Old Perfume // Larry Stylinson

Chapter Two

Louis used to think that handwritten letters could quite possibly be the most thoughtful thing one could receive. From reading the stack he’s recently come across in the basement, he’s come to learn and confirm that fact, and that in handwriting, there’s emotion.

 

Like the first few letters are all carefully written, it’s obvious that each word contain so much thought and effort, that Jay’s hands must have ached after carving each word onto the tinted yellow paper. But by the very last letter, Louis can tell that behind each word was sadness and pure stress instead of happiness. He’s come to a conclusion that his father must have never replied but just kept them in that box, reading each one. The last one is a desperate cry for help, how she’s broke and almost on the streets. It’s about begging for money, assistance with the baby she’s decided to call Lou if it’s a girl, and Louis if it’s a boy.

 

And it’s just written so lazily, so quickly and small. And it brings tears to his eyes like those horrible sad songs that somehow find a way to touch him even if he can’t find a way to relate to them.

 

Louis’ got the box tucked far away into a corner underneath his bed. He knows that his grandparents must have seen the box before since it’s in their home, but he doesn’t want them to know he has it. He feels like it’s some sort of secret he wasn’t supposed to know about, like he’s stashing something horrible beneath his bed.

 

See, Louis’ got one thing from his mother, and one thing from his father. He’s got a bottle of perfume left behind from his mother. He doesn’t know the scent, because his mother must have torn off the label and replaced it with a piece of brown tape, and written across it with a marker, May. He wishes he knew the significance behind May. Because he’s seeing it everywhere. But it sort of smells like peaches and candy, Louis likes it.

 

He’s got the box from his father. And he doesn’t think it’s even meant for him, he thinks it was for his father before something happened to him, something unknown still.

 

Louis’ got  the nice picture of his mother smiling tucked away in his notebook, because he likes to look and think about it during class. While his geography teacher talks about different dialects, Louis slips it from the back of notebook and runs his fingers across the folds. He thumbs at the wrinkles in some sort of attempt to smooth down the laminated memories. He wishes he could’ve known her, and he wishes he could understand the mystery of her, and his father. And what caused them both to disappear into thin air.

 

-

 

Louis’ gone as soon as the lights are off and silence falls across the home. He shoulders his backpack that contains the box, the perfume, money he’s saved since he was a child, and fastened by a swag he’s got a sleeping bag. The picture with the address is gripped tightly in his sweaty palms while he carefully steps down the stairs. Each wooden floorboard moans in protest just like Louis would have expected from the old house. See, it’s been barely a week since he found the box, and he’s pretty sure he’s had enough silent dinners with his grandparents. He loves them to death, but he needs to follow the route the address will take him and find the remains of his shattered past.

 

Louis closes his eyes and inhales a sharp breath when he finally reaches the door. He reaches for the handle and twists it slowly, listening to the door creak open. He feels like his ears have some sort of hypersense at the moment. Each little sound makes him jump.