The Ineffable Ruth Rhodes

16 snow

vincent

The day Charlotte broke up with Vincent, it snowed.

He'd woken up one morning, seeing the note from his father on his nightstand. He remembered staring at it for a while in contemplation, then he threw it in the trash and went about his daily routine; brushing, taking care of his wild hair, having a quick bath, then he made his way to his mother's room.

She was on the ground, back against her bed, with her hands in her long hair and small sobs coming from her body.

It wasn't like his father really brought anything to the family other than his semen for the children. He didn't have a job, so his mother was the one always busting her back to make money. Vincent thought he loved him, but he was really never quite a father figure to him. And when the only thing on his mind when he left was, 'Oh, I wonder how mom's doing', he realized he did not love him nearly as much as he thought he did, if at all. Maybe his father knew that too. Maybe that's why he left. Because he was a part of a family he never fit into.

He'd stalked over to his mother and held her, let her cry into his shoulder. It haunted him months after that he couldn't will himself to care as much as she did. He felt as though he'd failed as a son. He wanted to cry and mourn this father figure in his life, but he just didn't care about him. Instead, the tears he'd cried, were those of empathy for his mother, and those of worry for how they'd live after that.

Hours later he'd stood, and went back to his room, hoping to tell Charlotte all that'd happened. She'll understand, he told himself. All he had to do was hear her voice, and he'd feel like everything might be okay.

"My father left us, Char," he'd told her when she picked up.

"Oh wow," Charlotte had said, "That must be... tough."

He waited on the line.

"I think we should break up, Vince," she said. Vincent thought he was being robbed of his air to breathe.

"What?" he said, and his voice sounded foreign to even him.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry."

The line was cut.

He thought he'd known pain then, until the following day, she ignored him completely. No morning kiss, no hug, no glance-- not even a reason to why she left him. She did laugh, though. Just not with him. And she smiled. Just not at him. She moved on, and lived without him. She lived as though what they'd gone through never happened.

And months later, as if she couldn't stand to finally see him get a grip on himself, she came back begging that he'd take her back.

And so, just like that, Vincent shed more tears crying over Charlotte all those days than he did his own father leaving him.

—-

Vincent's eyes lingered in the clothing aisle as he walked by it, scanning the next ones the same way.

He unintentionally kept an eye out for Ruth as he stalked up to the line to pay, too.

It was weird— he was always doing it these days. He'd look out his window wondering if she was going to be there when her house was a fifteen minute drive from his at least. As if he could think of her there, as if she was a figment of his imagination.

He unlocked his phone to send her a message and bug her, forgetting he didn't have his phone on him. Maybe he'd tell her he wanted to work on the project again next time he called her. Maybe he'd use it as an excuse to see her.

Vincent decided that his luck was the absolute worst though, because as he was leaving the store, his eyes landed on Charlotte. Her deep red hair was pulled in a bun, and she was dressed in a tee and jeans with converse. Her freckles (which he'd kissed millions of times) littered her face, all over her cheeks which were flushed a bright color.

"Hey, Vince," she said quietly, picking at the grocery bag in her hand.

He watched her.

And then it hit Vincent.

He felt nothing.

He looked at her and didn't feel longing, nor anger for what she did, nor any trace of the anxiety he'd felt before. It was as if she was a stranger, or someone he hadn't seen for years and didn't know enough about them in order to feel anything.

He stared at the girl he loved, and longed for the warmth of, and Vincent Alderage realized that he no longer loved Charlotte Evans.

"Hey, Charlotte," he said calmly. But he didn't feel calm, not at all. He wanted to rejoice, and yell, and hug someone. It'd been months. It was overdue. But he felt free— Vincent felt free.

She began to pass him before pausing, closing her eyes and taking a breath, facing him with a smile.

"I was just wondering," she said with an awkward laugh, "If you wanted to hang out this weekend."

Vincent opened his mouth to respond.

"I mean— not as friends. No— I mean, not as lovers." she laughed again, a laugh Vincent had heard more times than he could count. Except his heart didn't skip a beat. In fact, his heart beat pace was the equivalent to that of an old person who'd just gotten out of bed. "God, 'lovers' sounds so weird. I mean, I was wondering if you wanted to just hang out like the old times."

He winced. "I'm sorry, I can't..."

"I miss you."

"I'm going on a double date with my girlfriend's friend and her boyfriend."

Her jaw flexed. "Oh."

"Sorry... I guess I'll see you in class, though." he rubbed the back of his neck, and began walking away, feeling freedom and proudness beyond description.

And he wondered why then, again, that as he walked away, a familiar person popped into his head, more frequently and relentlessly. It made no sense to him— why he thought of Ruth at that moment. Why she kept popping into his head, why he kept thinking of her.

But he did.

He made a mental note to tell her next time they were alone, and drove home thinking of the stars.