hard love ✰ l.h. | ON HOLD

one.

We remember places not just as a location, but as the moments spent in them. Never once have I passed by the otolaryngology office I visited numerous times as a kid and simply remembered spending much of second grade there. I recalled the needle that popped my ear drum and the smooching sound that it made inside the cave. My wails would fill the hallway and the layered cheese cloth underneath my head would be soaked.

Restaurants we connect with friends and dates. Schools connect us with embarrassment, laughter, failed tests, and last minute projects. Libraries connect us to voting, politics, silence, that smell of crisp paper.

I drive down the same highway that is in desperate need of repaving after each workday. It was Friday, and a 52 hour work week forces me past my old home shared with my parents. Now divorced; angrily and bitterly divorced. That bothered me.

Inside that horrendous green home occupied cabernet stains on the kitchen ceiling from a thrown glass bottle. Broken drywall from fists and doorknobs. A blood stain that could never be removed from me tripping down those damn hardwood stairs at age four. A split eyebrow and splattered blood on my white t-shirt was still much better than that overwhelmingly large need at the ear, nose, and throat doctor.

My home now resides of me and my best friend, Ania. I met her shortly after than unfortunate meeting with my stairs. My skin was still glued shut from my tumble. Ania came from a fragile, yet not broken family. They were chaotic and witty, but had their own issues. Just as everyone else did.

I remember love and laughter in this apartment. Michael, my ex-boyfriend, spent a couple years warming me in front of my fireplace. Loving me in my bed. Singing to me with an empty wine bottle in his hand that paired well with his now burgundy teeth. This apartment was home. No shattered glass or harsh tones.

My daydream of Michael's emerald eyes were being interrupted by Ania. Her voice was hoarse from chain-smoking from age 15 until four months ago. She was nearing twenty one.

"That is really interesting, Ania," I told her. I kept going back in forth between a group of radio stations just to find a song playing.

"Mabel, listen. Are you listening?" She asked.

I laughed, "Yes I am."

"Great. I need a super hot, super awesome outfit to go on this date in next weekend. Please come shopping with me tomorrow," Ania begged.

Ania was going through a breakup. I have never seen her go on so many dates to distract herself from her broken 10 month relationship that ended a month ago. It was serious, but it also wasn't very long, you know? I wasn't really a fan of her ex-girlfriend anyways. She was very nice, but just kind of...odd. Nothing exciting or different about her. Just kind of a cookie cutter girl.

"Um..." I hummed. I tried to perfectly park my car in my horribly slanted parking space in front of our apartment complex while trying to make up and excuse not to go. I loved Ania, I loved getting out. But I really just wanted to sleep if I'm honest.

"We can go later. I know you'll be tired." She said.

"Okay." I agreed. "Let's just go later in the day, okay?"

"Okay, no problem." She said. She paused while I climbed out of my car. It never gets easier to do in these pencil skirts. Every day a pant suit sounds much better of an idea. "Do you want me to rub your shoulders when you get here?" Ania asked.

I groaned, from loving the idea of course, "I'm already here and yes please," I replied. She knew how close to death I was after a long work week and knew how to make it better. Nothing like a good best friend back rub and probably a ton of junk food.