Chapter 16: The Someone You Once Loved So Long Ago So Well

Two weeks later……………

(Roderick)

I was moving to LA in another two weeks, but I hadn't started packing. I did everything else. I rented an apartment in LA and I rented my apartment out to Murray and Amy, but I didn't start packing. I didn't want to. I hated packing. Don't kid yourself, I thought. That's not the only reason you haven't started packing.

I heard the door open and closed behind me. A small flicker of hope rose in my throat. Maybe it was Aisha telling me not to go. But, I turned around and it was Amy. Wishful thinking, I thought, disgusted with myself.

"Aren't you leaving in two weeks?" Amy asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Well, nothing is packed," she commented.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I said, snidely. "Now can you steer the ship in the direction that would help me?"

"Whoa," Amy said. "First of all, that made no sense. Second of all, don't be such an ass to me."

I sighed. I didn't mean to be so mean to her. I'd been snippy to everyone lately. Even Clara annoyed me and she never did.

"I'm sorry," I said. "We'll start with the kitchen-ware."

I took some boxes into the kitchen with Amy on my heels and opened the drawers to reveal the silverware, which we started wrapping in bubble wrap.

"I take it you're still not over Aisha," Amy said.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said.

"Why not?" Amy asked.

Because it's killing me just thinking about her, I answered mentally. I'm just too embarrassed to say it out loud. I picked up my song book that I always kept next to me and wrote that thought down so I could use it later on in a song and then sat back down in the kitchen with Amy.

"I just don't," I answered.

"Well, you're obviously still upset," Amy commented. "Because you've never acted this way before."

"I've always been this way," I said.

"No, you haven't," Amy argued. "The other day you snapped at a waiter when she asked you if you wanted coffee with cream. You even told him to 'bring in.'"

I sighed. Amy was right. This break-up really did change the way I acted.

"Have you spoken to her?" I asked Amy.

"Aisha or the waiter?" Amy asked.

"Aisha, dumb-ass," I snapped. "I don't believe I'd call a male waiter a 'she' unless he was a drag queen or a hermaphrodite."

"Yeah, I talked to her," she replied, ignoring my rude comment.

"How is she?"

"She's okay."

"Really?"

"She misses you."

"I miss her, too."

I miss her so much it kills, I thought. Once again, I picked up my songbook and wrote those words down. Amy saw what I wrote and looked at me like I wasan alien.

"Do you actually feel that way?" she asked.

"Yeah," I admitted.

"Wow," Amy said. "You've never been like this when you broke up with any of your previous girlfriends. You must really care about her."

"It's more than that," I said, wrapping some more silverware. "I think I love her."

Amy looked at me wide-eyed. That was the first time I'd said that about anyone. I knew it and Amy knew it.

"But, it doesn't matter now," I said. "Because I lost her."

"You want to write that down in your notebook?" Amy asked.

I shook my head and went back to packing.

(Aisha)

I was painting furiously on the canvas. I'd been painting for two weeks straight except for when I was teaching my art class. I never expressed any emotion in my lifeexcept for when I was painting, which was what I was doing now. There was a knock on the door.

"Aisha, it's me," a male voice said. "Open up."

My heart suddenly rose a little bit in my throat. Was it Roderick? Was he here to tell me that he wasn't moving? But, suddenly it hit me: it wasn't Roderick. This voice was slightly higher-pitched than Roderick's.

"It's open," I said.

The door opened and Murray walked in carrying my mail

"I thought I'd pick up your mail," he said. "Since you haven't bothered to get it in the past two weeks."

"How thoughtful of you," I said, blandly, not taking my eyes of my picture.

"You got a letter from NYU," Murray said.

NYU was where wewent college.

"I got the same one, actually," he continued. "The eight-year reunion is tomorrow."

"I'm not going," I said, still not looking up.

"You have to go," Murray said. "I'm going."

"I'm busy," I said.

"Aisha, slowly put the brush down and sit down on the couch."

I looked over at Murray to see if he was kidding. He wasn't. In fact, the look he had on his face reminded me of the look my father used to give me when I was doing something wrong. I slowly put my paintbrush in the jar of brown-colored water (from paint) and sat down on the couch. Murray sat down next to me and put his arm around me.

"What is with you?" he asked. "If you painted anymore, you'd get arthritis or carpo tunnel."

"I always paint," I answered.

"Not this much," he said. "This is about Roderick, isn't it?"

I grimaced. I couldn't even hear his name without getting so upset.

"This has nothing to do with him," I said.

"Then, explain the pictures," Murray said, extending his index finger at my easel.

The picture was of broken fragments of me. In the middle was my eye ten times its normal side with a tear in the corner. The pictures behind me were also of me.

In one I was in a black dress crying and sitting on a hill in the rain. Then there was one where I was wearing a white dress, but I was transparent so you could see thetrees through me. In the middle of my hollow chest was little pieces of a broken heart.

"You only paint like that when you're upset," Murray said. "This is so you don't cry or get mad."

"That's not true," I argued.

"I've known you since college," Murray said in a comforting tone. "This is what you do. You can't keep this bottled up forever."

Murray was right, but I couldn't even talk about it. It made me too upset. I was sure I would end up crying.

"Talk to me," Murray prompted.

"You can't just force me to talk," I said. "This was the best relationship I had and it's over. I need time to heal."

"Oprah, you've been dating for three months," Murray said. "It doesn't take you more than one week to get over it."

"Thiswas different," I said, softly.

Just like I predicted, tears filled my eyes. The best thing to do was to use short sentences to keep from crying.

"I miss him," I whispered. "And I think I loved him."

Murray put a pillow down in his lap (like Amy did) and I put my head down on it and all the emotion I kept bottled up inside for two weeks came pouring out and I started to cry. Murray planted a kiss on the top of my head and rubbed my back. I was so lucky I had Murray. He was like a father and a brother combined. But, he's not Roderick, I thought. That only made me cry harder.

To Be Continued……….

A/N: Chapter 17 is coming soon.