Honeymoon

02 | the meeting

02 | the meeting

Followed swiftly by Anthony, Frank's eight year old son, Frank's once fleeting feet now stumbled, yet managed to carry him to the outside of the hall, on a balcony which seemed to be way too big for a simple community hall, or at least, that's what he thought.

"Dad, where are you going? Slow down!" Tony exclaimed, his little feet prodding along next to his fathers, trying hard to keep up with the man who was forever running.

"Tony, now isn't the time," Frank huffed, pushing his overgrown hair away from his eyes as he reached the edge of the balcony. He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. It was a new hobby he'd taken up after Lolita left, and his precious lighter; Frank's newfound prized possession, had the date she left carved into it. He lit the cancerous stick, taking a long drag. Initially a repulsing gas taste consumed his throat as it always had, but the sheer elevation immediately afterward of his thoughts and in all honesty, his entire mind, made him feel like Lolita was simply a figment of his imagination.

"Is it her, Dad? Is she the one you tell me about?" Anthony asked, his high voice quivering and drifting off into the night sky. His words fell short, flat on their heads, as Frank sighed and turned to look at his son.

"Yeah, Tony. That's her." A short sigh escaped Frank's lips, before the cigarette reattached itself to his mouth. Just as Lolita would've. If she was here, and not getting married to another man. If she had stayed, for the past ten years. If she could have contributed to the boy standing in front of Frank, instead of that stupid girl in college.

"She's pretty, Dad. I can see why you were friends."

"She was never pretty, actually, son," Frank began, the words he'd thought for years finally tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably.

"She never was, and perhaps, in my eyes, never will be. She's a masterpiece ripped at every edge. She bends and breaks with each movement, yet she still manages to make me in awe of her, every time. Tony, I was struck - by quite literally, Cupid - when I was 17. But Lolita, to me, was never, ever just simply a beautiful face in the passing hallways of school - she was something that needed to be uncovered, a relic, an artefact that had been preserved for too long. Her body held a museum which I had the utmost pleasure of visiting. Everything about her felt like gold, son, and I truly hope that one day you find that for yourself. Find your Lolita, Tony, and hold on to her for dear life. Don't you dare make the same stupid mistake I did."

Frank, like anyone would, hadn't realised that he'd closed his eyes, and that his burning cigarette had fallen to the ground way below. Slightly embarrassed, he turned to look at his son, who was looking at someone else.

Standing in the entryway to the balcony was Lolita, her wedding dress a deep red against her toned coffee skin. The new ring on her finger shone amongst the stars above, and Frank couldn't take his eyes off of it. He was going insane, once again, because of her. Right then, he thought he would never become fully sane again because of her. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita.

"How much of that did you hear?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Enough," She said, her eyes not leaving his, perhaps, Frank thought, making up for ten years of lost eye contact.

"You're not going to introduce me to your son?" Lolita grinned, looking down at the boy standing cautiously next to his dad.

"Anthony, this is Lolita. Lolita, this is Anthony." Frank pushed him forward slightly, and soon, Tony became more comfortable around Lolita than he had pretty much ever been around Frank.

"I'm eight now, I turned eight last Monday, and I like dinosaurs a lot, and bedtime stories, especially the ones Dad tells me." Anthony rambled, much to the delight of Lolita's sparkling eyes - they resembled night skies specifically in the countryside, now, Frank felt - the particular sky where all you can see is endless pitch black, and a collection of silver stars that the universe had been saving.

"Oh? And what might they be about?" Lolita questioned, her untamed eyebrows raising. Now, that drove Frank insane. Her eyebrows literally reflected her life; wild, uncontrollable. It drove him insane to think that her life could be that way without him. Which, albeit made him selfish in his thinking, made him appreciate the time they had together even more.

"They're all about you, Lolita! Lo-lee-ta, right? Yeah, Dad tells me all about you, and how your eyes were the same colour as coffee after it had cooled slightly, and how you spoke about everything as though it took over your entire life, and how you were like a rainstorm after years of drought, and how much you impacted his life just by the little things you did, like the paint splatter on your pant sleeve, or the sweater you wore that was twice the size of you and how it drowned you, but you didn't care."

Silence struck over the three, Anthony probably realising he'd said too much too quickly.

Frank's eyes were the size of spoons. He hadn't intended, after receiving the invitation, to even go to her wedding, let alone speak to her, not to even mention his son spilling everything he'd told him about his first and only love.

Lolita, not to his surprise, was the same. Her mouth agape, her eyes brimming with tears and her frail hands shaking slightly at the sheer truth she'd just been hit with. Of course Frank had told Anthony everything - he was his only companion, his offspring, his first born child - but he didn't mean to let it all come out as though a downpour.

"Frank," is all she could muster up, her heart bursting and her fingers shaking, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress.

The sheer sound of his name coming out of her mouth broke Frank. It no longer drove him insane to hear her say these things, or do things anymore - they had all finally broke through to Frank Novak and everything erupted inside of him. He ran, like always, around the side of the building, desperate to get away from her despite wanting to be with her for the past ten years.

It was simply all too much for him to take. So, like his father, Frank ran away from his problems.

"Frank, please, just slow down. Talk to me," he could hear her voice, still pleading for him. He stopped abruptly and sat down on the concrete ground, fumbling for a cigarette in his pocket as he tilted his heavy head back and breathed a deep sigh.

"You smoke now?" She said. He felt her sit down beside him, her presence being enough to make him feel calm again.

"You get your wedding dresses dirty now?" He retorted, a slight smirk arising to his lips at the shocked expression on her face.

"Touché, Frank. Touché."

Frank lit a cigarette for the second time that night and took a drag, blowing the smoke out to his left, where Lolita wasn't.

"So, Ali, huh?" He said softly, his eyes half open and staring at the landscape before him. He couldn't bear to look at her for too long. He felt as though his heart would explode with every glance he dared to take.

"Frank, don't. He's a great guy, I promise you," she reassured him, as though it was supposed to make him feel better about the entire situation.

"Look, Lolita -" there it was, the name that had haunted him for years, and now, he was finally saying it to her, Lolita herself. "Lolita. God, how I've missed saying that." Frank mumbled, red rising to his cheeks.

A quick glance over to Lolita, a sighing, exhausted girl in black and brown, let him know that he shouldn't have said that.

"I still love you, you know, Frank. I'm never going to simply stop loving you."

"Yeah, I know."

The ash from his cigarette flaked off into the darkened streets, along with the pieces of his heart he threw once to Lolita.