I grab my broom from its spot in the closet in the hallway. I’ve been keeping all the doors and windows open, and leaves have gotten in. I sweep them away, humming to myself. As I reach the edge of my own floors and cross the threshold to the grass outside, I look around me. It’s one of those crisp and clear autumn days, with leaves changing colors and a light breeze in the air, the sun shining and the birds mingling with the wind. A cherry tree stands alone amongst a vast sea of green, with patches of yellow as the seasons start to turn. My rusty mailbox, the one I painted sunflowers on last year, stands near it. I can’t understand why anyone would want to live in a city when places like this exist.
I walk back to my desk in the corner of the living room and start pulling out supplies, spreading the paper down, and looking for my ruler, when one of my cats comes by, brushing up against my leg and purring loudly. Just as I’m putting pencil to paper, I can hear a knock on my door. I put down my pencil and go to answer it. It’s the end of the week, I already know who it is. It’s my neighbor from down the road. Far, far down the road. It’s not even a road really, it’s more of a sad dirt path that’s easy to lose. He’s a baker, and he brings me bread and sometimes wine in the afternoon, and I give him homegrown vegetables from my garden and some fresh daisies from the meadow in exchange. We chat about nothing important, but it doesn’t matter because neither of us are really in a hurry to do anything anyways. Today is no different.
“You ever going to go back to Xesa to see your friends?” Vollais asks, leaning against the railing of my small porch.
“Yes, I actually have a trip planned for next month.”
“Ah, good to hear. Strong friendships are hard to find, so I suggest you never lose those friends of yours.”
I nod thoughtfully. I suppose he’s right.
“Are any of those friends of yours more than just friends?”
“Perhaps.” I say with a smile.
“Well, it’s certainly important to keep in touch with more-than-friends as well.”
A part of me is scared to go back to Xesa. I’m scared of what I’ll find, at how I’ll react. It’s not a scary place by any means, but some part of me never wants to see it ever again. Sifting through all of the memories that this place holds is far too much for me to bear. It’s like I want to put it all in a box and shove it under my bed because I can’t do it now. We have all changed, and I don’t know how our new selves will mix with the memories of us that still live here, like phantoms just riding on the winds of whispers. This place is saturated with reminders of who we used to be before.
I don’t know if I like who we are now.
