When We Were Young

Ghosts of our Past

Her slender hands were wrapped around the mug for warmth. She was shaking slightly so I helped pull the blanket around her shoulders again. I sat in the yellow chair, unsure of what to do and where to put my hands. I played with the hem of my shirt, glancing around the room. I didn't want to stare at her, but I really did want to look at her to see how she was different, or maybe to see if she looked at me differently.

She caught my eye and I looked away.

"So," she said. "Still at the Gallery?"

I nodded and curled my lips, hoping it would pass as a smile. "I am."

"Good. I'm glad." She opened her mouth to say more but her eyes fluttered and she shook her head.

I cleared my throat. "So, are you still an editor?"

Skylar shrugged and moved to put the mug down on the side table but I intercepted and took it from her. "I was until a few months ago. It just became too hard. I was so tired."

I nodded. "How... how are you?"

She looked up at me and leaned back on her pillows. Skylar looked up at the ceiling. "Well, I suppose the fact that Rachel called you should tell you how well I'm doing." She didn't mean it maliciously but it came across harsh nonetheless. Skylar was dying. It was obvious. I knew it and I knew it was why I got on a plane immediately.

Skylar closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. "You look the same."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I seem to be finding more and more gray hair these days." 

"Your smile; I suppose that wouldn't change, though. You're confident. You carry yourself...I don't know."

I knew what she was trying to say. When she knew me I was barely a man. Skylar watched me grow from an insecure twenty-four year-old boy to a man. But now I was over forty. I had lived a life without her. That realization was setting into the tiny creases around her eyes. I was the same man she knew, but also very different.

"You finished school?" Skylar changed the subject.

"I did. I got my Doctorate in Museum Studies."

"Should I call you Dr. Young?" She laughed and her eyes brightened.

"Please don't," I said smiling. "My students do and I still can't get used to it."

"So you teach?" Skylar wiggled herself so her shoulders rested against the pillows. I reflexively reached for the blanket and pulled it up. She smiled in kind.

"I do. I teach a class a semester, and am part of a million committees it seems," I said. She seemed interested in what I was saying, her eyes wide and eager, so I went on. "But mostly I'm at the Gallery, and on a million committees there, too. Lots of research, lots of grants, lots of ass-kissing. I'm still not very good at that."

She laughed. "No, you weren't. You didn't need to, though. You were always good at what you did. You didn't have to kiss ass for people to notice."

I grinned and took a gulp of my own tea. "Well, I guess I have you to thank. If you hadn't been so supportive, I would have never..." the look in her eyes made me pause. The words stuck in my throat like cotton. The lighthearted air that had surrounded us was gone like mist. I always thought about it but never had said it out loud. Skylar knew what I was thinking and what I was going to say. I would never have left her to go back to London.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" She reached out and rested her hand over mine. "If I hadn't pushed you into..."

"You didn't push me. You supported me and made me realize that being a lawyer was something I didn't want to do."