How Things Change
Everything is new.
I’m sitting at a mahogany desk that I bought for studying and schoolwork, although I usually just end up sitting on the floor regardless of what I’m doing. But today, at this moment, I am sitting at this desk so that I have a perfect view out the window to my left.
For the most part, the window is closed, with the exception of letting sunlight escape through the cracks of the blinds. Occasionally the window lets me have a glimpse of my neighbors as they go about their day, whether it be from my spot on the floor, or my current spot at my desk. At this moment, a neighbor who’s name I don’t know, but I like to improvise in my head. Today her name is Eliza. Eliza is bracing the rain to pull a seemingly heavy cardboard box out of her new car. She recently changed from a really beautiful sunflower yellow Jeep, and it was the kind of jeep you could take the top off of and just let the wind and sun embrace you while you listen to music that reminds you of everything good. Atleast, that’s what I imagine it would be like to drive a sunflower yellow Jeep.
I want to ask her why… why would you give up such freedom for a small gray compact car. Her new gray car doesn’t cut through the color of the clouds looming over the apartment building, and it reminds me of her eyes. In passing I’ve seen her bright blue eyes that tend to pierce through the frown I accidentally happen to carry in my expression when I’m coming and going from my place. Without a word in passing I meet her eyes and I smile and then she smiles and we continue about our days. However, as I watch her unload that heavy mysterious cardboard box onto the damp pavement next to her new small gray car, her eyes seem to hold a sadness and the image fades into the background of the passing rain clouds.
I take a moment to grieve for her as I watch through the cracks in my window as she slowly drags the cardboard towards the stairwell we pass in. I should really open my blinds more. I should open them all the way and lift the window up so the wind can make its way into this room and so the sun can light up the beige of my walls. I should do a lot of things…
I hope my neighbor is okay, and I’m making a mental note to make my own eyes a little more inviting for our next encounter in the stairwell. The sun is starting to break through the clouds in the sky and I dare to think maybe in my neighbors box was a window…maybe I should tell her it helps to leave the blinds open.
I gather my things and leave, bracing against a chill and what lies in store today.
Back when things were different, my mother and I lived in a gated community, just outside of the city. I guess you could call it the suburbs, at least that’s what Levi calls it. Levi says it’s boring and that all the houses look the same, all beige and light yellow and every shrub the same shade of pale green. I didn’t mind though. It was where I met Levi when I was ten, it’s where I learned to ride a bike, and it’s where I would pretend I was going so fast that all the houses became a blur. I can still hear my mom’s voice behind me telling me to be careful while she stood in the road watching for cars, even though the speed limit was 10mph, even though we lived in a cul de sac, even though I was only ever going in circles…
“Emma, you okay?” Levi’s voice cuts through my memories as he squeezes my hand.
“Yeah… I’m fine.” I whisper back. I toss a glance up at him as we let the words hang in the air. Fine is a strong word, and as I look up to remember where we’ve arrived, it’s like I can almost see the words pinging off the black umbrellas surrounding us. I didn’t bring an umbrella. I probably should have expected it to rain. Isn’t it always raining at funerals?
The priest locks eyes with me through the mist as he asks us to bow our heads in prayer and I feel a chill rush down my spine. I haven’t brought a jacket either, and I think my mother ought to be rolling in her grave that I don't have a jacket or umbrella. Atleast, I think she would be rolling in her grave if they would lower the casket already. The thought catches me off guard and I look down as a smile sneaks up onto my grieving face. I lean into Levi as my body begins to shudder, trusting that he’ll mistake it for tears. I feel his arm sweeping me to a nearby tree, out of view of the family and friends gathered here today. He is always at the ready to be chivalrous.
“It’s okay if you need a break.” He’s lowered us both to the ground and lifts my chin up to look at him and I just can’t hold it in any longer. I throw my hand up to my mouth as I burst out laughing. The shocked look on his face just makes me laugh harder.
“What-” giggles start to invade his voice, “the hell.”
It’s not long before we are both laughing, our bodies hidden but shuddering, and our giggles muffled by our own hands. The giggling winds down and we sit against the tree in silence. Looking across the graveyard and watching as the rain creates a shimmer across the tombstones. The people I spoke to about my mothers tombstone said it would take a few weeks to be ready. I wonder if hers will shimmer in the rain, or if it will carry the same expression she carried with her. Flat, melancholy, unwavering. I lean my head against his shoulder, like I have for the last eight years of our friendship. The priest’s voice sounds distant in the background.
“Did I ever tell you why me and my mom moved here?” I ask him.
“Not really…why?”
“My mom wanted me to grow up in a safe place.” Levi stays quiet, and I reminisce about my mother dressing me so carefully for bad weather, the layers of rain jackets and coats. I remember how she would nuzzle her nose against mine when I complained about having to wear a helmet, and she would tell me it was better to be safe than sorry. I remember the fighting match we got into when I got the acceptance letter from a college in Chicago, and she said it was too dangerous. I remember wanting to put up more of a fight, tell her I could handle it, that I could be safe… but my argument was cut short when she brought up my dad. That was around the time her face changed, our lives changed.
It’s better to be safe than sorry.
I break the silence again, “It’s just so ironic ya know?”
Except now I’m crying, and I can’t stop crying.
Levi holds me behind the sycamore tree as I sob.
“I don’t understand why she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt... I can’t-”
Levi shushes me as I bury my face into his coat.
When the ceremony is over Levi takes me home and helps me to bed.
The house is so quiet that I ask him to stay, and he does. He makes his bed on the floor, like the gentlemen he’s always been. I’m tempted to ask him to climb into my bed with me, if only for the comfort of his touch, but I don’t.
I wonder what I’ll do without him in Chicago.