Still The One

Twenty

And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. – Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum

◌◌◌◌◌

Twenty
Two years ago – August 15, 2016

I carried what I brought with me over my back, shoulder, and in my hands; and it made every step harder than the one before. The over-filled bags I hauled seemed heavier now than they were when I had been at Harry’s place. I could feel the straps digging into my shoulders and the handles rubbing impending callouses into my palms. But even if I had nothing with me, reaching my destination would still be unquestionably difficult. I had nowhere to go, and it was eleven at night, and I was heartbroken.

The town I was sauntering through was still bustling with lively, energetic inhabitants. The sounds of the city were clamorous and happy and the lights were never-ending. Those on the sidewalk were jaunting past without bothering to offer assistance with my things or even lending a sympathizing visage. No one could break through their animated, grandstanding shells to see me wandering, helpless and unaccompanied. So this was the loneliest moment of my life.

It crossed my mind for a second – to go back to Harry. But only for a second.

A cab as bright as a highlighter was driving by and I was holding out my hand for a ride. I had finally figured out where I could stay. Luckily, the vehicle edged along the side of the road, and I opened the door, my belongings tossed into the seat beside mine. The driver, with his greying-hair and subtle smell of cigarettes, gruffly asked, “Where to?”

“63 Castle Street, please,” I mumbled quickly. We pulled back onto the concrete, as he drove rather rashly, and I stared in a nebulous daze out the window. The fluorescent shine of the buildings would have been much more mesmerizing if things hadn’t been so broken.

I was so addicted to studying every detail of any circumstance that I’d be subjected to, that it was outlandish for me to ignore what had just happened with Harry. It couldn’t possibly have taken place. It hurt to even think about thinking about it.

I was caught between two realities; one of them in which I was still processing what was happening. Another in which I was shattering. And Harry had stolen several of the pieces.

We arrived at the distant abode within the remainder of the hour. I paid the man, who blew his smoggy smoke in my face, and left the taxi with my effects and crippled heart.

The house seemed larger and more intimidating in the dark. Surely it had something to do with the fact that it was nearing midnight, and its tenants would more than likely be sleeping at this hour. But this was the only place I could go, for if I went to Niall’s or Liam’s or Zayn’s or Louis’, there was that sliver of a chance that I’d see Harry. I couldn’t risk it, knowing that I could conceivably go back to him in a heartbeat.

I could still find a place; clearly there were motels open. But I needed to be somewhere with another person. There wasn’t the slightest possibility that I’d be able to sleep through the night alone.