Interlude…
I really do like cleaning and organizing.
I’m not good at it at all. But I like it.
When things are all scattered everywhere in a mess, neglected and hopeless, I like to tidy them up one by one. ’Cause while I do it, I can feel good about what I’m doing.
The two of us stayed behind in her apartment, and as we were talking about where to start, she said she had to get some empty boxes and garbage bags and stuff. She went out, and I waited a bit.
I looked around her room, but it was all nice and organized. So organized that it didn’t look like you’d need to bother cleaning anything. Unlike my room, it felt like there wasn’t much extra junk.
There was just one corner of the space, at the head of the bed, that had a lot of exciting stuff. Stuffed animals, cat merch, and other things—probably stuff she liked, that was important to her. It was a modest little collection. The decorating scheme was basically monotone, mostly cool colors like blue, aqua, and silver, but this one corner was girly and soft. It was cute. I petted the little stuffed panda.
That was when I found a plastic bag behind it, apparently hidden there. The black, square, and flat bag was a little out of place in that charming spot.
I got the feeling I’d seen that bag somewhere, so I reached for it without thinking.
Opening the bag a crack, I peeked inside and saw it was a souvenir photo. I’d gotten one of those a long time ago myself—when my family had gone for a day out together, the one they took at the end of a ride.
I knew I shouldn’t look, but I opened it anyway.
I knew the two I saw there.
One was a little startled and kinda silly-looking but clearly having fun.
While the other was all curled up and flinching, eyes closed, hiding behind the other’s back but holding that hand tight.
—Ohhh, I knew it.
That’s all I thought. I’d been so worried about whether they’d been able to have a proper talk, so I was honestly relieved. I thought it was cute—the photo, that she’d held on to it and treasured it like this, and that she’d hidden it.
That was why I quietly pushed it back in the corner where I’d found it.
Forget it.
Make it so you never saw it.
That won’t erase it from history—but you can forget it.
I’m sure that’s what she intended, too. Not setting it out, but instead tucking it away so very carefully behind her treasures. She never thought to say it out loud or do anything about it.
Maybe I should’ve asked about the picture. Maybe I should’ve jokingly teased her. Maybe I should’ve smiled and said something like, Go for it! I’m rooting for you!
But if I did that, it’d probably all be over, so…
If I asked, if I pried, she’d say she didn’t. She’d go, No, no way, and that would be the end of the discussion. Not acknowledging it, letting it slide by, overlooking it, turning a blind eye. Erase it, forget it, make it go away.
So I’d never ask.
It’d be unfair to ask about her feelings. It’d be unfair to say my own.
But I’m scared to know his feelings.
So making it her fault is the most unfair.
The truth is, I realized a long time ago.
There’s a place I can’t go. I’ve come to stand in front of that door a bunch of times, but I can tell that going in is impossible for me. I only ever peek in through the cracks and listen.
The truth is, I realized a long time ago.
I want to go there.
And not just that.
The truth is—
—I never wanted something real.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login