—eyes, her eyes. I could see myself in the mirrors of her irises, frightening, frightened. Transient. A moment, the lynchpin of a dream. Immediately after, a sliver of time spinning and spun away, an axle on an ever-expanding wheel. A thread tucking itself into a tapestry. Afterwards, I could not remember what I had seen or known in that infinitely brief stutter of life. All I had was the fine dust of moonlight and fog and salt that was seeping through my fingers and slipping into the night air—air that glowed, as if illuminated—swirling away under bridges and above columns of indeterminate origin…
A long, heavy, butchered period of time later, my hand hung between flat, shining oakwood and a knob glimmering so bright in the midday sun that it was almost glassy. I knew I should knock, I ought to, but it felt wrong. To introduce myself like a stranger, after all this time, was so crude. So clearly incorrect—yet I didn’t know this place anymore.
It had been a long, long time since I’d been able to simply enter here, or anywhere, like nothing could stop me. I'd lost that privilege in a haze of anger, nights where my whole body felt like sand spilling across the screaming couch, days not much better. I wanted to push my hand through the door and fall through. The feeling pulsed through my fingers like tides pulled by a distant moon. Control was once again unknown to me.
I knocked twice, hard. Then again, softer, my hand sliding down the door like a raindrop tracing a seemingly random path on a window. I waited, hand resting on the wood, for what felt like a long time. Cars shot by on the road to my left, heavy sounds crescendoing from the hurtling vehicles. A bird chirped on the other side of my head. It felt too close.
I could feel the gravity of the moment slowly bearing down on the crown of my skull. I could only wait on this creaking porch for so long before I’d have to leave, and I knew deep in my heart that if I left now I could never return. It was this or another life, a new beginning… far away by every metric.
A click, and then the door swung open. Blinking in the late morning light, skin shining like butterfly wings in antique cases, and her eyes… I flinched again when I saw myself in those irises. Dressed nicely enough, mostly clean-shaven. Coffee-brown hair with a smell like caffeine at night. But lost—adrift. I could see it and know it. Maybe she could too, because she froze, the door held only half-open. Her lip trembled as if she wanted to say something. She didn’t.
I gave her a wan smile, coughed into my hand as I broke eye contact, and then—looking at the knob—said, “Hi, Ivy. It’s been a while.”
She was quiet for what felt like a long time. “I know it has. A while, ha. Wow.” What might’ve been anger, or maybe grief, flashed across her face. What she wasn’t saying was transmitted just as precisely as speech—no, more precisely, perfectly, even—across the space between us, thoughts oscillating in the warm air. What we had, so special, so perfect, and then it was gone—and now you’re here, saying “it’s been a while.” It’s been so much more than a while. What an awful, inadequate way to describe what happened, “a while.” The world has been spinning round and round. The cicadas chirp louder without you here. Everything is different now.
Even if only opened halfway, the doorway was an invitation too precious for me to resist. I took a step forward, and for a moment, she stood steadfast and erect, as if she wouldn’t let me by. Then she sighed, pulled the door open, and stepped back into the twilighted wooden caverns of the house. “You’re awfully brave, or dumb, or both, coming here. I mean, why… Why now? What’s the point?” she asked, walking into the kitchen. I trailed behind, tracing a path I’d known once before; my soul was leaking from the soles of my gnarled feet, ghostly imprints lingering on the wood like bootprints in the shallowest snow.
“I wanted to see you, maybe say a few things that I should’ve said then. Sort things out, I guess.”
“Wow, what an upstanding citizen.”
“I don’t mean it like that, really. I know I messed up, and not just one time. Every single time, it feels like. I mean, I fell apart, and then everything else did too. I’m not trying to justify it, either, I know it all leads back to me, and so basically— I want to say sorry. And maybe explain.” She slumped into a worn chair by the table. It was her favorite piece of furniture, I’d known that. Remembering now. Her face rested softly on her palm, hair throwing arcs of light into the air and across the table. Angelic, I thought lazily.
“Listen. I appreciate that you’re coming at this from a, I don’t know, better state of mind. You clearly have some level of comprehension of what you did and why, even if I still don’t. And sure, I’ll hear your confession or whatever. But don’t—I mean really, don’t—expect me to forgive you. That’s not what this is. And I’ve moved on. Really.”
“Okay. Okay, I get it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. All I want from this, from you, is for me to be able to share and for you to be able to listen. And, I don’t know, I wanted to be around you again. Maybe just once again, for old times’ sake.” She sighed, giving me an irritated look, clearly of the belief that I wasn't worth trying to dissuade. She probably wasn’t wrong.
We settled in at the table wearily and I began to talk. And I gazed into her--
A long, heavy, butchered period of time later, my hand hung between flat, shining oakwood and a knob glimmering so bright in the midday sun that it was almost glassy. I knew I should knock, I ought to, but it felt wrong. To introduce myself like a stranger, after all this time, was so crude. So clearly incorrect—yet I didn’t know this place anymore.
It had been a long, long time since I’d been able to simply enter here, or anywhere, like nothing could stop me. I'd lost that privilege in a haze of anger, nights where my whole body felt like sand spilling across the screaming couch, days not much better. I wanted to push my hand through the door and fall through. The feeling pulsed through my fingers like tides pulled by a distant moon. Control was once again unknown to me.
I knocked twice, hard. Then again, softer, my hand sliding down the door like a raindrop tracing a seemingly random path on a window. I waited, hand resting on the wood, for what felt like a long time. Cars shot by on the road to my left, heavy sounds crescendoing from the hurtling vehicles. A bird chirped on the other side of my head. It felt too close.
I could feel the gravity of the moment slowly bearing down on the crown of my skull. I could only wait on this creaking porch for so long before I’d have to leave, and I knew deep in my heart that if I left now I could never return. It was this or another life, a new beginning… far away by every metric.
A click, and then the door swung open. Blinking in the late morning light, skin shining like butterfly wings in antique cases, and her eyes… I flinched again when I saw myself in those irises. Dressed nicely enough, mostly clean-shaven. Coffee-brown hair with a smell like caffeine at night. But lost—adrift. I could see it and know it. Maybe she could too, because she froze, the door held only half-open. Her lip trembled as if she wanted to say something. She didn’t.
I gave her a wan smile, coughed into my hand as I broke eye contact, and then—looking at the knob—said, “Hi, Ivy. It’s been a while.”
She was quiet for what felt like a long time. “I know it has. A while, ha. Wow.” What might’ve been anger, or maybe grief, flashed across her face. What she wasn’t saying was transmitted just as precisely as speech—no, more precisely, perfectly, even—across the space between us, thoughts oscillating in the warm air. What we had, so special, so perfect, and then it was gone—and now you’re here, saying “it’s been a while.” It’s been so much more than a while. What an awful, inadequate way to describe what happened, “a while.” The world has been spinning round and round. The cicadas chirp louder without you here. Everything is different now.
Even if only opened halfway, the doorway was an invitation too precious for me to resist. I took a step forward, and for a moment, she stood steadfast and erect, as if she wouldn’t let me by. Then she sighed, pulled the door open, and stepped back into the twilighted wooden caverns of the house. “You’re awfully brave, or dumb, or both, coming here. I mean, why… Why now? What’s the point?” she asked, walking into the kitchen. I trailed behind, tracing a path I’d known once before; my soul was leaking from the soles of my gnarled feet, ghostly imprints lingering on the wood like bootprints in the shallowest snow.
“I wanted to see you, maybe say a few things that I should’ve said then. Sort things out, I guess.”
“Wow, what an upstanding citizen.”
“I don’t mean it like that, really. I know I messed up, and not just one time. Every single time, it feels like. I mean, I fell apart, and then everything else did too. I’m not trying to justify it, either, I know it all leads back to me, and so basically— I want to say sorry. And maybe explain.” She slumped into a worn chair by the table. It was her favorite piece of furniture, I’d known that. Remembering now. Her face rested softly on her palm, hair throwing arcs of light into the air and across the table. Angelic, I thought lazily.
“Listen. I appreciate that you’re coming at this from a, I don’t know, better state of mind. You clearly have some level of comprehension of what you did and why, even if I still don’t. And sure, I’ll hear your confession or whatever. But don’t—I mean really, don’t—expect me to forgive you. That’s not what this is. And I’ve moved on. Really.”
“Okay. Okay, I get it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. All I want from this, from you, is for me to be able to share and for you to be able to listen. And, I don’t know, I wanted to be around you again. Maybe just once again, for old times’ sake.” She sighed, giving me an irritated look, clearly of the belief that I wasn't worth trying to dissuade. She probably wasn’t wrong.
We settled in at the table wearily and I began to talk. And I gazed into her--