The raindrops trickled down the double glazed window of my family's home in East London. My head slumped into my hand, I watched the different watery patterns form and then eventually drift apart. It reminded me of two people. Two raindrops, both individual, come together from separate ends of the window. They are hesitant at first and it's a slow process but when they do come together - it's magical. They become one. All of their hopes, fears, smiles and tears are now somewhat shared between another raindrop. You're making decisions together, such as what direction you want your little patch of rain to travel in. You can't make a move on your own because then you will be ripped apart and become two individual raindrops again - and we don't want that. As you move down the window's transparent glass, hand in hand, you pass other raindrops. Some are lonely. Some are independent. And some will even want to be apart of your little patch of rain. Your pace quickens down the window and you're smiling at the raindrop that you love; thinking nothing more than the future you have together. Then, before you know it, you've met the window pane and now you're just another wet patch of condensation. Your lover nowhere to be seen.
That's the thing about losing someone. You're left in the aftermath, withering for air on your knees. Forever wondering what did I do wrong? The thoughts of what if buzz around your head like a swarm of angry bees and don't stop until you squish and compact them into a box. Could things have been different?
You feel out of the loop. Hopeless.
Memories are triggered by the smallest things. Even the way you look in your favourite pair of jeans causes floods of tears to come through your tear ducts. He always told you to wear them, claiming that you looked sexy and the skinny legs made you irresistible.
It's funny how our memories work. They hide in the depths of our brain, in the darkest of corners, and then, when you least expect it, project themselves onto the back of your eyelids when you're trying to sleep at night.
"Eleanor?" My Dad's wife, Julia, entered my room and clicked the door shut behind her. I stray away from calling her my 'Step Mum' because I'm not Cinderella and this isn't a fairy tale. "I shouted you a good five times. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," My eyes peered out at the rainy street of London. "I'm good."
Julia sighed and hovered over. Leaning down next to me, "Food is ready..." I denied her a response and let the sound of the soothing rain answer for me. "I take it that you're not particularly hungry, like yesterday... And the day before."
"I'm good."
"You have to eat, Eleanor," She patronized. "This is no way to live your life, is it? Always stuck in the past-"
That's why he left.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room fell cold. I scowled at her from over my shoulder.
"Right... Sorry," Julia paused, then ushered back to the door. She hesitantly grabbed the door knob and tugged it open. "It's on the table if you wish to join us for dinner."
Julia met my Dad when she was in her last year of University, over 10 years ago now. Every time someone has the courage to ask them how they met, Dad's face lights up so bright with happiness that it could keep an entire room glowing for hours.
He'd inhale deeply from his intoxicated chest and then exhale in a content sigh, almost reliving the day himself. Then, he'd begin. 'It was July 2006 when I first met Julia. Goh, I remember her looking so beautiful, fresh out of uni she was. Her brown rimmed glasses sat on her face, all scruffy and cute. To me, she looked like the clever-ist woman in the world. I had a hard time coping without Eleanor's mu-' He'd pause, take a breath and shake his head. It was as if he was shaking her off. 'Julia was our little teaching angel,' He'd normally grab her hand at this point. Julia would stroke his old, injured hand with her thumb to ease him. 'She helped me out of my rough patch and found us a proper place to live instead of the flat. Y'know, when you find someone as special as her... you just... You just know.'
YOU ARE READING
The Man on the Moon (The Man Duology)
Teen Fiction"If the man stayed on the sun for the entirety of his life and completely ignored the moon -- his happiness would soon burn out. If the man stayed on the moon and ignored the sun, his life would be dark and full of craters. However, if the man was t...
