Casting Shadows

OLD FRIENDS

If I imagined a perfect evening, it would look like this: I would pop my head out of my bedroom window and watch the town ignite with lights, welcoming the night. I would pour hot water into the old Japanese cup with a missing lid and listen to the soft sounds of frogs and crickets against the silence of the train tracks. I would pick up the round apple-like clock on my nightstand, set the alarm to 5:45 a.m., and wake up to the smell of lilies just in time to see the sun rise above the mountains. I would repeat this routine every night with no exception. That was the level of obsession the old town had over me.

That night it got quieter. There was no clock ticking, and Grandma had already gone to bed, as I couldn't hear the dishwasher running downstairs. My heart was trying to gallop out from my chest. It sent blood to all the tissues of my body with the flow of a swift river. I was about to pull the window blinds down when a head appeared through the curtains, and I reared backward, collapsing onto the satin bed sheets.

"A little help here, please. I haven't climbed ladders to your window since I was twelve, I think."

The voice started to take a physical shape. Except for a salt lamp, there was no other light in the room, and the figure looked like the man from my crazy dream coming out of the fog to haunt me. A guy with wheat-colored hair and a bright smile was looking down at me.

"Nicholas! You scared me to death. How did you know I was home? You weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow!" I exclaimed, scanning him with my eyes.

"Your dad called me." He grinned, getting his legs out of the twisted curtain.

"I don't know why that surprises me. His life is all about mine," I said, helping him out and guiding him towards the salt lamp's light.

"Just as it should be! I love your old man," he said, his eyes wandering around the bedroom. His figure rose in front of me. He was clean-shaven and tall with long brown eyelashes outlining his prominent blue eyes. With his two legs on the hardwood floors, he pulled me tight into his arms.

"God, I have missed you so much! I don't think I could have waited another day." He beamed. His cologne and the smell of forest campfire filled my nostrils.

Something was different about Nick. He looked so grown-up, so incredibly handsome. A tint of mischief raced across his face. I held my hands inside of his, and I noticed how tiny I felt locked in his broad palms.

He tried to grab the ladder, which was hanging for dear life on the maple tree outside.

"Would you be quiet? Grandma just went to bed," I warned.

She slept so lightly that sometimes a cat drinking milk on our porch forced her to wander outside. Life had never been easy on her; each wrinkle was the solemn proof. If I could give her at least some peace at night, I would. She deserved to be loved— to be cared for. I imagined myself as a dreamcatcher veering in the wind, collecting her nightly adventures, protecting her like I would a drop of rain on the palm of my hand.

"I'm sorry, what would you like me to do? Leave it? Your grandma would think we had a thief climbing up the ladder. Do you want to see her throw a rolling pin directly at my eye?" Nick joked, still breathing heavily. Climbing took all the living strength out of him.

"Oh, come on. I didn't think you were so easily scared," I replied. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach playing volleyball.

"Your grandma is the strictest person I know when it comes to you," he whispered, his tone serious. Then he added: "I am scared of her."

"She's known you since you were a kid," I assured him.

"That was a long time ago and right now, I'm in your bedroom."