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A Memory (Octavia)

The music is beating against my ears as I clean the kitchen, dancing my way from room to room dusting the knick-knacks and antique picture frames. My bare feet stomp against the floorboards as I jump up to dust the books on the top of my bookshelves. My whole living room is covered in books mostly old books my parents collected throughout their careers. I added my books after I graduated, it felt right seeing as I followed their footsteps, I got to add to our library. I had barely slept last night, spooked by my own imagination, I rose early having given up on getting any rest. The house is mostly clean, but a deep cleaning never hurt anyone. I started in the dining room since it hasn't been used in years. I can't clean without good tunes, actually, there isn't much I don't do without music, between the beat and the lyrics I am always much more motivated with somewhere for my mind to wonder. Turning to head up the stairs, I dust the black victorian railing as I dance my way up the steps sideways. About halfway up, a small breeze passes over me the scent of vanilla with a hint of smoke hits me like a long-lost memory. I whip my head up, but the top of the stairs are empty. I am almost disappointed. I used to daydream so vividly it felt real, for a while I thought something was wrong with me, but I grew out of it. Sometimes I wished my imagination still ran wild like that, I don't mind being alone but I grew attached to the characters in my head. Another reminder that their story is over. After finishing the stair railing and art that lines the wall of the staircase, I take on probably my least favorite room of the house. My old bedroom. I left everything as it was when I moved into the larger bedroom. I felt disconnected for so long, when life started to click for me I felt like I had lost something. I never understood why, or how I could feel like I lost something when I couldn't recall what, but just like the taste and smell that room brought back that feeling. I run my clammy palms down my plaid button-up and then open the door. It's the most charming room in the house, the place where I was reading stories and writing my school papers so excited to show my mom what I had accomplished. It was never as intense as what she put out from her career, but she always made me feel like I had discovered something fresh and new. My parents humored me well and it paid off when I went through my grad program. I knew my worth in academics, but I learned my worth in life later. The bed was a delicate work of art, the headboard a number of carved wooden vines that lead away from the head of the bed and up the fours posts. The shelves around my desk held my favorite books from childhood along with photos of my parents and me on trips. I didn't have many friends growing up, I wasn't bullied or an outcast, people were friendly to me but I just didn't develop any real friendships. I decide to start dusting at my dresser pausing to admire a photo of my parents at their wedding. My mother looked like a goddess until the day she died. Her soft copper curls were fully intact no matter the weather, her forest eyes always bright no matter what we were doing, and the way she lit up a room just how I imagine she had at her wedding. I was obsessed with this photo as a young girl, my parents looked so in love and I would find them in the kitchen in the mornings looking at each other the same way over coffee. I turn towards the opposite wall, planning to dust the desk when my slipper snags on a floorboard forcing a curse from me. I bend down to gather the string and tear it before it can cause a hole to form when I notice the floorboards are raised, just slightly. I lean down to look under the bed at the other end of the plank to see it slightly sunken into the floor. Kicking my legs under me, losing my slippers in the progress, I manage to wedge my fingertips into the free space under the wood, only cursing a few more times when the splinters become imminent. I manage to free the whole board and lean down to peer in. The first glimpse of red forces my heart to seize. With a shaking hand, holding my breath when I feel the cool leather. Before I can get my hopes up I yank the journal free and hold it in my hands. Long still moments pass and I can't tear my eyes away from the flower embossed on the front. When my legs begin to numb I drop hard causing photos to flutter out of the book and into my lap. My heart jumps and plummets before I even pick them up, I know exactly what I will see. The pale skin against the deep brown hair, the tattoos that run up his forearms, my white tennis shoes crossed in front of him as I am perched on his back with my arms wrapped around his neck. My eyes dart between our faces, mine covered in a smile so large I can still feel the ache I felt in that moment, he turned to me his small smile emphasizing his golden eyes watching me.I pick up a strip of photos from one of those corny photo booths he had insisted on trying. My expression is the same in all of them, bored and annoyed, but the last one I look shocked. I remember exactly what had surprised me so much too. I quickly pick up the journal, flipping the pages rapidly stopping on five words, reading them to myself. After ensuring that my words were still there I jump up with the photos and journal in my arms, rushing across the hallway to my office dropping everything on my desk, and scanning the shelves for the book I need. I retrieve it and begin flipping to the right page when I pause in front of the window. Unsure why until I look out into the backyard. Just outside the gate, against the tree line, he is standing there. The man I saw in the alley last night, the man in the photos, the man I imagined. Atlas. For a moment I think I must be dreaming, but he lifts his hand up and simply...waves. Dropping the book in my hand I take off out of the room and down the stairs, bursting through the back door not losing any momentum when my feet hit the grass. Unaware of how ungraceful I look I stall only a few feet from him. He had rushed from the tree line but paused as I did. His stance highlighted his size, he had always been much taller than me, but right now I felt like I may be lost in the grass against his size. I stopped because a huge part of me thinks I am about to slam into a large tree and wake up in a hospital for a psychotic break, but then he tilts his head and holds out his hand. "Octavia." With the deep huskiness of his voice like a warm blanket wrapping around me, I lose my hesitation and run right into his arms. If I am breaking down, it may as well be worth it.