I breathed in deeply as I walked to the middle of my block and crossed the street. The sweet smell followed. The day faded into the recesses of my memory. I skipped up the front steps and unlocked the front door to my 2nd floor apartment that I shared with two friends. I was home alone. “They must be out somewhere,” I thought. As I closed the door and bounded up the steep wooden staircase, I was suddenly aware of the protest they made under my weight. I eased up; worried my landlord would complain about the noise at the late hour. I sighed as I realized that the garbage needed to be taken out. I didn’t need to look. I could smell it.
Readying myself for bed, I showered, brushed my teeth. I slipped into pajamas and picked up the book by Gabriel Garcia Marquez that was dog-eared on my night stand. I opened the window and was struck by the smell once more. I read for a while, unable to shake a feeling. Of what, I couldn’t be sure. It was a feeling with which I was unfamiliar. I closed my book an hour later and turned out the light. Sleep came immediately; a rare and strange occurrence.
Five years later, there I was. Packing the excess of my life into boxes, I thought about moving. I hated moving. I doubted anyone really enjoyed it, but I found myself annoyed that I had to start over. I’m resistant to change. It scares me, excites me and drains me. I wasn’t feeling well after all and the task at hand was a great stress. I decided that the rest of the packing would have to be handled by somebody else. I was spent and I was looking forward to a rest from the hectic weeks that had proceeded this day. I packed a few boxes into my car and drove off towards my new home. This was the 4th new place in 5 years. My head was swimming with the thoughts of unpacking and the dread of the thought of living out of boxes. I was mechanical in my driving and was surprised when I arrived at my new place in what seemed like record time. No one else was there. “They must have gone back to pick up the last truck load,” I assumed.
Unlocking the door, I stepped into chaos. Boxes were piled everywhere in random order. Power tools laid about the concrete floor, a reminder of the work still needing to be done. It was dusty and there was a faint smell of turpentine. I walked past the kitchen to look out the sliding glass doors. “This is home?” I asked myself. I went about looking for a glass that was clean. I turned on the tap and filled my glass with water. As I drank, I let out an exhausted sigh. Walking towards the bedroom I made an endless mental list of all the things I had to do the next day. I shook my head as if doing so would make it fade away. I was looking forward to taking a shower.
When I was done I crawled into bed and realized that the box with my glasses and books were still out in the car. I thought about leaving them there. I lay in bed trying to relax and find a comfortable position, but couldn’t. I swung my legs out of bed and looked for my flip-flops. Remembering they were packed away somewhere, I headed out the front door barefoot. Finding what I was looking for in the trunk of my car, I put on my glasses and picked up the box of books. I walked gingerly over the grass and suddenly stopped by the front door.
The smell filled my head with a rush of remembrance. I looked around trying to identify where it was coming from. The smell of gardenias had appeared out of thin air. I relaxed instantly and closed my eyes. “This is home. This is where He wants me.” I thought. I smiled to myself and walked inside. I put the books down in the overcrowded living room and proceeded to the bedroom. As I crawled into bed, I was suddenly struck by a feeling. The same one, that five years ago had no name. Ease.
I love gardenias. The sweet fragrant smell of them brings back a rush of memories and the reassurance that I am loved. I hadn’t known Him that night in Astoria, but He knew me. I know Him now. “Thank you Lord,” was all I could manage before I faded off into a peaceful sleep.
