The Memories of Us

Chapter 2

The sun shone in my goddamn eyes because I forgot to close my blinds yesterday. I groaned, getting up and drawing  my hot pink curtains. My childhood room has unfortunately never changed. It was horrifyingly completely pink- the walls, the décor, and, the bedding, everything. And I mean everything, even a matching dreadful bubblegum shag rug from the 70s that has never been replaced. Sometimes vacuuming alone doesn't help, and the only thing that can is a comb. I winced at the thought.

I yawned and stretched my back, feeling sore from improperly lifting boxes yesterday. A nice hot shower will do me good. I feel like I've aged about fifty years. Grabbing a towel, I noticed several unopened texts. From Mason and Ivy. I guess my shower can wait; I'm shocked by the responses. Opening Ivy's, gave me anxiety; things left off bumpy with her and the rest of the fantastic five.

"Hey, Rory, I can't believe what happened to your dad. I'm so sorry. My god damn mother probably knew and didn't think to contact me, let alone any one of my other stupid brothers. I'll be there at the funeral, don't worry. Love you lots Sunshine, and thinking of you, always"- Ivy

The message was kind, and I'm not even surprised she made a jab at her family; she always did. But what weighted on me more was that Emily and Ivy will have to be in the same room as one another. The last time that happened it, well, we don't talk about it. That same dreary energy has seemingly continued through out these past years. I shook my head and struggled to pull a tank over my head. I responded with gratitude and a small message that I missed her dearly.

The sun tried to twinkle through the big bay window by the kitchen table, and the unconditioned air was humid as ever as I struggled to take a deep breath. When I was younger, my father used to make me pancakes. He would top them off with a whipped cream heart and fill them with fruit. I would sit in excitement, waiting for him to finish them off so I could inhale my breakfast. He would dance to the songs on the radio and flip the pancakes higher and higher. It was the little things that made living with my dad amazing, and I would be lying if I said that I didn't missed that right now.

As my mind went from the happy memory to the present, my smile slowly disappeared, much like how the sun concealed itself behind a massive cloud, deepening my gloomy state. Exhaling, I reached for my phone and continued to eat the leftover Raisin Bran. The silence in this house is too eerie. Mace's contact popped up, and I couldn't  help but try and contain a quick grin. Seven messages and two missed calls. Shit. I shrunk into my seat, wanting to become smaller and disappear. With a shaky hand, I dial his number, still knowing it by heart. It's been years since the last time either one of us called or spoke to each other, yet he picked up after the first ring. 

"Fuck, Rory! You scared the shit out of me by not answering. I need to know how you are doing", he stressed. "I'm so sorry for your loss." I held my breath; I could imagine Mason sitting at his giant desk that overlooks central park. I bet he has his feet up too. I highly, doubt Mace's childish behaviour diminished over these past few years. He's probably dressed in a suit, navy maybe? Something that will go well with his dirty blonde hair and really bring out his hazel eyes. "Rory! Are you there?" Concern filled his voice.

"Hey Mace, yeah, I'm here", I replied, I focusing on the stale yellow ceiling light.

"How are you doing with all of this?" He asked, and I took a deep breath.

"It's hard, really hard" I admitted, for the first time out loud. "It doesn't help that I'm here in his house, and every little thing reminds me of him. His chair, his favourite blue mug, shaving kit and lord help me when I pass his room. I avoid it at all costs". As the conversation continued, I struggled to keep my cool, inhaling faster, while silent tears fell.