Filed under: The Edge of Green
Prodigal.
The moistened doorknob glistened with your slight touch. You know she’s in there but walking in means hurting her again. How many times have you said goodbye? You say hello this day and you bid farewell the following. Every time, she just looks at you and smiles. That’s the kind of smile she gives you when she’s uncertain. She’s always been like that. 22 years and she still hasn’t changed much.
Two years ago, you went home. Your mother said you must go and take a trip around the town you grew up in. Lots of things have changed. You said you’re not in the mood for it. She reminded you about her and suddenly you had an idea. You surprised her at their house with chocolates in hand. She didn’t look impressed. She just sat there with a book in her hand, frowning at the way you exuded so much confidence in coming. You thought, she’s used to it anyway. And she was that’s why she said yes when you begged her to go with you and visit the old places.
A month before you have to leave, you startled her in her room. She was having her spring cleaning. She looked really tired but she was her usual self. Making sarcastic comments about how you couldn’t learn to knock and how you have invaded her privacy for the last couple of years that you’ve known each other. You glimpsed at the large photo mosaic on her wall and saw your 5 year old self standing beside her 4 year old self in front of the church your both families attended. She settled her gaze on your face and you can see yourself turn red on the mirror in front. She asked you what’s wrong and you said you’re leaving one month from now. She shrugged her shoulders and asked, “You’re here to tell me that?! I knew that already. What’s new?!” And she went about putting a new curtain on her glass windows just as a drizzle started outside. You notice her reflection on the mirror. “Come with me.” When she turned around, her face was filled with disbelief. “Marry me.” Her face went blank.
With you out of town most of the time, you knew the marriage wouldn’t last. Barely a year after she said yes (which you barely heard because the rain started pouring in so hard the minute you spoke the two words on her room that day), she moved out of the apartment you’ve been renting. She settled in a condo unit somewhere on the urban side of the country. The sea view makes her sick. She said that both of you are still friends. You started out that way anyway. When you’re in town, you visit her always and spend a day or two in her place. She still has that unsurprised look when you march in and that unsurprised look when you march out.
And now, you’re here ready to march into her life again. The last time you were here was different. When you said “goodbye, see you in three months,” she didn’t give you that look. You just felt her stare tear your back. You heard her say softly, “I’ll be here waiting.” And you’re now thinking, you’re here to stay.
Was that the soft turning of the knob?
