Cherry Pie

Staring out of the carriage window with my face pressed into the glass of a Great Western Railway train is my first memory of a feeling that I would later come to know as ` good-bye ´. Wide-eyed, I would sit on the stained and bristly seats, hoping each time that if I pressed myself into the glass hard enough or for long enough that eventually, it would pull me through. Imagining its DNA warping and evolving to the mould of me, just enough that I could step out through the other side and back onto the platform. Instead, my small breath would fog the glass, paving a canvas for my finger to outline a heart shape. The platform was always just there. Within reach. Beyond my reach. My thoughts are interrupted at this point, and my gaze bounces from the window of my empty bedroom to the door where my dog is knocking to be let out. Dread cripples my body like an autoimmune disease. Today is the day I have been putting back for weeks, but with a deep breath and a quiet hum of optimism, I find my feet and look to my dog. He seems to know that it´s time to leave, so I trust him and open the door. Bounding down the stairs, we try to outrun the inevitable slam of the door behind us. Too finite. It´s a noise that I have largely ignored in my five years living here, but which now sounds like a heavy book crashing shut behind me and with it a history of thoughts and feelings, of stories and hugs and salty tears; left in limbo behind my old heavy door. Downstairs now, Leo is nudging his breakfast bowl, and I wonder if after today I should throw it away, in the spirit of new beginnings and such. Much like the way I have got rid of half my belongings since the letter arrived last month confirming my new job placement in the city. Bags of clothes and trinkets that I can´t bear to be around anymore, so they´re gone. Collateral loss in the name of new opportunity, I reassure myself. Tess and I have been best friends since school; house-sharing together was a dream we had lived for back then, a rite of passage like the many we have embarked upon together. Two plaited ponytails crusading through the arduous motions of growing up and sometimes growing back down. From daisy chains to friendship bracelets, periods pains to boyfriend dramas and everything in between. We were and have been a safe haven to each other, a comfort, a constant. Since last week I have been secretly moving out to reduce the impact of my sudden news. In fact, my last bag of belongings is now safely tucked under the kitchen table away from Tess, who will be down any moment. I turn on the coffee machine for the last time. The groan of the Nespresso maker mimics my grief, deep and hoarse like a train on rusted tracks leaving its station.

"Good morning", Tess yawns as she slumps over the table in front of me. Tess sits there each morning with sleep in her eyes as I make us coffee; it has been this way since we first moved in together, a sort of unspoken ritual. Tess has always been dependant on me, the silent kind, in the way I refill all the soap dispensers in the house because she never thinks to. Or, is it that she never thinks to because I always do? Either way, every friendship has a mum, and I guess that's me; I keep a watchful eye. At least I did until she started ´seriously´ dating her new muse, Matthew. Like the tide, black coffee sloshes ominously around the sides as I pour into the ´Best-Friends-Forever´ mug that Tess has lovingly kept since year 4. With this thought, my heart twangs like a snapped guitar string, its vibrations travel up to my mouth, and I burst out, "Tess, I have some important news". The crazy frog song bellows across the echoing kitchen. "CRAP!" Tess screeches. "Sorry, Molly. Can it wait? Matthew is calling me; I forgot that I was supposed to have coffee with him this morning, he's walking me to work. I´ll see you later, love you!" she calls back automatically. Tess runs out of the door, leaving her hot coffee on the side; just like I am about to leave her, I berate myself. I´m not sure what bothers me the most, Matthew innocently sabotaging my last ´official´ breakfast as a roommate, or that I must now wait all day to resume this agonising goodbye. I ask Leo if he wants to go for his morning walk. As usual, he´s way ahead of me and already tugging at his lead by the front door, so I pour the coffee down the drain and rinse the cups out.

Meandering down country lanes in the fresh morning light with Leo is as healing as a hot bubble bath on a cold day. As we walk to the park, it occurs to me that the problem with getting my dream job in children´s illustrations is that I can no longer walk past a simple hedgerow of Cow Parsley without re-designing its ancient petals. With each passing bramble, I´m making mental notes on graphite choices- My mind can't seem to leave anything alone. The warm breeze reminds me of my childhood, of Tess, and me, and picnics. Finally, it reminds me of how all that is gone now. We aren't children anymore; she spends more time in Matthew's house than she does ours these days. I close my eyes and remember the sleepovers we had; the ill-drawn fairies on the walls and lopsided heart shapes crayoned into every surface we were allowed to touch. My heart smiles. I would not rub out or change a single one of those less-ancient scribbles. "I know. Leo, let´s swing by the café on our way back for a piece of cake; I´m sure Tess won´t be too busy for a chat." I suggest with nerves sticking to the back of my throat. Leo, however, could not look less enthused. I feel him pulling me back towards the park as if he has understood me, and after all, cafés aren't fun for dogs - either that or he has seen a pigeon. I´m not sure why I haven't been able to tell my best friend that we won't be living together anymore; it's not as if at the ripe age of 24 we aren't ready to be independent of each other! In any case, I am the one who has decided to move out. Tess will be fine on her own; however, it seems like she won't be on her own for too long now that Matthew is in the picture, and that makes me happy. Am I afraid that my exciting new job in the city will make Tess feel left behind? Perhaps. Am I worried that after all these years of sisterhood, she won't miss me as much as I want her to? Maybe. Is my heart just aching at the next stage of our lives, and how for the first time since we could walk, it won´t be side by side? Yes.

Cherry pie or carrot cake? They both look naughty and delicious in the café window. Peering past the sweet-shelf, I can't see Tess inside, so Leo and I perch on a quaint table in the tea garden. I'm not sure whether the paintwork on this rustic table set is deliberate or not, but anything looks great with a cherry on top, I decide as my slice of pie and brew arrives. We sit and wait; it must be past lunchtime by now. My thoughts travel to the inaudible chatter and chants behind me from the bus station across from the school: chaos, the familiar hustle and bustle of public transport. I can hear children getting excited at the bus's arrival, and they're shouting out its flashing number back to their friends, confirming their ticket home. In mere moments, the bus has been hijacked by tweens and the doors close again. Silence. Impossible to imagine a sound more terrifying, and just like that, I'm catapulted back in time, back to the bristly train station chairs. Barely a tween myself, I would sit and pray for the Tannoy to never announce that my train was arriving, to never have to leave the loud platform where families hugged and held hands desperately for however much longer they could. I would have to endure the sound of the ´last call´ whistle- and still, I would have to croak goodbye. All the life and busyness of a station dies at the arrival of a train, and only silence is left on its platform. "Molly? I didn't expect to see you here this afternoon." I hear Tess say as I travel back from my head to the table. She sits beside me on the other pretentiously ´chic` garden chair. Now is my time to tell her my news. Oh gosh, will she think I've been keeping secrets? My heart races, I've made a mistake, and now I can't think of a single justifiable reason why I didn't mention this bombshell to her weeks ago. "The cherry pie is too good to walk past," I say with a smile. Tess doesn't look convinced, and now prickles are like poison ivy around my throat, trapping my words from escaping as if my heart knows that saying them out loud makes it real. What if she asks me to stay? What if she doesn't? Breath. Don't be so dramatic, I scold myself. Leo can feel my agitation from beneath the table, sensing my heart tremors rattling the chair legs below, mini earthquakes shooting through me into the earth. Just as I´m reaching deep inside, dragging out the stubborn words that need to be said, I'm startled. "Leo!" Tess screams as she bounces to her feet. Confused, I look down, and Leo is gone. I roar in despair. "Where did he go? Did you see?!"

"He ran through that hedge behind you. He must have seen a rabbit or a squirr..."

I´m running. Not a single thought crosses my mind in the time it takes for my body to oil up, change gear and charge forward. I am simply reacting, the instinctual function that has lately been gathering dust underneath stacks of incessant overthinking. Leo is just in sight up ahead; he´s taking me all around the town, he´s taking me as far away from Tess and goodbye tears as possible, and I'm following breathlessly without hesitation. By the time I've caught up with my adopted pain in the arse, he´s resting under a tree, empty-handed. Presumably, his chase has been unsuccessful. With the town´s wildlife intact, I hold his leash tighter than ever on our long walk home; the sun is coming down. It´s almost time for me to leave, but I've yet to speak with Tess, and now that the panic has subsided, I can feel a new panic creep in. The underlying debilitating anxiety that life as I know it will never be the same again. After today everything will be different, and now, I'm no longer sure if I have been scared of telling Tess or if I have been scared of change itself. I tell myself that nothing will be lost and that memories are loopholes in time that we can fall into whenever we choose. I will be farther away, and we won't ever be as close again, but that won't take away from what we have had. A lifetime of friendship and a lifetime more still to come. Leo stops and looks up at me; I pat him gently on the head. Exhaling, I feel a calm come over me just as we arrive at the porch of our old pokey townhouse. Sitting by the front door are a pair of well-kept boots. Matthews boots. Instead of opening the door, I walk to the side and press my face against the window. Tess is sat up on the kitchen counter, and it looks like Matthew is telling her a funny story; he´s using lots of hand gestures, and she´s giggling in turn. Leo nudges my legs; how does he always know? We walk away from the orange glow of the window; I take some of its warmth with me as I close the gate gently behind us. Less finite. No gut-wrenching goodbye necessary, I decide. "You´re right, Leo. We´ll call Tess tomorrow and explain all of this to her. She will probably laugh and call me a silly sod," I reassure. As we take off with a peculiar skip in our step, I realise that It´s been a long time since I have made an important journey. I know now that I stopped the visits because the endings were all too painful. Allowing my instincts to overrule my mind once more today, my fingers find my phone in my pocket, and I´m dialling a number I know so well. "It´s me. Meet me at the platform, will you, Dad?