Chapter 1 #3
Truth be told, I still thought about Elm often, sometimes a lot, despite how much I lied to myself and claimed otherwise.
He’d withdrawn from me and our friendship completely shortly after leaving school.
One moment we were besties, listening to music, embracing our love of black and white classic horror, wondering what was in store for us come adulthood, daydreaming about the day we graduated, going in on our first apartment together and staying up all night eating crap, looking for jobs, then the next thing I knew I was conductor of the oddball train, jamming out to our faves and binge watching the classics solo, party of one.
There were other friends, sure, but they inevitably came and went.
None were Elm. No one got me like he did.
None managed to claim the spot he had, fill those monstrously sized shoes.
Maybe it’s just my teen brain building it all up to more than it ever was.
What did I know? The whole thing sent me into a spiral that took me a while to drag myself out of.
I felt like I’d lost a piece of myself, my soul.
It nearly ruined me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to head down that rabbit hole head first again.
If there was anything I thought back on with some regret from my school days, it was that.
He’d pulled away and in my confusion and frustration I’d just let him let go— didn’t even muster up a fuss about it.
I thought that’s what he’d needed, what he’d wanted, and he’d come back when he was ready.
He’d been the moody bear during those years, so I hadn’t expected his removal from my life to be permanent.
He never did come back. I never asked why. The one person who I’d thought just got me, my ride or die, there and gone in a flash. He was such an integral part of my life… the loss had wrecked me.
I hated to admit it but I still missed him sometimes, something awful.
A part of me resented him so easily moving on with his life, like I was nothing to him, to just so casually chat me up like this out of the blue.
I’d probably have been better off with his indifference, avoidance, whatever he’d like to call it.
If Mom could wrangle me into going with her for grocery pick-ups, an extremely rare occurrence— like that time she broke her leg and was hobbling around on crutches— we’d have short little moments like this and…
I dunno. Call me a stupid, sentimental fool, but it made my heart smile a little, that treacherous lump.
It wasn’t the same but it was that little spark of what it used to be.
It gave me hope. Whether that was delusional or not remained to be seen.
That was the crux of it all. That tiny spark of hope, I held onto it with both hands, squeezing it to death.
It was utterly ridiculous, is what it was.
After the awkward meet cute high finally faded, I’d wallow in my pathetic loserness that I’d called that something, a weak, half hearted thanks for shopping at their store, a quick little how’s it going or have you heard or seen this, to his mumbled responses and semi indifference.
I was too chicken to call him out for ditching me, but it’s been years.
What does it really matter now, other than assuaging my still butthurt feelings?
It’s the past. Best it stays there instead of trying to analyze every god damn thing. He probably just got tired of hanging with me and needed less of me around. A lot less. People outgrow you sometimes. They change.
Let it go, Prudence. What’s done is done. That was the old man’s advice, but he’d never let much get him down.
“Here you are, dear!” Sunny pushed a bag at me and gave me one of her bear hugs, dragging me from my thoughts.
For such a small woman, her squeezes packed a punch.
“It’s so good to see you, hun, and I’m so sorry about, you know, and having to sell your folks’ place so soon after their passing and all. It’s a darn shame.”
“How did you…” Everyone knew about my folks passing last Thanksgiving— my parents were a huge part of the community— involved in anything and everything town “cheer”— town pride, whatever you wanted to call it— everything town spirit related— right up until the end— the total opposite of their socially distant, introverted child— but I hadn’t spoken to anyone about the house but for their lawyer— who was helping me with navigating handling their affairs— and the real estate guy.
Pretty soon here, I’ll have to leave the only home I’ve ever known.
Must be Bart’s secretary, Miss Cole. She always did like to run her mouth.
Luckily, she was all hot air and red hair and tended to mangle the details.
She wasn’t a very reliable source for local gossip.
Why Bart kept her on, I’ll never know. Perhaps the rumors that they were having a secret affair were true, I thought with a mental shrug.
Or he feels sorry for her for some strange reason?
Who would wanna hire the local gossip to work for them?
Her son does have that striking, white blond hair just like Bart’s…
Sunny couldn’t know everything, right?
My parents’ affairs took a bit to get in order.
It’s all been a hot jumble of crap I hope to never have to wade through ever again.
I’d had no clue how crazy it would be. Then again, they hadn’t expected to die so suddenly like that, so, yeah, there was that.
At any rate, they weren’t the type to share their struggles with anyone, especially me. Their bills, man. If I had known…
Guilt filled me. They were always so worried about me, their wayward dreamer of a kid, rushing to assure me and encourage me.
Their ambitions had ambitions. Mine were…
well, they remained to be seen. I was still searching for that something.
I knew I wanted to enjoy what I was doing, to feel useful, to find that something that fulfills, sustains.
Should I have worried about them more? Should I have just settled so they’d worry less?
Trying to get them to talk about something they had no interest in divulging was a pointless endeavor.
I should have tried harder, been more involved, given them more of my paycheck than the amount we’d decided on. I should’ve-
“I- I’ve gotta go- Thanks so much, for everything,” I mumbled quickly, feeling frazzled, emotional.
Extricating myself from Sunny’s clasp, I quickly hopped into my car, buckled up, and rushed off.
Sometimes life has a way of dumping on you, more so of late for me when I least expected it. I felt pretty crapped on at the moment, to tell the truth.
The factory I’d worked at closing down shortly before the holidays, leaving me scrambling for a job that paid enough to survive solo, dealing with everything else, was the icing on this already awful crap cake.
I tried to give myself credit where credit is due because here I am, still going, still doing all the things, getting things done, grabbing up the first job that would accept my application while still desperately seeking out new employment, but… yeah, I don’t know.
There was no grace left in me to give, least of all in offering it to myself.
I was a mess and I was feeling it.
I’ll have to leave Whinterlan, the tiny nook up here in the mountains I called home, move closer to the city if I want to be able to afford anything, and that’s with roommates.
Moving into one of the rentals out here was out of the question. This was a winter lover’s hidden hot spot. I’d never be able to make the rent, not with my shit pay and the cost of, well, every damn thing.
Leaving my latest gig at Mighty Buns, the only fastfood place in these parts for miles and miles around, and that’s if you could even find the damn place, wasn’t going to send me into fits.
It was finding something that paid what I was making at the factory because I couldn’t afford to make anything less, somewhere else, while finishing up school for a degree I hadn’t actually wanted to start to begin with and am not all that excited about pursuing a career in upon completion, ever.
I never should have let them offer a penny for my college. I should have stood up for myself, should have refused a single cent from them. I should have fought them harder.
This is what I get for thinking there was still time, for coasting through life safe, for assuming I’d always have somewhere to land when I fell, for letting others decide what was best for me and going along with it willy nilly, if only to please them.
Now they’re both gone. I have nothing. I felt numb, just… empty. It was a sobering realization.
As my guts clenched, I forced myself to pay extra attention to the road.
The harder I focused, the louder the soft hum of a song starting in my throat grew.
I had my tunes, I told myself. Mom thought it was a little stim of mine or whatever you wanted to call it, along with my humming, singing quirk.
She’d thought it was cute. I always had an earworm niggling.
Giving in to the urge to sing and or hum whatever tune held me in its thrall, I found it calming.
Music helped me focus. It lifted me up when I was feeling down. Music was my chill pill.
With that thought foremost in mind, I used voice command to get my phone to start my playlist.
As snow whirled around me, softly tumbling down, I sang along to my current favorite song, ironically involving winter-like lyrics, desperately struggling to ignore the impending doom looming. My voice kept cracking but I pressed on.
That’s all there really was left for me to do— just keep on flippin’ going.