Ladder to the Stars

Part One

People watching was something Eleanor always enjoyed. She made sure there was time in her day to stare out her window onto the busy streets below and wonder about the lives and stories of each person that passed by. She would sometimes be there for hours, much to her mother's dismay, quietly building stories upon stories in her head. Right now, she was focused on a man smoking a cigarette by the street. He wore khakis and a button-down shirt; professional, but approachable. Definitely didn't work in wall street. Business start-up? What she did know is that he was way too young to be smoking. While her and her mother did not own a television, she lived in a city where advertisements were around every corner. She was fully aware the effects of a cigarette, as should any person under 35. And this man, Steve, the name for him in her head now, was most certainly under 35. That means he must be in pain. Anyone who smokes now a days, who is young enough to know better, uses it as a coping mechanism. What demons was he trying to ward off? Eleanor thought maybe drugs, but she did not pin him down as that. The stress of a working in a small start-up company getting to him? That's a possibility. No, that wasn't it at all.

The man pulled out his phone just then, unlocked the screen and stared at it for quite some time doing nothing. And then he locked it and put it back in his pocket taking another drag of his cigarette. Aha, Eleanor thought. Love. It's always love isn't? At least that is where her mind always took her when she watched people. Love was the driving force of all our decisions. Eleanor concluded that this man was heartbroken. He wanted to reach out to his lover, but instead opted for the sweet taste of nicotine to soothe the aching pain that was located on the left side of his body just under his ribcage.

Now the story further began to unfurl. Who hurt who? Did he make the mistake and is too stubborn to apologize? Is he the one waiting for the apology? Just as her story was getting good, she heard a soft knock on her door.

"Eleanor?" the soft voice her mother echoed against the closed wooden door. Eleanor was broken away from Steve to turn to the door.

"Yes?" Eleanor's mother, Celeste, walked in and with her hand still on the doorknob she looked at what Eleanor had been doing and put her other hand on her hip.

"Eleanor, please come out of your room and interact with me. I hate seeing you locked up like this. You never used to be this way." This was true. Ever since Eleanor left school, she wasn't the bright and sharp-witted daughter Celeste raised. Over the last two years Eleanor has become quiet and melancholy. At first, she thought it was Eleanor grieving her childhood and her time spent at school with her friends, but Celeste knows there's more. There's always more when it came to Eleanor.

"Mom, I'm ok. Just a busy day at work, I'm just tired. No need to worry." She reassured her mom still sitting at the edge of her window, "I'll come out there in just a minute"

Celeste was not convinced. With a deep sigh Celeste moved into Eleanor's bedroom and sat at the edge of her bed. The room used to be a teenage girl's room, with posters on the wall of famous unattainable men, the floor was always covered with at least an inch of clothes, and for Eleanor's case her desk and bed were always filled with new books or sheets of paper that Eleanor scribbled sketches or stories on. Now this room belonged to a 20-year-old young woman who seemed to be stagnant in her life. The posters were down, Eleanor gave away most of her clothes seeing as a majority of them were not work appropriate, and the sketches and books were either tucked away in her desk or neatly arranged on her bookshelf collecting dust.

Eleanor knew that sigh. She knew everything about Celeste. It was just them since she was a baby. They spent every waking moment together, that is until Eleanor was sent off to school. But even then, Eleanor wrote to her mom every chance she could recounting the tales of her life at Ilvermorny. Being so close meant that Eleanor knew what every tick, every facial expression, every sigh meant in regard to her mother. Eleanor knew after that sigh was a talk. An infamous Celeste talk, where she somehow was always able to goat Eleanor into revealing the truth. Maybe it was how Celeste was so soft spoken, never raising her voice, or the gentle brown eyes that seemed the resemble almost puppy dog eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that Eleanor hated seeing her mother upset. She loved her, more than words could ever say. If Eleanor could protect her from all the evils of the world, she would. That means, if Eleanor was the one causing Celeste pain, Eleanor couldn't bare it.