Co-written with @laughterandjynx
I throw open the glass door with my perfectly manicured hand and the rusting bell rings overhead. My nose wrinkles in disgust at the shabby interior of the vintage shop my sister had recommended to me. Why she shopped at this hand-me-down-dump was beyond me.
I eye the numerous pairs of sunglasses on display, still pissed at the stupidity of my sister, who earlier today, had managed to sit on my old sunglasses, cracking a lens and bending one of the legs. Needless to say, I need a new pair, but I’m almost sure that none of the sunglasses sold here will be able to compare to my previous ones. Scanning the rack, I purse my lips and come to the conclusion that none of them suit my fancy. Too colorful. Too plain. Too diva. If only my idiot of a sister hadn’t broken mine, then I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Frustration seeps through my veins. Each wasted second causes a new wave of irritation to surge through my body. Just when I’m about to storm out of the shop, a pair manages to catch my eye. They’re a simple white pair with several diamond-like rhinestones encrusted on the sides: flashy, but not over the top.
Glancing at a mirror, I fix my highlighted hair and slip on the shades. I sink into darkness, before an image comes into view. I'm engulfed in a range of emotions that don't belong to me. Somehow, I know that I’m viewing a memory of a stranger.
The sun smiles down at the ground below as ocean waves crash against the shoreline. Seagulls are dotted in the clear blue sky, cawing and adding to the picturesque beach scene. A girl with light brown hair suddenly appears, donning the exact same pair of sunglasses I was currently wearing. She’s running through the sand, barefoot, giggling. “Brian! Hurry up!”
A boy, Brian, appears to be a year or so younger than the girl, trails after her. They look somewhat alike, so I assume that they’re siblings. Together, they pick up too many seashells to hold, build a sandcastle that almost reaches hip height, and splash each other with salty ocean water. The entire time, their bright smiles stay plastered on their faces.
In an instant, the scene flits out of my mind and a new one replaces it. The girl appears again, wearing the same exact sunglasses. She’s chasing after a boy, but it's not Brian. As he storms over to his car, and slams the door, Jane sobs desperately, “Come back! I love you…”
He drives off, leaving Jane, and the broken shards of her heart, in the dust. She slumps to the ground; her sunglasses manage to hide the smudging of her mascara, but not the glistening tears that stream down her face. Brian sneaks up from behind to give his sister a hug. Comforting her with his presence, he lessens her inner pain.
Once more, the memory shifts. Jane is running with her father. The warmth of the sun floods over their skin, almost too hot to bear. She is dressed appropriately for running: tennis shoes, track shorts, a loose shirt, and her sunglasses. Jane looks at her father with admiration. She hoped by the time that she was his age, she would be able to have the motivation to exercise and enjoy life like him.
“I’m not going to become one of those old buzzards that loaf around on the couch all day eating chips,” her dad says, picking up the pace.
She chuckles as she jogs to catch up with him. She opens her mouth to make a witty reply, but stops when her father collapses to the ground, wheezing out incomprehensible words. He clutches his chest, his eyes shut. Pain is evident in his face. Jane whips out her cell phone and with trembling fingers, she manages to type in the three digit number she never thought she’d ever have to use: 911.
Seeing her father unconscious on the ground, having to call 911 to send an ambulance, the possibility of losing her father forever…it’s all too much for her to handle. Any minute now she’ll break down and lose it, and she’s not sure if she’ll recover from it. Breathing deeply, she takes her phone out to call the one person that she could depend on. The one person who has always been there for her. The one person who has shared her smiles, and comforted her when she was broken. Jane needed his comfort again. She wipes away the tears forming in her eyes. She shakily scrolls her contact list until she reaches the name she was looking for: Brian.
I’m jolted out of the memories. Brian and Jane had clearly loved each other while I was angry at my sister for breaking my sunglasses. A pair of old and useless sunglasses.
Handing the cashier money, I commit to the purchase. My head is dizzy with shock of what I had just experienced, but I know I found something more valuable than an object to block the sun from my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I text my sister, just as my phone vibrates. It appears that she had sent a text to me at the same time. I read the text and shake my head sadly: I’m sorry for breaking your sunglasses.
I walk out of the store, new sunglasses over my eyes, darkening my view, yet, my eyes have never been so open.
