Sawyer
Ithrow another t-shirt into the cardboard box. I brought four of them, and I’ve given up sorting my shit and started tossing it in. There’s not enough to fill four boxes, but I’m not staying here any longer than I have to.
It’s been an excruciating three weeks.
Zelda has been completely unavailable. I’ve stopped by her house, and even when her car is in the driveway, she won’t answer the door.
I’m not going to bang on the door like a stalker, though, so even though I wake up every morning with the urge to walk to that house on the corner and try again, I’ve stopped.
She won’t answer any calls.
She won’t answer any texts.
I’ve stopped texting.
But I haven’t left town.
It kills me, being that close to her and not being able to see her, to touch her, to talk to her. But I don’t have any other options.
Even so, I can’t bring myself to move back into the city. I’m done with that life. I’m done with Domino. I’m done with the places I used to go here.
Today is the last step.
I broke the lease on my apartment, closed my account at the bank, and withdrew all my savings. Now all I have to do is fill these boxes with the rest of my shit and get out of here.
Even after five years, there’s not very much. Some clothes. A couple books. Chargers.
I put all the plates and silverware in a pile outside the door of my apartment, dragging the couch out with it. I find a piece of paper, scrawl FREE on it, and put it on the couch. It’ll be gone by the time I leave, if it’s not gone already.
Fifteen more minutes of throwing things into boxes, and there’s nothing left.
Everything I had in my life since I moved here can be contained in four cardboard boxes.
“It doesn’t matter.” My voice echoes in the empty apartment, and it’s true. I could throw all of this away right now and never think about it again.
I stack two of the boxes on top of one another and head out, running them down to my car.
In the stairwell, my heart starts to pick up the pace.
I want to get out of here before anybody lets Domino know I’m back in town.
I don’t think he’ll want to make another scene, but you never know. Might as well make it a clean break.
When I come back up for the other boxes, it strikes me that the hallway is empty. No dishes. No couch.
A clean break.
I grab the last two boxes. The apartment is empty—I took the mattress and bed frame out to the curb first thing, so those are long gone—but I feel nothing sentimental about it.
Which is weird, because the first night I moved in here, I was on top of the world.
I finally had my own nice place. I’d finally made it out of Greenville, away from my dad, and I’d left it all behind for good.
I lock the door behind me one last time, and just like that, it’s not mine anymore.
I know better now than to think a place like that was ever going to mean anything.
I square my shoulders and readjust the weight of the boxes in my arms. She’s better off without me, I repeat, my mantra for the last three weeks. One day, I’m hoping it sounds true.
Max raises his glass of beer and grins. “To the start of a beautiful friendship.”
I roll my eyes at him and take a swig of my own beer. “What, we weren’t friends before, you asshole?”
“Not like this.” He puts his drink down on the table with a thud. “Are you seriously moving back?”
“I got my stuff out of the apartment today.” I don’t know where the hell I’m going to go—I can’t stay at Linda’s forever—but I’m going to start there. It’s the most sensible thing to do.
“How’s your dad doing?” Max asks it casually, but he’s the kind of guy who actually cares, so I don’t give him some bullshit response.
“He’s doing better. It’s weird.” I look down into my beer, then gaze out around the bar. I’ll never admit that I’m looking for Zelda. That I’m always looking for her. But she’s never here. “He was really heading downhill, but he’s rallied.”
“Well, with his favorite son by his side…” Max knows a little bit of what happened, so he’s careful not to cross any lines.
“I’m his only son.”
“Right. That explains it.”
He might have a point.
“Speaking of—”
Max downs the rest of his beer, and I follow suit. “Gotta’ get back?”
“I should check in, yeah. Linda will be worried.”
“About you?” Max laughs a little. “What could ever happen to a tough guy like you?”
The silence tells me Aunt Linda’s not at home when I come into the house. But it doesn’t matter. I know exactly where she is.
I go around the block the opposite way so I don’t have to cross in front of Zelda’s house, knock on my dad’s door for show, and go in. In the living room, he’s propped up on his hospital bed, laughing out loud. Linda sits on the couch, laughing along with him.
“Sawyer!” She smiles up at me. “Nice of you to join us.”
“You look like shit, son.” My dad’s eyes are on me. I scan over his face. His eyes look less sunken this week. I don’t know what’s happening, but something is.
“Some greeting.” I flop down on the couch next to Linda.
“He hasn’t been sleeping.” Linda says it with pursed lips.
“Jesus, do you tattle much?” I give her a little nudge with my elbow.
“Why not?” My dad’s eyes are locked on me, searching.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s his girlfriend,” Linda stage whispers. I don’t recognize this dynamic between them, but something has been thawing the last few weeks, blooming. It’s the kind of hopeful shit Zelda would be all over. An ache pulses in my chest.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad. Don’t listen to her.”
“You did, though.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I did. But she’s done with me now.” I try to turn my gaze to the TV, which is playing something on mute, but my dad stares at me until I look back.
“And this is a good thing?”
He’s looking right at me, seeing right through me.
“No.” Sometimes you can’t stop an honest reply.
“Then do something about it, son.” He shifts his weight against his pillows. “Before it’s too late.”