The house isn't dangerous or anything. No, it's a normal, suburban dream
with a picket fence and fancy flowers lining the path. I shouldn't be
scared; I shouldn't be hiding behind this tree in broad daylight, like a
child dared to approach an eerie mansion. I take a step out, breathing
slowly as I venture near the delicate structure. I pretend the road is made
of matchsticks and I have to walk as carefully as possible, I can't make a
sound in case I want to run back home where it is safe. It would be a waste
of a flight but still, I really shouldn't be here in the first place.
Especially because we ended on such a depressing note and we inwardly
promised we would never see each other again. At least until our hearts
glued themselves back together.
I find myself at the front door where a cheerful mat lays underneath my feet, welcoming guests with a flourish of cursive. I struggle to pull my hand up from my side where it lays like a lump of numb skin and I knock on the door quickly, praying to god she isn't here and I can satisfy myself that at least I tried. Unfortunately the door opens and there she is, her face blocked by the screen door, wire separating us like in a prison. She blinks, her lips parting with a spillage of words that don't make sense, and for a heart wrenching second I can see she doesn't want me here. I try to speak but my voice is a traitor and hides deep in my stomach where the rest of my organs have deteriorated. Only butterflies live now, fluttering about in the hollow ground of my skeleton.
Still gasping for air she opens the screen door, her eyes shimmering coals of suspicion. She doesn't know what I'm doing here, neither do I. I regret coming, it was definitely a mistake. I should have turned around when I had the chance. Now she feels obligated to welcome me in, because of course we did have a history before all of the love stuff got in the way and I did travel all the way here to see her.
"Goren," She blinks and then smiles cautiously. "It's been awhile."
"Six months."
"Six months, way too long." Notice she still hasn't welcomed me in. "A lot has changed." She places a hand to her belly and a rip echoes in the dream that I have been living in these past months. I convinced myself she would realize the marriage was a mistake and the minute I showed up at the front door she would wrap her arms around me and promise to never let me go again. This.this changes everything.
"Congratulations Eames."
"Thanks," Something changes in that second, she seems more relaxed and I find her opening the door wider and letting me in. There's a man in the living room watching football. This was definitely a mistake.
"Ron this is Bobby, my old partner." She grins between us and disappears to go find drinks. The man rises and offers me a hearty handshake, his face plump and red with eyes of glittering happiness.
"Bob, you're a football fan, right?"
"I'm not an expert,"
"That's all right, as long as you're a fan." He offers the chair next to him and we settle in to uncomfortable silence. I can't talk to him, he's the one who took her away from me and he doesn't even know, doesn't even know about the kiss that almost cost him his marriage. I find a photo album lying on the coffee table and I pick it up carefully, as if it is Pandora's Box. Nothing good can come from it. I open it and Eames looks back at me with an excited smile, her arms around Ron in the way I dreamed I would hold her, its there honeymoon. I snap the book shut and push it back just as she comes in.
"Is Coke alright?" She hands me the glass. "We don't have alcoholic drinks, not with the baby coming."
"Coke is fine." I reply, but I'm not thirsty. I just want to leave. I want to forget all of this, her growing stomach, his beaming smile, the photos that hide in the dreaded book. "I should be going, I was in town and I just thought I would drop by." Eames's smile falters and she looks to Ron and then back at me. She probably thinks we had an argument. "Nice to meet you Ron."
"Hey, any friend of hers is a friend of mine; you come visit us whenever you want." He stands up and shakes my hand once more, Eames just looks like she's going to vomit on the carpet. I walk towards the door and wait for her to follow.
"We didn't get to talk." She says softly, her fingers tugging gently on the elbow of my shirt. "Can you sit outside with me, for a second?"
"Sure," I breathe letting her guide me to a white, wooden swing that bathes in the sun's enchanting streaks. "Nice guy."
"I'm glad you like him."
"It's hard not to like him."
"It's so easy to love him, there's no complications, no struggle. Its just there," She's telling me this for a reason; she's explaining why she couldn't be with me. It's just too complicated. "He's going to be a great father."
"Sure, he'll be perfect."
"There's no such thing as perfect."
"I don't know," I turn to her. "Some things just are." She searches my eyes and doesn't like what she sees, her eyes falling down through the cracks of the porch. "Anyway, I'm glad you are happy."
"No you aren't, it's not what you came here to hear, you didn't travel all this way to see me happily married and pregnant," She looks up, wiping away prickles of tears. "You were hoping I was miserable, you were looking to rescue me." I forgot how well she could read me.
"I didn't," I plead with her to listen but she won't, she just keeps shaking her head and sucking in whispers of anger she doesn't want Ron to hear. "Eames I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"You wanted to make sure you hadn't made the wrong decision."
"Me?"
"I told you," She changes the volume of her voice to deathly quiet. "I said I loved you and you just kept on walking."
"Cause I knew you didn't mean it."
"Course I meant it."
"You love me?"
"Loved."
"Past tense."
"Yeah, it's all in the past, and we have to move on now," She stands up suddenly, whipping around to point a wobbling finger at me. "Why can't you just get on with your life and leave me alone!" If I give her an answer it won't be the right one. I don't know why I keep trudging into her life expecting to be pleased with what I find; I don't know why I burst through her carefully erected home and flood it with thoughts she so carefully buried. I stand up, keeping my eyes down, and I touch her hand, linking my pinky with hers. I have to go; I have to stop doing this.
"I can't give you an answer, I don't know why. I.I won't come here anymore," I let out a rush of wheezing air and then I offer a slight smile. "Before all this, all this love bullshit, we were great, weren't we?" She places her hands palm down on her stomach as if the baby can hear.
"Yeah," She lets the tips of her lips twitch upwards. "We blew everybody's socks off." We stand there with mesmerized smiles on our faces, dreaming of the days that will forever be lost to us, far from our grasp. It's pretty clear we can never go back, but it's hard to imagine moving forward. I'm scared, so deathly scared I'll be alone forever. She at least has someone to hold her when the weather gets rough. She tugs on my pinky, and I finally meet her eyes.
"You got to go back inside?"
"Yeah," She almost seems disappointed. "You know, I have to vacuum up all the popcorn he's probably spilled everywhere. Have I told you how much I hate football?"
"Only about a dozen times," She nods her head at the memories of our discussions, late at night on the phone or perhaps walking past the grizzliest cases we had ever seen. We always managed to make the situations livable; we were only a phone call away to chase the nightmares away. "I won't be calling for awhile."
"No, I guess not." She replies, scratching the peeling paint of the front door.
"But maybe," I clear my throat. "Well if you need to vent your frustrations about the Super Bowl." She cracks a smile.
"I'll call you." She opens the door, peering through the screen with an intent look at her past, before shutting it with a final wave of her hand. I slowly shuffle down the steps and onto the sidewalk. At least we've forgiven each other, which is the most important thing. I'm almost certain I will be able to rid myself of my love for her, after all, there's plenty of fish in the sea.
Right?
I find myself at the front door where a cheerful mat lays underneath my feet, welcoming guests with a flourish of cursive. I struggle to pull my hand up from my side where it lays like a lump of numb skin and I knock on the door quickly, praying to god she isn't here and I can satisfy myself that at least I tried. Unfortunately the door opens and there she is, her face blocked by the screen door, wire separating us like in a prison. She blinks, her lips parting with a spillage of words that don't make sense, and for a heart wrenching second I can see she doesn't want me here. I try to speak but my voice is a traitor and hides deep in my stomach where the rest of my organs have deteriorated. Only butterflies live now, fluttering about in the hollow ground of my skeleton.
Still gasping for air she opens the screen door, her eyes shimmering coals of suspicion. She doesn't know what I'm doing here, neither do I. I regret coming, it was definitely a mistake. I should have turned around when I had the chance. Now she feels obligated to welcome me in, because of course we did have a history before all of the love stuff got in the way and I did travel all the way here to see her.
"Goren," She blinks and then smiles cautiously. "It's been awhile."
"Six months."
"Six months, way too long." Notice she still hasn't welcomed me in. "A lot has changed." She places a hand to her belly and a rip echoes in the dream that I have been living in these past months. I convinced myself she would realize the marriage was a mistake and the minute I showed up at the front door she would wrap her arms around me and promise to never let me go again. This.this changes everything.
"Congratulations Eames."
"Thanks," Something changes in that second, she seems more relaxed and I find her opening the door wider and letting me in. There's a man in the living room watching football. This was definitely a mistake.
"Ron this is Bobby, my old partner." She grins between us and disappears to go find drinks. The man rises and offers me a hearty handshake, his face plump and red with eyes of glittering happiness.
"Bob, you're a football fan, right?"
"I'm not an expert,"
"That's all right, as long as you're a fan." He offers the chair next to him and we settle in to uncomfortable silence. I can't talk to him, he's the one who took her away from me and he doesn't even know, doesn't even know about the kiss that almost cost him his marriage. I find a photo album lying on the coffee table and I pick it up carefully, as if it is Pandora's Box. Nothing good can come from it. I open it and Eames looks back at me with an excited smile, her arms around Ron in the way I dreamed I would hold her, its there honeymoon. I snap the book shut and push it back just as she comes in.
"Is Coke alright?" She hands me the glass. "We don't have alcoholic drinks, not with the baby coming."
"Coke is fine." I reply, but I'm not thirsty. I just want to leave. I want to forget all of this, her growing stomach, his beaming smile, the photos that hide in the dreaded book. "I should be going, I was in town and I just thought I would drop by." Eames's smile falters and she looks to Ron and then back at me. She probably thinks we had an argument. "Nice to meet you Ron."
"Hey, any friend of hers is a friend of mine; you come visit us whenever you want." He stands up and shakes my hand once more, Eames just looks like she's going to vomit on the carpet. I walk towards the door and wait for her to follow.
"We didn't get to talk." She says softly, her fingers tugging gently on the elbow of my shirt. "Can you sit outside with me, for a second?"
"Sure," I breathe letting her guide me to a white, wooden swing that bathes in the sun's enchanting streaks. "Nice guy."
"I'm glad you like him."
"It's hard not to like him."
"It's so easy to love him, there's no complications, no struggle. Its just there," She's telling me this for a reason; she's explaining why she couldn't be with me. It's just too complicated. "He's going to be a great father."
"Sure, he'll be perfect."
"There's no such thing as perfect."
"I don't know," I turn to her. "Some things just are." She searches my eyes and doesn't like what she sees, her eyes falling down through the cracks of the porch. "Anyway, I'm glad you are happy."
"No you aren't, it's not what you came here to hear, you didn't travel all this way to see me happily married and pregnant," She looks up, wiping away prickles of tears. "You were hoping I was miserable, you were looking to rescue me." I forgot how well she could read me.
"I didn't," I plead with her to listen but she won't, she just keeps shaking her head and sucking in whispers of anger she doesn't want Ron to hear. "Eames I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"You wanted to make sure you hadn't made the wrong decision."
"Me?"
"I told you," She changes the volume of her voice to deathly quiet. "I said I loved you and you just kept on walking."
"Cause I knew you didn't mean it."
"Course I meant it."
"You love me?"
"Loved."
"Past tense."
"Yeah, it's all in the past, and we have to move on now," She stands up suddenly, whipping around to point a wobbling finger at me. "Why can't you just get on with your life and leave me alone!" If I give her an answer it won't be the right one. I don't know why I keep trudging into her life expecting to be pleased with what I find; I don't know why I burst through her carefully erected home and flood it with thoughts she so carefully buried. I stand up, keeping my eyes down, and I touch her hand, linking my pinky with hers. I have to go; I have to stop doing this.
"I can't give you an answer, I don't know why. I.I won't come here anymore," I let out a rush of wheezing air and then I offer a slight smile. "Before all this, all this love bullshit, we were great, weren't we?" She places her hands palm down on her stomach as if the baby can hear.
"Yeah," She lets the tips of her lips twitch upwards. "We blew everybody's socks off." We stand there with mesmerized smiles on our faces, dreaming of the days that will forever be lost to us, far from our grasp. It's pretty clear we can never go back, but it's hard to imagine moving forward. I'm scared, so deathly scared I'll be alone forever. She at least has someone to hold her when the weather gets rough. She tugs on my pinky, and I finally meet her eyes.
"You got to go back inside?"
"Yeah," She almost seems disappointed. "You know, I have to vacuum up all the popcorn he's probably spilled everywhere. Have I told you how much I hate football?"
"Only about a dozen times," She nods her head at the memories of our discussions, late at night on the phone or perhaps walking past the grizzliest cases we had ever seen. We always managed to make the situations livable; we were only a phone call away to chase the nightmares away. "I won't be calling for awhile."
"No, I guess not." She replies, scratching the peeling paint of the front door.
"But maybe," I clear my throat. "Well if you need to vent your frustrations about the Super Bowl." She cracks a smile.
"I'll call you." She opens the door, peering through the screen with an intent look at her past, before shutting it with a final wave of her hand. I slowly shuffle down the steps and onto the sidewalk. At least we've forgiven each other, which is the most important thing. I'm almost certain I will be able to rid myself of my love for her, after all, there's plenty of fish in the sea.
Right?