

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