Sunshine and Teatime

Teen Idol 7: Round 9; short story

Coffee.

A dark river of caffeine cascading into a mug, steam rising like the clouds we used to gaze at...I won’t watch it.

Creamer, swirling through the coffee in pale, blossoming arcs, the ones that you thought looked like—I won’t remember it.

A fragrant wave reaches my nostrils, and I'm not prepared for how much it smells like your lips, after—I won’t smell it.

Too late.

I drop the mug, and don’t even realize it until a scalding pool of coffee reaches my feet.

I think I need to start drinking tea.

I think I need to get out of here.

********************************************

It’s really a poetic sort of day, I think. Daffodils are bobbing their heads, while trees sway in their fresh new gowns to the music of a warm spring breeze. Or something like that. I don’t quite notice, to be honest. It’s the sort of day that you would have adored, you see, so I’m shielding myself.

It’s amazing how easy it is to live in a bubble.

The bright sun is too much like you—I ignore it. The muddy water trapped in puddles is too different, so I ignore that, too. So much can bounce off a bubble.

My eyes trace the sidewalk cracks as I walk. Those are neutral, because I simply can’t think about broken things now.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Stepping. On. Each. Crack.

It’s funny, if I just close my eyes and walk, it’s like nothing ever happened, and you’re still here. I’d rather not open them, but I know what happens if I think too much.

There’s a herd of joggers thundering down the road…you were faster. And a Frisbee game in the park; remember when we—I won’t remember it.

Yards are glaringly green, lined with rows of grass clippings. They smell of summer, of work, of your skin when...I won’t smell it.

“Stop it!”
“Watch out!”
There are two kids on roller skates down the street, clinging to each other as their feet fly out every which way. One tumbles over in gasping shrieks of laughter, pulling the other down as well. I won’t watch, I won’t watch, I...

I can feel it as my bubble pops. I grope my way to a tree and slide down it, pressing my face to the bark, just to feel something real. For some reason my breath is shuddering. Why am I doing this; I haven’t even thought about…you.

And that’s the worst part of all.

Eventually I rise, and step back into an invisible barrier. My eyes are perfectly dry—why should I cry? There’s nothing worth sobbing over at all, really. Just a beautiful day in a beautiful park, with no rain to speak of. The sidewalk is even.

Right. Left. Right. Left. I. Could. Walk. Forever.

The hum of a car fills the street, scattering those in the road. A convertible, bursting with burnished guys and tank-topped girls rolls along. Manicured fingers drape over the sides, wrapped around cell phones and smoldering cigarettes, while the latest hot band spills from the stereo.

It all seems impossibly foreign to me, as I sit in my undetectable fortress. Maybe it should be familiar. Maybe I should be in the blazingly red car, trailing smoke and silver-bell laughter. But if I was in there, then you wouldn’t be able to find me. No, when you come looking, I’ll be here, just as you left me.

Not that I’m thinking of you leaving. That doesn’t work, I’ve found all too harshly. You’re you, I’m me. We are. That’s how it was, and how it is...how it was, and how it is...

It really is almost amusing how simple it is, to just walk right-left-right in a circle and think me-you-us, around and around.

I can smile at the boy with the ice cream dribbled down his shirt, or nod at the stooped woman sweeping her porch, and they have no idea that I’m not entirely here. The couple walking their dog has no clue that I’m treading a path through last year, all over again.

The day is finally dimming, as the night flings its fingers and grabs hold of the sky. I’m still in my steel bubble as I float to bed.

And then a chill sweeps across my room. Blankets up to my chin, I suddenly notice the vacant pillow next to me; the enormous emptiness. I can smell the cold coffee still on the kitchen floor, and I realize that the mug was shattered. Shattered, broken, ended.

Broken.

Ended.

Gone.

There is a hollowness in my chest, and it’s trying to suck the rest of me in through it. This is the worst part, because I swore it wouldn’t happen—heartbroken is an overused phrase. What’s gone is gone, what’s here is here...but what I thought was here, isn’t.

Empty.

And it’s the completely clichéd everything that’s making this so hard to take.

There’s nothing to do but close my eyes.

*******************************************

Tap.

Taptap.

Ratataptataptataptatap.

There’s a woodpecker outside…and I know that it’s a woodpecker.

I didn’t think it was you, tapping on the door—I know, without looking, exactly what it really is.

The empty side of the bed is warm...and I know that it’s the sun, not you, that is warming it.

When I open my eyes, for the first time in an eon, I’m not disappointed. The woodpecker is flapping off in a flash of red and gray feathers, and the sun is there. It’s smiling through my window, and it doesn’t remind me of you.

I smile back.

I think it’s time to get up and make a cup of tea.