Entrapped in Time

Tessa always liked routine. Or at least she thought she did. She never did know the difference between wanting to do something and being used to doing something. So at 6:00 am on a Thursday morning, she willed her legs to move her to the sink where she could wash away the sleep that dawdled mulishly onto the crevices of her eyelids. But the soft and constant thrumming of her toothbrush would pull her eyes shut again. 

Later, her closet would creak open. Her fingers would brush the variety of fabric that hung inside. Silk to denim. Today though, she decided to reach for the upper shelf, onto the back of her closet where unworn clothes sat. Outfits that she was saving for something special. Her fingertips then grazed over what felt like embroidered flowers embellished on soft, thin fabric. She recognized this one from the texture alone, a gift from her grandmother. A dress the color of her eyes. She pulled out the hazel fabric, her eyes studying the elaborate pattern of lace that was sewn onto its neckline. There was nothing special about today but she decided to settle for this one.

So she gently shook it from its neatly folded state. It was the first time she did so. When she received it, she let her fingertips trace over the embellishments, the embroidered flowers, the patterned lace, familiarizing herself with every intricate texture. That is until she stuck it onto the back of her closet, didn’t even try it on. Her eyes gazed over the bottom part of the dress that she hadn’t seen before. Fingers softly reached for the delicate embroidery on its waistline. She pressed it against her body, studying how she looked from top to bottom. Hazel like your eyes, her grandmother told her over the phone when she had received the gift. 

As she relished the dress in the mirror, she noticed a picture on the floor. It must’ve been nestled inside the folded dress. She picked it up. Her grandmother’s pristine handwriting read 628 Wellbury. She turned it over to see a picture of her and her grandmother from when she was little. A toothy smile formed on little Tessa’s face, her eyes beaming with joy as she hugged her grandmother whose features hinted at signs of aging that hid behind a smile that reached her eyes. 

Something welled up from inside her, a strong emotion that she didn’t take the time to understand. She folded it up again, as neatly as she could. Trying to bring back how it looked like before. How she had folded it. It didn’t satisfy her though, regrets flooded her mind. She wished she had left it as it were. Entrapped in time like the picture. She placed it back in her closet.

-

She kept the picture inside her diary that she usually brings with her to work. From time to time she’d glance at the picture and flip it over. 628 wellbury. Why her grandmother would put that there, she did not know. 

“You’re off today,” Charles, her co-worker pointed at her with a pen. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“No no, you’re-” he paused, squinting at her. “What’s that? You keep staring at it,” Charles wheeled his chair towards her and peeked over at her shoulder. 

“Oh,” he mumbled softly when he saw the picture. 

“It’s fine,” she said dismissively and flipped over the picture, “628 wellbury, do you know what that is?”

He leaned back on his chair and placed his feet on Tessa’s desk, “628 wellbury. Wellbury, it sounds familiar. Is it an address?”

Tessa shook her head and traced over the pristine cursive writing with her finger, “not anywhere near us.”

On any other day, Tessa would swat off Charles’ feet, a routine that the two of them had grown accustomed to. But today, she didn’t care, just thankful that he doesn’t treat her differently after what happened. Charles lingered at Tessa’s desk for a while, she felt his gaze on her as she went back to work. None of them said anything, she didn’t mind.

-

Charles asked if she wanted to get dinner with him and the others, she declined, said she was tired. He didn’t pry. A part of her wanted him to, why though? She didn't know.

She decided to walk home that night, instead of taking the 6 pm bus. There was something intimate about walking alone at night, devoid of fear or worry. She let her mind wander. Where did they get dinner? She should’ve come. She didn’t feel like cooking tonight. If she did, would she cook the fish or just microwave some leftovers? The last time she ate fish was with her grandmother. Just two weeks ago. She didn’t want fish. She should throw it away, it’s been in the freezer for quite some time now. How long do fishes stay fresh anyway? Her grandmother was the one who taught her how to cook, she must’ve mentioned how long you should keep produce in your fridge. She misses her. She can’t remember what she said though. She wished she wore the dress today. But she can’t wear the dress there’s nothing special about today. No there’s nothing special about today. 

A honk from a car took her away from her thoughts, she hated how loud cars can be. 

“Tessa!” Charles pulled her towards the sidewalk, “Jesus, can you-”

The mere touch of Charles made her realize how starved she is for it. For comfort. For company. She collapsed onto his arms, tears gushed down onto her cheeks. If Charles minded, he didn’t show. He didn’t say anything as he held her on the sidewalk. People and cars passed them but they remained still as if they were a picture entrapped in time. He hugged her tighter as she cried, kissed her hair as she buried her head deeper into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

“She didn't tell me that it was anything serious,” she said a moment later, her voice barely a whisper. She stopped crying now, but she held onto Charles and she held her back. 

-

Charles walked her home that night, the sounds of their footsteps treading the sidewalk were enough for the two of them. He offered to stay over when they reached her house, she thanked him but said no, said she was tired. She watched him walk away, glancing back to wave at her.

She lay on the couch, exhausted. She closed her eyes and thought of Charles, her grandmother, then to the picture. She sat and pulled out the picture, noticing every detail from the freckles on her cheeks to the items on their background. There was a bag behind them, you can barely make out the details but as she examined it closer, the bag had Wellbury on its logo. Immediately she went to her grandmother’s room. She had not been there ever since she last saw her, everything inside was left untouched, entrapped in the time when she was still alive. 

Gently she opened the door, it creaked softly on its hinges and the wooden floor protested beneath her feet. The faint smell of lavender found its way onto her nostrils as she entered. She let her fingers find their way onto the light switch, the warm orange light of fluorescent bulbs filled the room. Her fingers slid from the light switch and onto the embossed wallpaper, tracing over its crevices and patterns. It was exactly as her grandmother had left it, the bed wasn’t made, and a pillow was on the floor from when she was hurriedly carried onto an ambulance. The carpet warmed her bare feet, she scrunched up her toes like she did when she was little. She didn’t dare sit on the bed, for fear that she’ll disrupt its frozen state. 

Tessa consciously walked over to her closet, thumb grazing over the smooth knobs, and opened it. As she suspected the bag was there. Wellburry. She sat on the floor and examined the leather bag, studying the gold-plated logo. There was a lock in the bag though, three numbers. She slowly put in 628, rolling the dials as carefully as she could as if she was prolonging the event. It opened softly with a click. 

She paused before opening it, closing her eyes to take a deep breath of the lavender-scented room. Inside was a notebook, a diary bound in leather with strings tied in a bow. It gave in in one pull. Inside were diary entries, letters with the dates for June 28 but each was a different year. Pristine cursive danced in black ink, waltzed with Tessa as she celebrated her birthday with her grandmother.