I do.
We drive.
We end up at the same coffee shop we always go to. The same coffee shop where we see the same people that we always see.
We’ve been going here for centuries. We still don’t know the names of the other familiar faces.
Across the coffee shop is a new face. He’s staring at me.
I make eye contact. He looks away.
I order my drink, go sit down with Franklin, we start to talk. Out of the corner of my eye I can see this guy listening to us.
The conversation carries on.
About life.
About the past.
‘I’m not too sure where I’m going to work now, I’ve got some money saved up, so I don’t have to work for the next hundred years or so, but I’d like to get back out there sooner than later.’
When death ended, so did retirement.
I’m not even thinking about working. I feel as if I’m in a state of perpetual fog. Something’s missing but I don’t know what.
‘I’ll get a job when I can get myself together.’
Franklin nods. Sips his drink. Looks at the ceiling and the floor.
‘Hey, Franklin,’ I’m whispering, ‘someone’s listening to us.’ I gesture towards the man that had been staring at me. The new face with curly brown hair and a lanky body.
Franklin glances over and looks back at me.
‘I think you’re just seeing things.’
The stranger, the listening man, he starts to shift in his seat.
I get up and walk over to him. This is completely out of character for me, but so is being spied on.
I look down at him.
‘Hi.’
He stands up. Looks me in the eyes for a brief pause, and then walks away. Out the doors and down the street.
It’s Monday.
I wake up to the alarm clock. I roll over to put my arm around Evaline.
Her side of the bed is cold. I let out a sigh. I stand up. Walk to the bathroom. My head is still full of morning fog. I feel like I’m dancing while drunk.
I brush my teeth. I get in the shower. The hot water isn’t waking me up. I put on the cold water and start to shiver. I get out. Dry off. Comb my hair. Put on clothes.
I make breakfast and look out my kitchen window.
Cars are driving past.
The sun is starting to come up.
I put on the television.
Watch the news.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
I sit down to eat.
The food doesn’t quite taste right.
I throw it away without finishing.
I grab my keys, go outside, stand at my car. I have nowhere to go.
I turn around and walk back inside.
The air in my house is still.
I miss the sound of Evaline.
I take off my shoes, socks, pants. Get back into bed. I would watch the sun come up but I’m not in the mood.
I close my eyes.
‘How did you know you loved Dad?’
I’m at my parent’s house.
My mom is drinking tea.
She looks the same age as Evaline. She looks the same age as everyone in this country.
Her hair is pulled back as tightly as her face and she’s wearing cherry red lipstick that makes her look paler than she really is.
Her eyes are swimming around, they flick back and forth.
She pauses.
Clicks her nails on the table.
Her mouth opens and shuts.
It’s a fresh coat of lipstick.
Her throat clears.
Eyebrows arch.
A pause. A breath. A nervous twisting of nervous fingers.
We’re outside.
In the backyard gazebo with the wood base that splits at the edges. The two hundred year old gazebo that looks new because my father paints it every other year.
One hundred coats of paint, but underneath it all, this gazebo, it’s a mess.
The sun shines.
My mom, she finally gets around to answering me with an ‘I don’t know.’
This is the answer I expected. This is the same answer Franklin had when I asked him. This is the same answer I had when I asked myself.
No one seems to remember the reason that they love someone. They just accept it as is. They just take it for granted because they never have to worry about it.
I’m slowly starting to worry.
And who knows, maybe I shouldn’t worry, maybe the answer doesn’t truly matter. Maybe we just have to learn to accept some things in life. Maybe we never truly realize why we love someone.
Silence.
I soak in the sun.
My pale skin feels like it’s on fire. The sun is burrowing into my bones.
And in the house my dad yells something that neither my mom nor I can understand. We ignore it. He yells again. We get up. We go to the living room where he’s sitting. We stare at the television.
We’re entranced by the glow.
We’re stupefied by the images.
My skin is crawling.
On TV there’s a building on fire. In the bottom corner of the screen are two grainy faces captured in a security video.
One is familiar in a distant way.
Curly hair and a skinny frame. The guy from the coffee shop.
The other face…
It’s Evaline.
A pause. A breath. A nervous twisting of nervous fingers.
Part II
