Title: Nostalgia
Genre: Acceptance
Word Count: 997
Holy mother, it has been a long time since I stopped before I hit a 1000 :P
Warnings: Nothing really.
Summary: Revisiting the past can hurt. Sometimes it is necessary.
----
I met her over coffee, a date we'd planned when we ran into each other while shopping for groceries. I reached earlier and sat down at a corner table, one with a nice view. She came in and sat across the table. It had been so long but it still felt familiar; her smile, the grace with which she walked, the way her soft hair blew across her face. The last time we had met was a high school reunion just one year after we had graduated. Now it's been ten odd years since then and in all the familiarity there are the slight differences. The extra layer of fat on her face, the barely seen but still there crow's feet around her eyes. She interrupts my reverie. "How are you?" "I'm good." She smiles. "How are you?" "I'm good too." "You look good." She smiles again. We talk for over an hour, of old friends, of forgotten acquaintances, of our new lives. She talks about her children, checks her watch to see if it was time to pick them up from school. I talk about mine, she smiles at a picture on my phone and says she'd like to meet them sometime. We pretend to not notice the emptiness we felt, the gaping hole in our minds, the elephant in the room. We pretended because it was easier that way. Ten years later, the pain hadn't become any less hard to bear. I put my elbows up on the table and she notices a scar on my upper arm. She asks me what happened, I look into her eyes and she knows the answer from my expression. All of a sudden, the elephant in the room is the highlight, its arrival announced by a fanfare and flashing spotlights. It's unavoidable now. "It's an old scar." "From that night?" "Yeah." --- A cool autumn night, ten years ago. A borrowed car, two guys and a girl, a crate of beer on the back seat. The three are in high spirits, the driver of the car got his driver's licence a few days ago, his girlfriend is in the seat next to him who thinks he is the hottest thing, his best friend is in the backseat with the beer. It's only been a week after graduation, the parties haven't ended, and they're on their way to the first of that night. "How do I drive, babe?" "You're amazing," she says and leans over the gear shaft to kiss him on his lips. He grins at his best friend through the rear view mirror and turns his attention back to the road. "You know what? What we should really do is-" --- No one ever knew what it was that he thought they should really do. He never got to finish that sentence, never completed that thought. Soon time after they blanked out, the sirens sounded, the police arrived. The broken bottles of beer seemed to lead to the obvious conclusion, that they had been drinking. A breathlyzer test on the survivors, an autopsy on the dead, proved them in the right. The driver of a --- who slept behind the wheel and barrelled into their car from a pocket road was found to be the culprit. The blame game was played. One person lost his life. Two lost their minds. --- She looks at the scar again. "It's been a long time," she says. "I still miss him." "Me too." She smiles a wry smile as the waiter asks us if we wanted anything more. She shakes her head and asks for the bill. We head out into the cool evening, walking in silence. She calls her husband and asks him to pick their kids from school, she's hung up somewhere. All the things I had thought of saying if we ever met are rushing through my mind in fast forward, and I'm left speechless. I look at her from the corner of my eye and from her eyes I think she feels the same way. We stop midway across a bridge. She stands with her back to the railing, she's watching me, I notice. I pretend I don't and lean against the railing, as though looking for answers in the depths of the water. "Maybe," I begin but I don't quite have the courage to complete. She looks at me and waits. I compose myself and begin again, the words coming out in a rush. "Maybe I should have driven that night. Maybe I should have told him to be more careful. Maybe we should have taken the other route. Maybe we shouldn't have gone and instead stayed home with a movie." My voice breaks and I stop. She puts her hand on my arm. Squeezes. "He would never have blamed you. He wouldn't ever want you to blame yourself." It's been ten years. But this is when the tears finally flow. I don't even realize. Until I feel her wiping them away. She hugs me, holds me close. I keep crying. The wind blows. It brings an inner peace. --- Thinking about that incident now, maybe that was the moment I began to forgive myself. But that wasn't what made the moment special. I knew he was there. In the air, in the sky, in her. I know I probably sound silly but I'm sure. He walked over to us from the sunset, and put his arms around us, I had felt his warmth. She had begun to cry as well, at some point. We held onto each other for comfort, for reassurance, holding onto reality. --- The evening had grown darker by the time we finally parted. She dropped me to my house, I said she ought to come over someday, meet the wife. She smiled and promised she would. As she drove away, I watched until the car disappeared around the corner. Then turned around, and took my first step towards acceptance. ---
Genre: Acceptance
Word Count: 997
Holy mother, it has been a long time since I stopped before I hit a 1000 :P
Warnings: Nothing really.
Summary: Revisiting the past can hurt. Sometimes it is necessary.
----
I met her over coffee, a date we'd planned when we ran into each other while shopping for groceries. I reached earlier and sat down at a corner table, one with a nice view. She came in and sat across the table. It had been so long but it still felt familiar; her smile, the grace with which she walked, the way her soft hair blew across her face. The last time we had met was a high school reunion just one year after we had graduated. Now it's been ten odd years since then and in all the familiarity there are the slight differences. The extra layer of fat on her face, the barely seen but still there crow's feet around her eyes. She interrupts my reverie. "How are you?" "I'm good." She smiles. "How are you?" "I'm good too." "You look good." She smiles again. We talk for over an hour, of old friends, of forgotten acquaintances, of our new lives. She talks about her children, checks her watch to see if it was time to pick them up from school. I talk about mine, she smiles at a picture on my phone and says she'd like to meet them sometime. We pretend to not notice the emptiness we felt, the gaping hole in our minds, the elephant in the room. We pretended because it was easier that way. Ten years later, the pain hadn't become any less hard to bear. I put my elbows up on the table and she notices a scar on my upper arm. She asks me what happened, I look into her eyes and she knows the answer from my expression. All of a sudden, the elephant in the room is the highlight, its arrival announced by a fanfare and flashing spotlights. It's unavoidable now. "It's an old scar." "From that night?" "Yeah." --- A cool autumn night, ten years ago. A borrowed car, two guys and a girl, a crate of beer on the back seat. The three are in high spirits, the driver of the car got his driver's licence a few days ago, his girlfriend is in the seat next to him who thinks he is the hottest thing, his best friend is in the backseat with the beer. It's only been a week after graduation, the parties haven't ended, and they're on their way to the first of that night. "How do I drive, babe?" "You're amazing," she says and leans over the gear shaft to kiss him on his lips. He grins at his best friend through the rear view mirror and turns his attention back to the road. "You know what? What we should really do is-" --- No one ever knew what it was that he thought they should really do. He never got to finish that sentence, never completed that thought. Soon time after they blanked out, the sirens sounded, the police arrived. The broken bottles of beer seemed to lead to the obvious conclusion, that they had been drinking. A breathlyzer test on the survivors, an autopsy on the dead, proved them in the right. The driver of a --- who slept behind the wheel and barrelled into their car from a pocket road was found to be the culprit. The blame game was played. One person lost his life. Two lost their minds. --- She looks at the scar again. "It's been a long time," she says. "I still miss him." "Me too." She smiles a wry smile as the waiter asks us if we wanted anything more. She shakes her head and asks for the bill. We head out into the cool evening, walking in silence. She calls her husband and asks him to pick their kids from school, she's hung up somewhere. All the things I had thought of saying if we ever met are rushing through my mind in fast forward, and I'm left speechless. I look at her from the corner of my eye and from her eyes I think she feels the same way. We stop midway across a bridge. She stands with her back to the railing, she's watching me, I notice. I pretend I don't and lean against the railing, as though looking for answers in the depths of the water. "Maybe," I begin but I don't quite have the courage to complete. She looks at me and waits. I compose myself and begin again, the words coming out in a rush. "Maybe I should have driven that night. Maybe I should have told him to be more careful. Maybe we should have taken the other route. Maybe we shouldn't have gone and instead stayed home with a movie." My voice breaks and I stop. She puts her hand on my arm. Squeezes. "He would never have blamed you. He wouldn't ever want you to blame yourself." It's been ten years. But this is when the tears finally flow. I don't even realize. Until I feel her wiping them away. She hugs me, holds me close. I keep crying. The wind blows. It brings an inner peace. --- Thinking about that incident now, maybe that was the moment I began to forgive myself. But that wasn't what made the moment special. I knew he was there. In the air, in the sky, in her. I know I probably sound silly but I'm sure. He walked over to us from the sunset, and put his arms around us, I had felt his warmth. She had begun to cry as well, at some point. We held onto each other for comfort, for reassurance, holding onto reality. --- The evening had grown darker by the time we finally parted. She dropped me to my house, I said she ought to come over someday, meet the wife. She smiled and promised she would. As she drove away, I watched until the car disappeared around the corner. Then turned around, and took my first step towards acceptance. ---
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