Nostalgia

I'm not sure where I was going with this.

Four years had passed since he had been within a hundred miles of her, and although his time there was coming to an end, he found himself stalling the inevitable. The streetlights were long passed dim and all the shutters down the street were closed; the only light came from the moon’s reflection on the darkened street and a small window on the second story of her house.

 

He paused, allowing himself a moment to collect his thoughts. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, making him feel as though his mind was clouded with nicotine. He let the stub fall to the ground and watched it smolder for a few seconds before crushing it below his weight. With empty hands, he had nothing else to occupy himself other than his own head.  But he already felt tense, and he did not want to allow himself to consider the deeper thoughts in the back of his mind.

 

There was a doorbell next to the wooden frame, but he knew she would be expecting him. If nothing had changed over the years, the door would be unlocked. But what if nothing had actually changed " what would happen? He pushed the thought away in a futile effort to focus on the present moment.

 

His hands grasped the metal bulb and pushed the door open. His eyes fluttered closed as he recognized the smell; fresh paint, a simmering fireplace, flowers. Inside her home, it was dark as the night, but she had left him a signal. He knew the stairs were just ahead, and he traced the familiar steps toward it. It was muscle memory as his body lifted him to the second floor and down the hall.

 

Her door was slightly ajar. He considered walking away, leaving everything behind and escaping that place, that street. He had no reason to come back, but something was pulling him in yet. There was no stopping once he made the first step down the hall. She always had stronger ears than most, although she would pretend she hadn’t anticipated his arrival.

 

A slight tap on the door and he was inside her room. She was stationary by her easel for a moment before she turned to him. Her face held little emotion, but he could see her expression in her eyes. Inquisitive, confident, hungry for something he could never provide. In seconds, any mystery he held was gone, and he was an open book in front of her.

 

“It’s been a long time,” she said to him. She remained calm, but a small smirk was extending at the corner of her lips.

 

He nodded, unsure of what to say. He wanted to smile and embrace her, but something was different with her, and it didn’t seem right.

 

She looked through him with those eyes before turning around and closing the blinds.

 

“Why didn’t you come back?” she asked. Years of emotions ran a course through his body. Something changed in her demeanor, and for a brief second, he caught a glimpse of the girl he used to know. She seemed to sense his observation and immediately switched back, her face distant and withdrawn.

 

He could not help but wonder who it was that really did the leaving. He was the one that left in a literal sense, but she was already gone. There was no way to explain this to her; she already knew but would fiercely deny it, and she was quicker with words than he was.

 

“I’m back now,” he said simply, holding his voice constant.                                      

 

Maybe if things had not happened in the same way, nothing would have changed. It was always an agreement between the two of them that they were parallel souls. They were both dreamers in different ways. She had been the rebellious one; he was more on the straight and narrow. Their greatest difference was their families; her mother was a nomadic painter, his parents were Ivy League lawyers.  

 

Perhaps it was destiny that they met and formed a friendship, but it could not have lasted.

 

“So?” her voice was nonchalant, but he knew she cared more than she would ever admit. He didn’t know the girl in front of him so well, but he knew her old self was beneath the exterior.

 

She had become something fatal and miserable - a disillusioned dreamer. Her high hopes for life and the world had fallen flat. She used her empathy to take advantage of people, to read their motives and exploit them. Everything was fruitless as it was just postponing her eventual death, and she did not care enough for anyone to leave a legacy of herself.

 

“You know I didn’t want to leave.” He looked at her, begging for a smile, a change in her expression, any sort of clue.

 

She avoided eye contact, letting her gaze fall to the floor momentarily. He had struck a nerve there, and he knew it. After all these years, he still blamed himself; but she must have blamed herself, too.

 

They stood across the room from each other as if a magnetic force was pushing them apart. She reached below the bed and pulled out a box. The wrapping paper was disheveled, but it was instantly recognizable. She brought it toward him, pausing just a step before him as she handed the box over.

 

He did not even need to open the box to remember the memories that it safeguarded. In her house, in her room, he remembered the childhood he had. He missed that feeling of adventure, that the world was theirs to conquer. It had only been a few years, but it was clear that neither of them felt the same openness toward their lives. The sense of easiness was gone. He was stuck on a path he had barely decided for himself, and there was no option to derail.

 

She became relatable to him again. She had the same ideas, only for her, they happened just before all her friends packed up and left her behind. She watched as none of her dreams became reality, as old neighbors moved out into the world and new families moved into their homes, with children with the same bright eyes and wide dreams. It was endless. Unlike him, she had been living with these broken thoughts for much longer, and it was wearing on her. The air in the room was melancholic.

  

She set the box down on her desk. This four year reunion with the box had always been the plan, but the latter was evidently not necessary. In the dozen minutes that he had occupied space in her room, everything had come back to him all over again.  The nostalgia was overwhelming and filled him with a mixture of sadness and bittersweet happiness. 

She had always had that effect on people; she was acutely in charge of her emotions, able to hide them completely or diffuse them to everyone else in a room. She was a master of mind control in that way, and he became aware that it was her intention for him to land on these realizations all along.

to be continued....??

Reviews

[FateDictates]

to be continued....??
yes yes yes yes pleeeaase

[EternalDarkness]

This is nice, Becca. The first thing I noticed on your writing was the description. It's absolutely vivid and it allows me to picture what's going on. Description is one of the top things that people lack here in this site. It's completely intriguing and I'm far interesting in what's going to happen. The emotions and feelings conveyed to this is fascinating and beautiful. The first sentence hooked me and reading this was a complete honor of mine. Great job! And so far, I like the two characters. Even if you don't continue this, I'll be sure to check out what else you have. You have a big talent for writing. I didn't know you had this in you. :)

[Mockingbird]

this is actually a good story. there's that anticipation of what will become of them, how will this scene end. i am the same way about starting something then abandoning it. i just started a book on this cite and have no clue how to end it. you should continue the story even if you don't finish it. yet. take your time with it. it might even turn into a book.