Frozen

She loves the sound of the creaking stairs, she loves the silence everyone understands must be held. As she looks down from the balcony, she smiles at the memory of what the place once looked like. Once, she even stood there in front of a crowd and recited a poem she’d written. She just never told them it was hers. They clapped.

She walks around, not sure of what she’s looking for. But the solitude is nice. It lets her think. It clears the fog in her brain that has accompanied her ever since he left. She walks downstairs again, and as she turns to the bookshelf next to the steps, a tall shoulder bumps into hers. She looks up and she apologizes, but the person looking down at her just smiles and asks if she’s okay.

◊◊◊◊◊◊

They told him not to do this. They asked him. Begged him. They know this is only meant for disaster. They’re tired of hearing her cry about last year. Well, she stopped a while ago, but they certainly don’t want to hear it again. They don’t want to see the story happen all over again.

And so they asked him to leave her alone.

Here he is. Terrified of pushing a door open. Terrified of hate, of loathing, of rejection. So he just stands outside the store she just walked into and stares through the window. He watches as she bumps into someone and smiles. He has watched all morning as she shops, gets coffee, and buys books. But apparently all he can do now is watch.

◊◊◊◊◊◊

The second he got on the plane he felt his life stripped away from him. He couldn’t bear the terror of his friends finding someone new to be a part of the group, or of them not wanting to call him anymore because they will have grown tired of just having a friendship with a phone.

And her. The thought of having lost her even before he left. Well…even before he even had her. Now he’s been deprived of the freedom of choosing, of having a life with her, of even feeling her hand holding his. Life has taken all the pictures he’s made in his head, about spending whole weekends at her house, of falling asleep on her shoulder, of making her coffee in the morning…and it’s shredded them to pieces.

But here he is, on a plane that’s supposed to launch his future but it feels like it’s actually crashing against it.

His mom texts him before he puts his phone on airplane mode.

“Call me when you land.”

He reads it and sends a thumbs-up emoji.

“I know you’re upset but this is for the best.” She insists. He reads it.

He falls asleep the entire flight.

“So who are you going out with this week?”

“You’re making me sound a little slutty, you know.” He laughs at that.

“I don’t think you’re a slut…well, you aren’t a slut. I’m just asking…I’ve… seen you go out more often lately.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she put on the shoes she thought would match her outfit. “I used to refuse a lot of dates before but then I…” Her eyes find his as he stares at her from the bed. He tilts his head as his puzzled expression snaps her out. “I…just started thinking…what the hell? You know? Might as well get a free meal and decent conversation…most of the time.”

“Do guys always pay for dates you go on?”

“I do offer, but then they insist and since they’re the ones asking me out, I figure it makes sense for them to pay.”

“Makes sense.” He nods. “Not those shoes” He adds after a moment. “Let me help.”

A light turbulence cuts off his dream. A memory, really. The memory of her bedroom, of her well-made bed, the soft rosy smell of it, her light lavender perfume. Her abiding trust in him, how she let him in about everything that ailed or excited her.

◊◊◊◊◊◊

“Well, he just…we didn’t click. We’re better off as friends.” She clarifies.

“That must be the fifth date where you agree you’re better off as friends.”

“Your point?” She asks as she heads to the bathroom and closes it to change into her pajamas. She walks out to find Tom smiling at her, almost mocking her.

“My point is…you don’t want to date any of these guys, Sam.”

“Yes, I do. I have fun on dates, I eat a lot, I talk to new people…”

“And then you come back home and everything’s the same.”

“Look, Tom…I know I’m not going to find the love of my life in any of these guys. But I…can’t sit back and pretend that I’m okay about Jay leaving. I’m not…I’m not gonna go through the heartbreak of watching him leave and pretend that we’ll make it work.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t even try.”

“Because I don’t want to deal with our goodbye after months of honeymoon phase where we act like we don’t know the ending. We’re not 16 anymore…I’m not 16 anymore. When I was 16, I used to dream of this…every waking minute. And now that it’s finally come true…I can’t even have it.”

“Okay, can I ask you something?”

“You’re already sitting in psychology mode, you might as well.” She shrugs.

“Have you actually told him any of this? Or are you just ignoring him and not taking his calls?” She looks away from him, afraid of giving the answer Tom already knows.

“If I even look at him in the eye right now…I’m not going to have the courage to tell him I can’t be with him…”

“That’s because you should be with him.”

“If I should, then why is he moving across an ocean away from me?”

“It’s not his choice, Sam.”

“It doesn’t matter. Things that are meant to be don’t get torn apart before they even begin.”

◊◊◊◊◊◊

He doesn’t want to break into the esoteric moment she makes of picking out books and getting lost in borrowed verses, so he crosses the street, without losing sight of the door to catch her whenever she comes out.

He waits.

Two purchases and a number exchange later, she walks out.

Wind stops, people freeze, two hearts thump.

She sees him.