This Was Home [h.s.]

| 13. TWENTY HOURS |

  Not much had been said between the two of us since we had woken up this morning. Harry had made both of us a plate of scrambled eggs, a plain granola bar accompanying my plate. My face contorted in thought, immediately bringing me back to one of our first conversations upon meeting. One of the first conversations that made me realize how much of an ass he could be. I couldn't tell if he did that on purpose or not, and maybe I was crazy but he did seem to have a slight smile across his lips when he handed it to me.

That was about as close to a conversation we had had so far.

It wasn't that things felt awkward after last night, or maybe they did a little—I was having a hard time assessing him today. He wasn't giving me much to go off of. Not that he ever really did. I just knew the topic was probably going to be brought up and I really just didn't want to deal with it. The repercussions looming over my head made the growling in my stomach to seize.

Ugh.

I took my plate over to the window seat in the living room. This was where I used to sit and read books for hours on end, it was my favorite spot. It gave an open view of our backyard, giving me a moment to reminisce now. Reminisce on what I was about to be leaving behind. It was as if a movie was playing in my head, rewinding and fast forwarding through the memories that took place in that very backyard.

Every season had visited me outside this window, from snow storms to heat showers to tornadoes to sunny cloudless days. I had splashed through puddles and fell down a few times. I had watched it all in this window. I had experienced it all in that backyard. All of these memories elicited a sour taste in my mouth, the taste of longing and loss.

My eyes darted around, stopping briefly as I continued to look back at the times spent together. They stopped when they glanced over to the old oak tree placed towards the back. Its branches were as massive as ever, the wind causing the leaves to tremble. The tire was swinging with the wind, as if it was looking back on the memories of us swinging on it, too.

The dirt patch was still there. Not that it would go anywhere else, I just hadn't looked back over there since yesterday morning when I said goodbye. Still, none of this felt totally real. I had cried a lot that first night, but ever since then...nothing. It made me feel guilty.

I felt guilty because I should have been sad. I should have even been angry—at the fact sickness took her, at the winter storm trapping us, running out of gas, at everything. At myself even. But I wasn't. I tried to cry, but my tears wouldn't budge. I didn't know what was wrong with me. Was I heartless? Broken?

A bird flew past the window, making me jump in my seat. The scare caused me to drop my fork onto the plate, a loud clattering noise ringing out through the previously silent room. My heart was still pounding against my chest as I picked up the fragments of food that fell onto the floor. I wasn't even eating anymore, I had just been sitting there with a fork full of egg until it grew cold. But that was fine, I wasn't all that hungry anyway.